Produced by David McClamrock





THE INQUISITION

A CRITICAL AND HISTORICAL STUDY OF THE COERCIVE POWER OF THE CHURCH

BY E. VACANDARD

TRANSLATED FROM THE SECOND EDITION BY BERTRAND L. CONWAY, C.S.P.

NEW EDITION

LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. FOURTH AVENUE & 30TH STREET, NEW YORK
LONDON, BOMBAY, CALCUTTA AND MADRAS 1915

Nihil Obstat. THOMAS J. SHAHAN, S.T.D.

Imprimatur. + JOHN M. FARLEY, D.D Archbishop of New York.

NEW YORK, June 24, 1907.

Copyright, 1907, by BERTRAND L. CONWAY

All Rights Reserved

First Edition, February, 1908 Registered, May, 1908 New and Cheaper
Edition, September, 1915



 NOTE TO THIS ELECTRONIC EDITION

In the print edition of this book, footnote numbers began with 1 on
each page, and the footnotes appeared at the bottom of each page. In
this electronic edition, the footnotes have been re-numbered
beginning with 1 for each paragraph, and they appear directly below
the paragraph that refers to them. A very few ascertainable errors
have been caught and corrected. All else is intended to correspond as
closely as possible to the contents of the print edition.



PREFACE

THERE are very few Catholic apologists who feel inclined to boast of
the annals of the Inquisition. The boldest of them defend this
institution against the attacks of modern liberalism, as if they
distrusted the force of their own arguments. Indeed they have hardly
answered the first objection of their opponents, when they instantly
endeavor to prove that the Protestant and Rationalistic critics of
the Inquisition have themselves been guilty of heinous crimes. "Why,"
they ask, "do you denounce our Inquisition, when you are responsible
for Inquisitions of your own?"

No good can be accomplished by such a false method of reasoning. It
seems practically to admit that the cause of the Church cannot be
defended. The accusation of wrongdoing made against the enemies they
are trying to reduce to silence comes back with equal force against
the friends they are trying to defend.

It does not follow that because the Inquisition of Calvin and the
French Revolutionists merits the reprobation of mankind, the
Inquisition of the Catholic Church must needs escape all censure. On
the contrary, the unfortunate comparison made between them naturally
leads one to think that both deserve equal blame. To our mind, there
is only one way of defending the attitude of the Catholic Church in
the Middle Ages toward the Inquisition. We must examine and judge
this institution objectively, from the standpoint of morality,
justice, and religion, instead of comparing its excesses with the
blameworthy actions of other tribunals.

No historian worthy of the name has as yet undertaken to treat the
Inquisition from this objective standpoint. In the seventeenth
century, a scholarly priest, Jacques Marsollier, canon of the Uzès,
published at Cologne (Paris), in 1693, a _Histoire de l'Inquisition
et de son Origine_. But his work, as a critic has pointed out, is
"not so much a history of the Inquisition, as a thesis written with a
strong Gallican bias, which details with evident delight the
cruelties of the Holy Office." The illustrations are taken from
Philip Limborch's _Historia Inquisitionis_.[1]

[1] Paul Fredericq, _Historiographie de l'Inquisition_, p. xiv.
Introduction to the French translation of Lea's book on the
Inquisition.

Henry Charles Lea, already known by his other works on religious
history, published in New York, in 1888, three large volumes entitled
_A History of the Inquisition of the Middle Ages._ This work has
received as a rule a most flattering reception at the hands of the
European press, and has been translated into French.[1] One can say
without exaggeration that it is "the most extensive, the most
profound, and the most thorough history of the Inquisition that we
possess."[2]

[1] _Histoire de l'Inquisition au moyen âge_, Solomon Reinach. Paris,
Fischbacher, 1900-1903.

[2] Paul Fredericq, loc. cit., p. xxiv.

It is far, however, from being the last word of historical criticism.
And I am not speaking here of the changes in detail that may result
from the discovery of new documents. We have plenty of material at
hand to enable us to form an accurate notion of the institution
itself. Lea's judgment, despite evident signs of intellectual
honesty, is not to be trusted. Honest he may be, but impartial never.
His pen too often gives way to his prejudices and his hatred of the
Catholic Church. His critical judgment is sometimes gravely at
fault.[1]

[1] The reader may gather our estimate of this work from the various
criticisms we will pass upon it in the course of this study.

Tanon, the president of the Court of Cassation, has proved far more
impartial in his _Histoire des Tribunaux de l'Inquisition en
France._[1] This is evidently the work of a scholar, who possesses a
very wide and accurate grasp of ecclesiastical legislation. He is
deeply versed in the secrets of both the canon and the civil law.
However, we must remember that his scope is limited. He has of set
purpose omitted everything that happened outside of France. Besides
he is more concerned with the legal than with the theological aspect
of the Inquisition.

[1] Paris, 1893.

On the whole, the history of the Inquisition is still to be written.
It is not our purpose to attempt it; our ambition is more modest. But
we wish to picture this institution in its historical setting, to
show how it originated, and especially to indicate its relation to
the Church's notion of the coercive power prevalent in the Middle
Ages. For, as Lea himself says: "The Inquisition was not an
organization arbitrarily devised and imposed upon the judicial system
of Christendom by the ambition or fanaticism of the Church. It was
rather a natural--one may almost say an inevitable--evolution of the
forces at work in the thirteenth century, and no one can rightly
appreciate the process of its development and the results of its
activity, without a somewhat minute consideration of the factors
controlling the minds and souls of men during the ages which laid the
foundation of modern civilization."[1]

[1] Preface, p. iii.

We must also go back further than the thirteenth century and
ascertain how the coercive power which the Church finally confided to
the Inquisition developed from the beginning. Such is the purpose of
the present work. It is both a critical and an historical study. We
intend to record first everything that relates to the suppression of
heresy, from the origin of Christianity up to the Renaissance; then
we will see whether the attitude of the Church toward heretics can
not only be explained, but defended.

We undertake this study in a spirit of absolute honesty and
sincerity. The subject is undoubtedly a most delicate one. But no
consideration whatever should prevent our studying it from every
possible viewpoint. Cardinal Newman, in his Historical Sketches,
speaks of "that endemic perennial fidget which possesses certain
historians about giving scandal. Facts are omitted in great
histories, or glosses are put upon memorable acts, because they are
thought not edifying, whereas of all scandals such omissions, such
glosses, are the greatest."[1]

[1] Vol. ii, p. 231.

A Catholic apologist fails in his duty to-day if he writes merely to
edify the faithful. Granting that the history of the Inquisition will
reveal things we never dreamed of, our prejudices must not prevent an
honest facing of the facts. We ought to dread nothing more than the
reproach that we are afraid of the truth. "We can understand," says
Yves Le Querdec,[1] "why our forefathers did not wish to disturb
men's minds by placing before them certain questions. I believe they
were wrong, for all questions that can be presented will necessarily
be presented some day or other. If they are not presented fairly by
those who possess the true solution, or who honestly look for it,
they will be by their enemies. For this reason we think that not only
honesty but good policy require us to tell the world all the
facts.... Everything has been said, or will be said some day.... What
the friends of the Church will not mention will be spread broadcast
by her enemies. And they will make such an outcry over their
discovery, that their words will reach the most remote corners and
penetrate the deafest ears. We ought not to be afraid to-day of the
light of truth; but fear rather the darkness of lies and errors."

[1] _Univers_, June 2, 1906.

In a word, the best method of apologetics is to tell the whole truth.
In our mind, apologetics and history are two sisters, with the same
device: "_Ne quid falsi audeat, ne quid veri non audeat
historia_."[1]

[1] Cicero, De Oratore ii, 15.



CONTENTS

PREFACE

CHAPTER I FIRST PERIOD (I-IV CENTURIES): THE EPOCH OF THE
PERSECUTIONS.

The Teaching of St. Paul on the Suppression of Heretics The Teaching
of Tertullian The Teaching of Origen The Teaching of St. Cyprian The
Teaching of Lactantius Constantine, Bishop in Externals The Teaching
of St. Hilary

CHAPTER II SECOND PERIOD (FROM VALENTINIAN I TO THEODOSIUS II). THE
CHURCH AND THE CRIMINAL CODE OF THE CHRISTIAN EMPERORS AGAINST
HERESY.

Imperial Legislation against Heresy The Attitude of St. Augustine
towards the Manicheans St. Augustine and Donatism The Church and the
Priscillianists The Early Fathers and the Death Penalty

CHAPTER III THIRD PERIOD (A.D. 1100-1250). THE REVIVAL OF THE
MANICHEAN HERESIES.

Adoptianism and Predestinationism The Manicheans in the West Peter of
Bruys Henry of Lausanne Arnold of Brescia Éon de l'Étoile Views of
this Epoch upon the Suppression of Heresy

CHAPTER IV FOURTH PERIOD (FROM GRATIAN TO INNOCENT III). THE
INFLUENCE OF THE CANON LAW, AND THE REVIVAL OF THE ROMAN LAW.

Executions of Heretics The Death Penalty for Heretics Legislation of
Popes Alexander III and Lucius III and Frederic Barbarossa against
Heretics Legislation of Innocent III The First Canonists

CHAPTER V THE CATHARAN OR ALBIGENSIAN HERESY: ITS ANTI-CATHOLIC AND
ANTI-SOCIAL CHARACTER.

The Origin of the Catharan Heresy Its Progress It Attacks the
Hierarchy, Dogmas, and Worship of the Catholic Church It Undermines
the Authority of the State The Hierarchy of the Cathari The
_Convenenza_ The Initiation into the Sect Their Customs Their Horror
of Marriage The _Endura_ or Suicide

CHAPTER VI FIFTH PERIOD (GREGORY IX AND FREDERIC II). THE
ESTABLISHMENT OF THE MONASTIC INQUISITION.

Louis VIII and Louis IX Legislation of Frederic II against Heretics
Gregory IX Abandons Heretics to the Secular Arm The Establishment of
the Inquisition

CHAPTER VII SIXTH PERIOD. DEVELOPMENT OF THE INQUISITION. (INNOCENT
IV AND THE USE OF TORTURE.)

The Monastic and the Episcopal Inquisitions Experts to Aid the
Inquisitors Ecclesiastical Penalties The Infliction of the Death
Penalty The Introduction of Torture

CHAPTER VIII THEOLOGIANS, CANONISTS AND CASUISTS.

Heresy and Crimes Subject to the Inquisition The Procedure The Use of
Torture Theologians Defend the Death Penalty for Heresy Canonists
Defend the Use of the State The Church's Responsibility in Inflicting
the Death Penalty

CHAPTER IX THE INQUISITION IN OPERATION.

Its Field of Action The Excessive Cruelty of Inquisitors The Penalty
of Imprisonment The Number of Heretics Handed Over to the Secular Arm
Confiscation The _auto-da-fé_

CHAPTER X CRITICISM OF THE THEORY AND PRACTICE OF THE INQUISITION.

Development of the Theory on the Coercive Power of the Church
Intolerance of the People Intolerance of Sovereigns The Church and
Intolerance The Theologians and Intolerance Appeal to the Old
Testament England and the Suppression of Heresy The Calvinists and
the Suppression of Heresy Cruelty of the Criminal Code in the Middle
Ages The Spirit of the Age Explains the Cruelty of the Inquisition
Defects in the Procedure Abuses of Antecedent Imprisonment and
Torture Heretics who were also Criminals Heresy Punished as Such
Should the Death Penalty Be Inflicted upon Heretics? The
Responsibility of the Church Abuses of the Penalties of Confiscation
and Exile The Penitential Character of Imprisonment The Syllabus and
the Coercive Power of the Church



THE INQUISITION

CHAPTER 1
FIRST PERIOD
I-IV CENTURY
THE EPOCH OF THE PERSECUTIONS

ST. PAUL was the first to pronounce a sentence of condemnation upon
heretics. In his Epistle to Timothy, he writes: "Of whom is Hymeneus
and Alexander, whom I have delivered up to Satan, that they may learn
not to blaspheme."[1] The Apostle is evidently influenced in his
action by the Gospel. The one-time Pharisee no longer dreams of
punishing the guilty with the severity of the Mosaic Law. The death
penalty of stoning, which apostates merited under the old
dispensation,[2] has been changed into a purely spiritual penalty:
excommunication.

[1] 1) Tim. i. 20. Cf . Tit. iii. 10-11. "A man that is a heretic,
after the first and second admonition, avoid, knowing that he, that
is such an one, is subverted, and sinneth, being condemned by his own
judgment."

[2] Deut. xiii. 6-9) ; xvii. 1-6.

During the first three centuries, as long as the era of persecution
lasted, the early Christians never thought of using any force save
the force of argument to win back their dissident brethren. This is
the meaning of that obscure passage in the _Adversus Gnosticos_ of
Tertullian, in which he speaks of "driving heretics (i.e., by
argument), to their duty, instead of trying to win them, for
obstinacy must be conquered, not coaxed."[1] In this work he is
trying to convince the Gnostics of their errors from various passages
in the Old Testament. But he never invokes the death penalty against
them. On the contrary, he declares that no practical Christian can be
an executioner or jailer. He even goes so far as to deny the right of
any disciple of Christ to serve in the army, at least as an officer,
"because the duty of a military commander comprises the right to sit
in judgment upon a man's life, to condemn, to put in chains, to
imprison and to torture."[2]

[1] _Adversus Gnosticos Scorpiace_, cap. ii, Migne, P.L., vol. 11,
col. 125.

[2] _De Idololatria_, cap. xvii, P.L., vol. i, col. 687.

If a Christian has no right to use physical force, even in the name
of the State, he is all the more bound not to use it against his
dissenting brethren in the name of the Gospel, which is a law of
gentleness. Tertullian was a Montanist when he wrote this. But
although he wrote most bitterly against the Gnostics whom he
detested, he always protested against the use of brute force in the
matter of religion. "It is a fundamental human right," he says, "a
privilege of nature, that every man should worship according to his
convictions. It is assuredly no part of religion to compel religion.
It must be embraced freely, and not forced."[1] These words prove
that Tertullian was a strong advocate of absolute toleration.

[1] _Liber ad Scapulam_, cap. ii, P.L., vol. i, col. 699

Origen likewise never granted Christians the right to punish those
who denied the Gospel. In answering Celsus, who had brought forward
certain texts of the Old Testament that decreed the death penalty for
apostasy, he says: "If we must refer briefly to the difference
between the law given to the Jews of old by Moses, and the law laid
down by Christ for Christians, we would state that it is impossible
to harmonize the legislation of Moses, taken literally, with the
calling of the Gentiles.... For Christians cannot slay their enemies,
or condemn, as Moses commanded, the contemners of the law to be put
to death by burning or stoning."[1]

[1] _Contra Celsum_, lib. vii, cap. xxvi.

St. Cyprian also repudiates in the name of the Gospel the laws of the
Old Testament on this point. He writes as follows: "God commanded
that those who did not obey his priests or hearken to his judges,[1]
appointed for the time, should be slain. Then indeed they were slain
with the sword, while the circumcision of the flesh was yet in force;
but now that circumcision has begun to be of the spirit among God's
faithful servants, the proud and contumacious are slain with the
sword of the spirit by being cast out of the Church."[2]

[1] Deut. xvii. 12.

[2] Ep. lxii, _ad Pomponium_, n. 4, P.L., vol. iii. col. 371. Cf. _De
unitate Ecclesiæ_, n. 17 seq.; _ibid.,_ col. 513 seq.

The Bishop of Carthage, who was greatly troubled by stubborn
schismatics, and men who violated every moral principle of the
Gospel, felt that the greatest punishment he could inflict was
excommunication.

When Lactantius wrote his _Divinæ Institutiones_ in 308, he was too
greatly impressed by the outrages of the pagan persecutions not to
protest most strongly against the use of force in matters of
conscience. He writes: "There is no justification for violence and
injury, for religion cannot be imposed by force. It is a matter of
the will, which must be influenced by words, not by blows.... Why
then do they rage, and increase, instead of lessening, their folly?
Torture and piety have nothing in common; there is no union possible
between truth and violence, justice and cruelty.[1] ... For they (the
persecutors) are aware that there is nothing among men more excellent
than religion, and that it ought to be defended with all one's might.
But as they are deceived in the matter of religion itself, so also
are they in the manner of its defence. For religion is to be
defended, not by putting to death, but by dying; not by cruelty but
by patient endurance; not by crime but by faith.... If you wish to
defend religion by bloodshed, by tortures and by crime, you no longer
defend it, but pollute and profane it. For nothing is so much a
matter of free will as religion."[2]

[1] Cf. Pascal, _Lettre provinciale_, xii.

[2] _Divin. Institut_., lib. v, cap. xx.

An era of official toleration began a few years later, when
Constantine published the Edict of Milan (313), which placed
Christianity and Paganism on practically the same footing. But the
Emperor did not always observe this law of toleration, whereby he
hoped to restore the peace of the Empire. A convert to Christian
views and policy, he thought it his duty to interfere in the
doctrinal and ecclesiastical quarrels of the day; and he claimed the
title and assumed the functions of a Bishop in externals. "You are
Bishops," he said one day, addressing a number of them, "whose
jurisdiction is within the Church; I also am a Bishop, ordained by
God to oversee whatever is external to the church."[1] This
assumption of power frequently worked positive harm to the Church,
although Constantine always pretended to further her interests.

[1] Eusebius, _Vita Constantini_, lib. iv, cap. xxiv.

When Arianism began to make converts of the Christian emperors, they
became very bitter toward the Catholic bishops. We are not at all
astonished, therefore, that one of the victims of this new
persecution, St. Hilary, of Poitiers, expressly repudiated and
condemned this regime of violence. He also proclaimed, in the name of
ecclesiastical tradition, the principle of religious toleration. He
deplored the fact that men in his day believed that they could defend
the rights of God and the Gospel of Jesus Christ by worldly intrigue.
He writes: "I ask you Bishops to tell me, whose favor did the
Apostles seek in preaching the Gospel, and on whose power did they
rely to preach Jesus Christ? To-day, alas! while the power of the
State enforces divine faith, men say that Christ is powerless. 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.... She is now exiling the very priests who once spread
her gospel. What a striking contrast between the Church of the past
and the Church of to-day."[1]

[1] _Liber contra Auxentium_, cap. iv.

This protest is the outcry of a man who had suffered from the
intolerance of the civil power, and who had learned by experience how
even a Christian State may hamper the liberty of the Church, and
hinder the true progress of the Gospel.

To sum up: As late as the middle of the fourth century and even
later, all the Fathers and ecclesiastical writers who discuss the
question of toleration are opposed to the use of force. To a man they
reject absolutely the death penalty, and enunciate that principle
which was to prevail in the Church down the centuries, i.e.,
_Ecclesia abhorret a sanguine_[1] (the Church has a horror of
bloodshed); and they declare faith must be absolutely free, and
conscience a domain wherein violence must never enter.[2]

[1] _Canons of Hippolytus_, in the third or fourth century, no.
74-75; Duchesne, _Les origines du culte chrétien_, 2e ed., p. 309;
Lactantius, _Divin. Institut_., lib. vi, cap. xx.

[2] Lactantius, _Divin. Institut_., lib. v, cap. xx.

The stern laws of the Old Testament have been abolished by the New.



CHAPTER II
SECOND PERIOD
FROM VALENTINIAN I To THEODOSIUS II
THE CHURCH AND THE CRIMINAL CODE OF THE CHRISTIAN EMPERORS AGAINST
HERESY

CONSTANTINE considered himself a bishop in externals. His Christian
successors inherited this title, and acted in accordance with it. One
of them, Theodosius II, voiced their mind when he said that "the
first duty of the imperial majesty was to protect the true religion,
whose worship was intimately connected with the prosperity of human
undertakings."[1]

[1] Theodosii II, _Novellæ_, tit. iii. (438).

This concept of the State implied the vigorous prosecution of heresy.
We therefore see the Christian emperors severely punishing all those
who denied the orthodox faith, or rather their own faith, which they
considered, rightly or wrongly, the faith of the Church. From the
reign of Valentinian I, and especially from the reign of Theodosius
I, the laws against heretics continued to increase with surprising
regularity. As many as sixty-eight were enacted in fifty-seven years.
They punished every form of heresy, whether it merely differed from
the orthodox faith in some minor detail, or whether it resulted in a
social upheaval. The penalties differed in severity; i.e., exile,
confiscation, the inability to transmit property. There were
different degrees of exile; from Rome, from the cities, from the
Empire. The legislators seemed to think that some sects would die out
completely, if they were limited solely to country places. But the
severer penalties, like the death penalty, were reserved for those
heretics who were disturbers of the public peace, e.g., the
Manicheans and the Donatists. The Manicheans, with their dualistic
theories, and their condemnation of marriage and its consequences,
were regarded as enemies of the State; a law of 428 treated them as
criminals "who had reached the highest degree of rascality."

The Donatists, who in Africa had incited the mob of Circumcelliones
to destroy the Catholic churches, had thrown that part of the Empire
into the utmost disorder. The State could not regard with
indifference such an armed revolution. Several laws were passed,
putting the Donatists on a par with the Manicheans, and in one
instance both were declared guilty of the terrible crime of treason.
But the death penalty was chiefly confined to certain sects of the
Manichcans. This law did not affect private opinions (except in the
case of the Encratites, the Saccophori, and the Hydroparastatæ), but
only those who openly practiced this heretical cult. The State did
not claim the right of entering the secret recesses of a man's
conscience. This law is all the more worthy of remark, inasmuch as
Diocletian had legislated more severely against the Manicheans in his
Edict of 287: "We thus decree," he writes Julianus, "against those
men, whose doctrines and whose magical arts you have made known to
us: the leaders are to be burned with their books, their followers
are to be put to death, or sent to the mines." In comparison with
such a decree, the legislation of the Christian Emperors was rather
moderate.

It is somewhat difficult to ascertain how far these laws were
enforced by the various Emperors. Besides, we are only concerned with
the spirit which inspired them. The State considered itself the
protector of the Church, and in this capacity placed its sword at the
service of the orthodox faith. It is our purpose to find out what the
churchman of the day thought of this attitude of the State.

The religious troubles caused chiefly by three heresies, Manicheism,
Donatism, and Priscillianism, gave them ample opportunity of
expressing their opinions.

. . . . . . . .

The Manicheans, driven from Rome and Milan, took refuge in Africa. It
must be admitted that many of them by their depravity merited the
full severity of the law. The initiated, or the elect, as they were
called, gave themselves up to unspeakable crimes. A number of them on
being arrested at Carthage confessed immoral practices that would not
bear repetition, and this debauchery was not peculiar to a few wicked
followers, but was merely the carrying out of the Manichean ritual,
which other heretics likewise admitted.[1]

[1] Augustine, _De hæresibus_, Hæres, 46.

The Church in Africa was not at all severe in its general treatment
of the sect. St. Augustine, especially, never called upon the civil
power to suppress it. For he could not forget that he himself had for
nine years (373-382), belonged to this sect, whose doctrines and
practices he now denounced. He writes the Manicheans: "Let those who
have never known the troubles of a mind in search of the truth
proceed against you with vigor. It is impossible for me to do so,
because for years I 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."[1] All he did was to hold public conferences with their
leaders, whose arguments he had no difficulty in refuting.[2]

[1] _Contra epistolam Manichæi quam vocant Fundamenti_, n. 2, 3.

[2] Cf. Dom Leclerc, _L'Afrique Chrétienne_, Paris, 1904, vol. ii,
pp. 113-122.

The conversions obtained in this way were rather numerous, even if
all were not equally sincere. All converts from the sect were
required, like their successors, the Cathari of the Middle Ages, to
denounce their brethren by name, under the threat of being refused
the pardon which their formal retraction merited. This denunciation
was what we would call to-day "a service for the public good." We,
however, know of no case in which the Church made use of this
information to punish the one who had been denounced.

. . . . . . . .

Donatism (from Donatus, the Bishop of Casæ Nigræ in Numidia) for a
time caused more trouble to the Church than Manicheism. It was more
of a schism than a heresy. The election to the see of Carthage of the
deacon Caecilian, who was accused of having handed over the
Scriptures to the Roman officials during the persecution of
Diocletian, was the occasion of the schism. Donatus and his followers
wished this nomination annulled, while their opponents defended its
validity. Accordingly, two councils were held to decide the question,
one at Rome (313), the other at Arles (314). Both decided against the
Donatists; they at once appealed to the Emperor, who confirmed the
decrees of the two councils (316). The schismatics in their anger
rose in rebellion, and a number of them known as Circumcelliones went
about stirring the people to revolt. But neither Constantine nor his
successors were inclined to allow armed rebellion to go unchallenged.
The Donatists were punished to the full extent of the law. They had
been the first, remarks St. Augustine, to invoke the aid of the
secular arm. "They met with the same fate as the accusers of Daniel;
the lions turned against them."[1]

[1] _Ep._ clxxxv, n. 7.

We need not linger over the details of this conflict, in which crimes
were committed on both sides. The Donatists, bitterly prosecuted by
the State, declared its action cruel and unjust. St. Optatus thus
answers them: "Will you tell me that it is not lawful to defend the
rights of God by the death penalty? ... If killing is an evil, the
guilty ones are themselves the cause of it."[1] "It is impossible,"
you say, "for the State to inflict the death penalty in the name of
God,"--But was it not in God's name that Moses,[2] Phinees,[3] and
Elias[4] put to death the worshippers of the golden calf, and the
apostates of the Old Law?--"These times are altogether different,"
you reply; "the New Law must not be confounded with the Old. Did not
Christ forbid St. Peter to use the sword?"[5] Yes, undoubtedly, but
Christ came to suffer, not to defend Himself.[6] The lot of
Christians is different from that of Christ.

[1] _De Schismate Donatistarum_, lib. iii. cap. vi.

[2] Exod. xxxii. 28.

[3] Numb. xxv. 7-9.

[4] 3 Kings xviii. 40.

[5] John xviii. 11.

[6] _De Schismate Don_., cap. vii.

It is in virtue, therefore, of the Old Law that St. Optatus defends
the State's interference in religious questions, and its infliction
of the death penalty upon heretics. This is evidently a different
teaching from the doctrine of toleration held by the Fathers of the
preceding age. But the other bishops of Africa did not share his
views.

In his dealings with the Donatists, St. Augustine was at first
absolutely tolerant, as he had been with the Manicheans. He thought
he could rely upon their good faith, and conquer their prejudices by
an honest discussion. "We have no intention," he writes to a Donatist
bishop, "of forcing men to enter our communion against their will. I
am desirous that the State cease its bitter persecution, but you in
turn ought to cease terrorizing us by your band of Circumcelliones. .
. . Let us discuss our differences from the standpoint of reason and
the sacred Scriptures."[1]

[1] Ep. xxiii, n. 7.

In one of his works, now lost, _Contra partem Donati_, he maintains
that it is wrong for the State to force schismatics to come back to
the Church.[1] At the most, he was ready to admit the justice of the
law of Theodosius, which imposed a fine of ten gold pieces upon those
schismatics who had committed open acts of violence. But no man was
to be punished by the state for private heretical opinions.[2]

[1] Retract. lib. II, cap. v.

[2] Ep. clxxxv, n. 25.

The imperial laws were carried out in some cities of North Africa,
because many of St. Augustine's colleagues did not share his views.
Many Donatists were brought back to the fold by these vigorous
measures. St. Augustine, seeing that in some cases the use of force
proved more beneficial than his policy of absolute toleration,
changed his views, and formulated his theory of moderate persecution:
_temperata severitas_.[1]

[1] Ep. xciii, n. 10.

Heretics and schismatics, he maintained, were to be regarded as sheep
who had gone astray. It is the shepherd's duty to run after them, and
bring them back to the fold by using, if occasion require it, the
whip and the goad.[1] There is no need of using cruel tortures like
the rack, the iron pincers, or sending them to the stake; flogging is
sufficient. Besides his mode of punishment is not at all cruel, for
it is used by schoolmasters, parents, and even by bishops while
presiding as judges in their tribunals.[2]

[1] Ep. clxxxv, n. 23.

[2] Ep. cxxxxiii, n. 2.

In his opinion, the severest penalty that ought to be inflicted upon
the Donatists is exile for their bishops and priests, and fines for
their followers. He strongly denounced the death penalty as contrary
to Christian charity.[1]

[1] Ep. clxxxv, n. 26; Ep. xciii, n. 10.

Both the imperial officers and the Donatists themselves objected to
this theory.

The officers of the Emperor wished to apply the law in all its rigor,
and to sentence the schismatics to death, when they deemed it proper.
St. Augustine adjures them, in the name of "Christian and Catholic
meekness,"[1] not to go to this extreme, no matter how great the
crimes of the Donatists had been. "You have penalties enough," he
writes, "exile, for instance, without torturing their bodies or
putting them to death."[2]

[1] Ep. clxxxv, n. 26; Ep. cxxxix, n. 2.

[2] Ep. cxxxiii, n. 1.

And when the proconsul Apringius quoted St. Paul to justify the use
of the sword, St. Augustine replied: "The apostle has well said, 'for
he beareth not the sword in vain.'[1] But we must carefully
distinguish between temporal and spiritual affairs."[2] "Because it
is just to inflict the death penalty for crimes against the common
law, it does not follow that it is right to put heretics and
schismatics to death." "Punish the guilty ones, but do not put them
to death." "For," he writes another proconsul, "if you decide upon
putting them to death, you will thereby prevent our denouncing them
before your tribunal. They will then rise up against us with greater
boldness. And if you tell us that we must either denounce them or
risk death at their hands, we will not hesitate a moment, but will
choose death ourselves."[3]

[1] Rom. xiii. 4.

[2] Ep. cxxxiv, n. 3.

[3] Ep. c, n. 2; cf. Ep. cxxxix, n. 2.

Despite these impassioned appeals for mercy, some Donatists were put
to death. This prompted the schismatics everywhere to deny that the
State had any right to inflict the death penalty or any other penalty
upon them.[1]

[1] _Contra Epistolam Parmeniani_, lib. i. cap. xvi.

St. Augustine at once undertook to defend the rights of the State. He
declared that the death penalty, which on principle he disapproved,
might in some instances be lawfully inflicted. Did not the crimes of
some of these rebellious schismatics merit the most extreme penalty
of the law? "They kill the souls of men, and the State merely
tortures their bodies; they cause eternal death, and then complain
when the State makes them suffer temporal death."[1]

[1] _In Joann. Tractat_. xi, cap. xv.

But this is only an argument _ad hominem_. St. Augustine means to say
that, even if the Donatists were put to death, they had no reason to
complain. He does not admit, in fact, that they had been cruelly
treated. The victims they allege are false martyrs or suicides.[1] He
denounces those Catholics who, outside of cases of self-defense, had
murdered their opponents.[2]

[1] Ibid.

[2] Ep. lxxxvii, n. 8.

The State also has the perfect right to impose the lesser penalties
of flogging, fines, and exile. "For he (the prince) beareth not the
sword in vain," says the Apostle. "For he is God's minister; an
avenger to execute wrath upon him that doeth evil."[1] It is not true
to claim that St. Paul here meant merely the spiritual sword of
excommunication.[2] The context proves clearly that he was speaking
of the material sword. Schism and heresy are crimes which, like
poisoning, are punishable by the State.[3] Princes must render an
account to God for the way they govern. It is natural that they
should desire the peace of the Church, their mother, who gave them
spiritual life.[4]

[1] Rom. xiii. 4; Augustine, _Contra litteras Petiliani_, lib. ii,
cap. lxxxiii-lxxxiv; _Contra Epist. Parmeniani_, lib. i, cap. xvi.

[2] _Contra Epist. Parmeniani_, ibid.

[3] Ibid.

[4] _In Joann. Tractatus_ xi, cap. xiv.

The State, therefore, has the right to suppress heresy, because the
public tranquillity is disturbed by religious dissensions.[1] Her
intervention also works for the good of individuals. For, on the one
hand, there are some sincere but timid souls who are prevented by
their environment from abandoning their schism; they are encouraged
to return to the fold by the civil power, which frees them from a
most humiliating bondage.[2]

[1] Ep. lxxxii, n. 8.

[2] Ep. clxxxv, n. 13.

On the other hand, there are many schismatics in good faith who would
never attain the truth unless they were forced to enter into
themselves and examine their false position. The civil power
admonishes such souls to abandon their errors; it does not punish
them for any crime.[1] The Church's rebellious children are not
forced to believe, but are induced by a salutary fear to listen to
the true doctrine.[2]

[1] Ep. xciii, n. 10.

[2] _Contra litteras Petiliani_, lib. ii. cap. lxxxiii; Ep. clxxxv,
n. 21; Ep. xciii, n. 4.

Conversions obtained in this way are none the less sincere.
Undoubtedly, absolute toleration is best in theory, but in practice a
certain amount of coercion is more helpful to souls. We must judge
both methods by their fruits.

In a word, St. Augustine was at first, by temperament, an advocate of
absolute toleration, but later on experience led him to prefer a
mitigated form of coercion. When his opponents objected--using words
similar to those of St. Hilary and the early Fathers--that "the true
Church suffered persecution, but did not persecute," he quoted Sara's
persecution of Agar.[1] He was wrong to quote the Old Testament as
his authority. But we ought at least be thankful that he did not cite
other instances more incompatible with the charity of the Gospel. His
instinctive Christian horror of the death penalty kept him from
making this mistake.

[1] Ep. clxxxv, n. 10.

. . . . . . . .

Priscillianism brought out clearly the views current in the fourth
century regarding the punishment due to heresy. Very little was known
of Priscillian until lately; and despite the publication of several
of his works in 1889, he still remains an enigmatical personality.[1]
His erudition and critical spirit were, however, so remarkable, that
an historian of weight declares that henceforth we must rank him with
St. Jerome.[2] But his writings were, in all probability, far from
orthodox. We can easily find in them traces of Gnosticism and
Manicheism. He was accused of Manicheism although he anathematized
Manes. He was likewise accused of magic. He denied the charge, and
declared that every magician deserved death, according to Exodus:
"Wizards thou shalt not suffer to live."[3] He little dreamt when he
wrote these words that he was pronouncing his own death sentence.

[1] On Priscillian and his work, cf. Dom Leclerc, _L'Espagne
Chrétienne_, Paris, 1906, ch. iii; Friedrich Paret, _Priscillianus_,
Würzburg, 1891; Kuenstle, _Antipriscilliana_, Freiburg, 1905.

[2] Cf. Leclerc, p. 164.

[3] Exod. xxii. 18.

Although condemned by the council of Saragossa (380), he nevertheless
became bishop of Abila. Later on, he went to Rome to plead his cause
before Pope Damasus, but was refused a hearing. He next turned to St.
Ambrose, who likewise would not hearken to his defense.[1] In 385 a
council was assembled at Bordeaux to consider his case anew. He at
once appealed to the Emperor, "so as not to be judged by the
bishops," as Sulpicius Severus tells us, a fatal mistake which cost
him his life.

[1] Cf. Sulp. Sev. _Chronicon_, ii. P.L., vol. xx, col. 155-159;
_Dialogi_, iii. 11-23, ibid., col. 217-219.

He was then conducted to the Emperor at Treves, where he was tried
before a secular court, bishops Idacius and Ithacius appearing as his
accusers. St. Martin, who was in Treves at the time, was scandalized
that a purely ecclesiastical matter should be tried before a secular
judge. His biographer, Sulpicius Severus, tells us "that he kept
urging Ithacius to withdraw his accusation." He also entreated
Maximus not to shed the blood of these unfortunates, for the bishops
could meet the difficulty by driving the heretics from the churches.
He asserted that to make the State judge in a matter of doctrine was
a cruel, unheard-of violation of the divine law.

As long as St. Martin remained in Treves, the trial was put off, and
before he left the city, he made Maximus promise not to shed the
blood of Priscillian and his companions. But soon after St. Martin's
departure, the Emperor, instigated by the relentless bishops Rufus
and Magnus, forgot his promise of mercy, and entrusted the case to
the prefect Evodius, a cruel and hard-hearted official. Priscillian
appeared before him twice, _and was convicted of the crime of magic_.
He was made to confess under torture that he had given himself up to
magical arts, and that he had prayed naked before women in midnight
assemblies. Evodius declared him guilty, and placed him under guard
until the evidence had been presented to the Emperor. After reading
the records of the trial, Maximus declared that Priscillian and his
companions deserved death. Ithacius, perceiving how unpopular he
would make himself with his fellow-bishops, if he continued to play
the part of prosecutor in a capital case, withdrew. A new trial was
therefore ordered. This subterfuge of the Bishop did not change
matters at all, because by this time the case had been practically
settled. Patricius, the imperial treasurer, presided at the second
trial. On his findings, Priscillian and some of his followers were
condemned to death. Others of the sect were exiled.

This deplorable trial is often brought forward as an argument against
the Church. It is important, therefore, for us to ascertain its
precise character, and to discover who was to blame for it.

The real cause of Priscillian's condemnation was the accusation of
heresy made by a Catholic bishop. Technically, he was tried in the
secular courts for the crime of magic, but the State could not
condemn him to death on any other charge, once Ithacius had ceased to
appear against him.

It is right, therefore, to attribute Priscillian's death to the
action of an individual bishop, but it is altogether unjust to hold
the Church responsible.[1]

[1] Bernays, _Ueber die Chronik des Sulp. Sev_., Berlin, 1861, p. 13,
was the first to point out that Priscillian was condemned not for
heresy, but for the crime of magic. This is the commonly received
view to-day.

In this way contemporary writers viewed the matter. The Christians of
the fourth century were all but unanimous, says an historian,[1] in
denouncing the penalty inflicted in this famous trial. Sulpicius
Severus, despite his horror of the Priscillianists, repeats over and
over again that their condemnation was a deplorable example; he even
stigmatizes it as a crime. St. Ambrose speaks just as strongly.[2] We
know how vehemently St. Martin disapproved of the attitude of
Ithacius and the Emperor Maximus; he refused for a long time to hold
communion with the bishops who had in any way taken part in the
condemnation of Priscillian.[3] Even in Spain, where public opinion
was so divided, Ithacius was everywhere denounced. At first some
defended him on the plea of the public good, and on account of the
high authority of those who judged the case. But after a time he
became so generally hated that, despite his excuse that he merely
followed the advice of others, he was driven from his bishopric.[4]
This outburst of popular indignation proves conclusively that, if the
Church did call upon the aid of the secular arm in religious
questions, she did not authorize it to use the sword against
heretics.

[1] Puéch, _Journal des Savants_, May 1891, p. 250.

[2] Cf. Gams, _Kirchengeschichte von Spanien_, vol. ii. p. 382.

[3] Sulpicius Severus, _Dialogi_ iii, 11-13.

[4] Sulp. Sev., _Chronicon_, loc. cit.

The blood of Priscillian was the seed of Priscillianism. But his
disciples certainly went further than their master; they became
thoroughgoing Manicheans. This explains St. Jerome's[1] and St.
Augustine's[2] strong denunciations of the Spanish heresy. The gross
errors of the Priscillianists in the fifth century attracted in 447
the attention of Pope St. Leo. He reproaches them for breaking the
bonds of marriage, rejecting all idea of chastity, and contravening
all rights, human and divine. He evidently held Priscillian
responsible for all these teachings. That is why he rejoices in the
fact that "the secular princes, horrified at this sacrilegious folly,
executed the author of these errors with several of his followers."
He even declares that this action of the State is helpful to the
Church. He writes: "the Church, in the spirit of Christ, ought to
denounce heretics, but should never put them to death; still the
severe laws of Christian princes redound to her good, for some
heretics, through fear of punishment, are won back to the true
faith."[3] St. Leo in this passage is rather severe. "While he does
not yet require the death penalty for heresy, he accepts it in the
name of the public good. It is greatly to be feared that the
churchmen of the future will go a great deal further."

[1] _De Viris illustribus_, 121-123.

[2] _De hæresibus_, cap. 70.

[3] Ep. xv, _ad Turribium_, P.L., vol. liv, col. 679-680.

The Church is endeavoring to state her position accurately on the
suppression of heresy. She declares that nothing will justify her
shedding of human blood. This is evident from the conduct and
writings of St. Augustine, St. Martin, St. Ambrose, St. Leo
(_cruentas refugit ultiones_), and Ithacius himself. But to what
extent should she accept the aid of the civil power, when it
undertakes to defend her teachings by force?

Some writers, like St. Optatus of Mileve, and Priscillian, later on
the victim of his own teaching, believed that the Christian State
ought to use the sword against heretics guilty of crimes against the
public welfare; and, strangely enough, they quote the Old Testament
as their authority. Without giving his approval to this theory, St.
Leo the Great did not condemn the practical application of it in the
case of the Priscillianists. The Church, according to him, while
assuming no responsibility for them, reaped the benefit of the
rigorous measures taken by the State.

But most of the Bishops absolutely condemned the infliction of the
death penalty for heresy, even if the heresy was incidentally the
cause of social disturbances. Such was the view of St. Augustine,[1]
St. Martin, St. Ambrose, many Spanish bishops, and a bishop of Gaul
named Theognitus;[2] in a word, of all who disapproved of the
condemnation of Priscillian. As a rule, they protested in the name of
Christian charity; they voiced the new spirit of the Gospel of
Christ. At the other extremity of the Catholic world, St. John
Chrysostom re-echoes their teaching. "To put a heretic to death," he
says, "is an unpardonable crime."[3]

[1] Ep. c., n. 1.

[2] Cf. Sulpicius Severus, _Dialogi_, iii, 12, loc. cit., col. 218.

[3] _Homilia_ xlvi,  in Matthæum, cap. 1.

But in view of the advantage to the Church, either from the
maintenance of the public peace, or from the conversion of
individuals, the State may employ a certain amount of force against
heretics.

"God forbids us to put them to death," continues St. Chrysostom,
"just as he forbade the servants to gather up the cockle,"[1] because
he regards their conversion as possible; but he does not forbid us
doing all in our power to prevent their public meetings, and their
preaching of false doctrine. St. Augustine adds that they may be
punished by fine and exile. To this extent the churchmen of the day
accepted the aid of the secular arm. Nor were they content with
merely accepting it. They declared that the State had not only the
right to help the Church in suppressing heresy, but that she was in
duty bound to do so. In the seventh century, St. Isidore of Seville
discusses this question in practically this same terms as St.
Augustine.[2]

[1] Ibid., cap. ii.

[2] We think it important to give Lea's resume of this period. It
will show how a writer, although trying to be impartial, may distort
the facts: "It was only sixty-two years after the slaughter of
Priscillian and his followers had excited so much horror, that Leo I,
when the heresy seemed to be reviving, in 447, not only justified the
act, but declared that _if the followers of heresy so damnable were
allowed to live_, there would be an end to human and divine law. The
final step had been taken, and _the Church was definitely pledged to
the suppression of heresy at whatever cost_. It is impossible not to
attribute to ecclesiastical influence the successive Edicts by which,
from the time of Theodosius the Great, persistence in heresy was
punished by death. A powerful impulse to this development is to be
found in the responsibility which grew upon the Church from its
connection with the State. When it could influence the monarch and
procure from him Edicts condemning heretics to exile, to the mines,
_and even to death_, it felt that God had put into its hands powers
to be exercised and not to be neglected" (vol. i, p. 215). If we read
carefully the words of St. Leo (p. 27, note 1), we shall see that the
Emperors are responsible for the words that Lea ascribes to the Pope.
It is hard to understand how he can assert that the imperial Edicts
decreeing the death penalty are due to ecclesiastical influence, when
we notice that nearly all the churchmen of the day protested against
such a penalty.



CHAPTER III
THIRD PERIOD
FROM 1100 TO 1250
THE REVIVAL OF THE MANICHEAN HERESIES IN THE MIDDLE AGES

FROM the sixth to the eleventh century, heretics, with the exception
of certain Manichean sects, were hardly ever persecuted.[1] In the
sixth century, for instance, the Arians lived side by side with the
Catholics, under the protection of the State, in a great many Italian
cities, especially in Ravenna and Pavia.[2]

[1] In 556, Manicheans were put to death in Ravenna, in accordance
with the laws of Justinian.

[2] We may still visit at Ravenna the Arian and Catholic baptisteries
of the sixth century. Cf. Gregorii Magni _Dialogi_, iii, cap. xxii,
_Mon. Germ_., ibid., pp. 534-535.

During the Carlovingian period, we come across a few heretics, but
they gave little trouble.

The _Adoptianism_ of Elipandus, Archbishop of Toledo, and Felix,
Bishop of Urgel, was abandoned by its authors, after it had been
condemned by Pope Adrian I, and several provincial councils.[1]

[1] Einhard: _Annales_, ann. 792, in the _Mon. Germ. SS_., vol. 1, p.
179.

A more important heresy arose in the ninth century. Godescalcus, a
monk of Orbais, in the diocese of Soissons, taught that Jesus Christ
did not die for all men. His errors on predestination were condemned
as heretical by the Council of Mainz (848); and Quierzy (849); and he
himself was sentenced to be flogged and then imprisoned for life in
the monastery of Hautvilliers.[1] But this punishment of flogging was
a purely ecclesiastical penalty. Archbishop Hincmar, in ordering it,
declared that he was acting in accordance with the rule of St.
Benedict, and a canon of the Council of Agde.

[1] "In nostra parochia ... monasteriali costudiæ mancipatus est."
Hincmar's letter to Pope Nicholas I, _Hincmari Opera_, ed. Sirmond,
Paris, 1645, vol. ii, p. 262.

The imprisonment to which Godescalcus was subjected was likewise a
monastic punishment. Practically, it did not imply much more than the
confinement strictly required by the rules of his convent. It is
interesting to note that imprisonment for crime is of purely
ecclesiastical origin. The Roman law knew nothing of it. It was at
first a penalty peculiar to monks and clerics, although later on
laymen also were subjected to it.

About the year 1000, the Manicheans, under various names, came from
Bulgaria, and spread over western Europe.[1] We meet them about this
time in Italy, Spain, France, and Germany. Public sentiment soon
became bitter against them, and they became the victims of a general,
though intermittent, persecution. Orléans, Arras, Cambrai, Châlons,
Goslai, Liège, Soissons, Ravenna, Monteforte, Asti, and Toulouse
became the field of their propaganda, and often the place of their
execution. Several heretics like Peter of Bruys, Henry of Lausanne,
Arnold of Brescia, and Éon de l'Étoile (Eudo de Stella), likewise
troubled the Church, who to stop their bold propaganda used force
herself, or permitted the State or the people to use it.

[1] Cf. C. Schmidt, _Histoire et doctrine de la secte des Cathares_,
vol. 1, pp. 16-54, 82.

It was at Orleans in 1022 that Catholics for the first time during
this period treated heretics with cruelty. An historian of the time
assures us that this cruelty was due to both king and people: _regis
jussu et universæ plebis consensu_.[1] King Robert, dreading the
disastrous effects of heresy upon his kingdom, and the consequent
loss of souls, sent thirteen of the principal clerics and laymen of
the town to the stake. It has been pointed out that this penalty was
something unheard-of at the time. "Robert was therefore the
originator of the punishment which he decreed."[2] It might be said,
however, that this penalty originated with the people, and that the
king merely followed out the popular will.

[1] Raoul Gleber, _Hist_., lib. iii, cap. viii, _Hist. des Gaules_,
vol. x, p. 38. For other authorities consult Julien Havet, _L'hérésie
et le bras séculier au moyen âge_, in his _OEuvres_, Paris, 1896,
vol. ii, pp. 128-130.

[2] Julien Havet, op. cit., pp. 128, 129.

For, as an old chronicler tells us, this execution at Orleans, was
not an isolated fact; in other places the populace hunted out
heretics, and burned them outside the city walls.[1]

[1] _Cartulaire de l'abbaye de Saint-Père de Chartres_, ed. Guérard,
vol. i, p. 108 and seq.; cf. _Hist. des Gaules_, vol. x, p. 539.

Several years later, the heretics who swarmed into the diocese of
Châlons attracted the attention of the Bishop of the city, who was
puzzled how to deal with them. He consulted Wazo, the Bishop of
Liège, who tells us that the French were "infuriated" against
heretics. These words would seem to prove that the heretics of the
day were prosecuted more vigorously than the documents we possess go
to show. It is probable that the Bishop of Châlons detested the
"fury" of the persecutors. We will see later on the answer that Wazo
sent him.

During the Christmas holidays of 1051 and 1052, a number of
Manicheans or Cathari, as they were called, were executed at Goslar,
after they had refused to renounce their errors. Instead of being
burned, as in France, "they were hanged."

These heretics were executed by the orders of Henry III, and in his
presence. But the chronicler of the event remarks that every one
applauded the Emperor's action, because he had prevented the spread
of the leprosy of heresy, and thus saved many souls.[1]

[1] Heriman, Aug. _Chronicon_, ann. 1052, _Mon. Germ, SS_., vol. v.
p. 130. Cf. Lamberti, _Annales_, 1053, ibid., p. 155.

Twenty-five years later, in 1076 or 1077, a Catharan of the district
of Cambrai appeared before the Bishop of Cambrai and his clerics, and
was condemned as a heretic. The Bishop's officers and the crowd at
once seized him, led him outside the city's gates, and while he knelt
and calmly prayed, they burned him at the stake.[1]

[1] Chronicon S. Andreæ Camerac, iii, 3, in the _Mon. Germ. SS_.,
vol. vii, p. 540. We have a letter of Gregory VII in which he
denounces the irregular character of this execution. Ibid., p. 540,
n. 31.

A little while before this the Archbishop of Ravenna accused a man
named Vilgard of heresy, but what the result of the trial was, we
cannot discover. But we do know that during this period other persons
were prosecuted for heresy, and that they were beheaded or sent to
the stake.

At Monteforte near Asti, the Cathari had, about 1034, an important
settlement. The Marquis Mainfroi, his brother, the Bishop of Asti,
and several noblemen of the city, united to attack the castrum; they
captured a number of heretics, and on their refusing to return to the
orthodox faith, they sent them to the stake.

Other followers of the sect were arrested by the officers of
Eriberto, the Archbishop of Milan, who endeavored to win them back to
the Catholic faith. Instead of being converted, they tried to spread
their heresy throughout the city. The civil magistrates, realizing
their corrupting influence, had a stake erected in the public square
with a cross in front of it; and in spite of the Archbishop's
protest, they required the heretics either to reverence the cross
they had blasphemed, or to enter the flaming pile. Some were
converted, but the majority of them, covering their faces with their
hands, threw themselves into the flames, and were soon burned to
ashes.

Few details have come down to us concerning the fate of the
Manicheans arrested at this time in Sardinia and in Spain;
_exterminati sunt_, says a chronicler.[1]

[1] "Exterminati sunt," says Raoul Glaber, _Hist_., lib. ii, cap.
xii, _Hist. des Gaules_, vol. x, p. 23. _Exterminati_ may mean
banished as well as put to death. The context, however, seems to
refer to the death penalty.

The Cathari of Toulouse were also arrested, and executed. A few years
later, in 1114, the Bishop of Soissons arrested a number of heretics
and cast them into prison until he could make up his mind how to deal
with them. While he was absent at Beauvais, asking the advice of his
fellow-bishops assembled there in council, the populace, fearing the
weakness of the clergy, attacked the prison, dragged forth the
heretics, and burned them at the stake. Guibert de Nogent does not
blame them in the least. He simply calls attention to "the just zeal"
shown on this occasion by "the people of God," to stop the spread of
heresy.

In 1144 the Bishop of Liège, Adalbero II, compelled a number of
Cathari to confess their heresy; "he hoped," he said, "with the grace
of God, to lead them to repent." But the populace, less
kindly-hearted, rushed upon them, and proceeded to burn them at the
stake; the Bishop had the greatest difficulty to save the majority of
them. He then wrote to Pope Lucius II asking him what was the proper
penalty for heresy.[1] We do not know what answer he received.

[1] Letter of the church of Liège to Pope Lucius II, in Martène,
_Amplissima collectio_, vol. i, col. 776-777.

About the same time a similar dispute arose between the Archbishop
and the people of Cologne regarding two or three heretics who had
been arrested and condemned. The clergy asked them to return to the
Church. But the people, "moved by an excess of zeal," says an
historian of the time, seized them, and despite the Archbishop and
his clerics led them to the stake. "And marvelous to relate,"
continues the chronicler, "they suffered their tortures at the stake,
not only with patience, but with joy."[2]

[1] Letter of Evervin, provost of Steinfeld to St. Bernard, cap. ii,
in _Bernardi Opera_, Migne, P.L., vol. clxxxii, col. 677.

One of the most famous heretics of the twelfth century was Peter of
Bruys. His hostility toward the clergy helped his propaganda in
Gascony. To show his contempt for the Catholic religion, he burned a
great number of crosses one Good Friday, and roasted meat in the
flames. This angered the people against him. He was seized and burned
at St. Giles about the year 1126.[1]

Henry of Lausanne was his most illustrious disciple. We have told the
story of his life elsewhere.[1] St. Bernard opposed him vigorously,
and succeeded in driving him from the chief cities of Toulouse and
the Albigeois, where he carried on his harmful propaganda. He was
arrested a short time afterwards (1145 or 1146), and sentenced to
life imprisonment, either in one of the prisons of the Archbishop, or
in some monastery of Toulouse.

[1] _Vie de Saint Bernard_, 1st edit., Paris, 1895, vol. ii, pp.
218-233.

Arnold of Brescia busied himself more with questions of discipline
than with dogma; the only reforms he advocated were social
reforms.[1] He taught that the clergy should not hold temporal
possessions, and he endeavored to drive the papacy frown Rome. In
this conflict, which involved the property of ecclesiastics and the
temporal power of the Church, he was, although successful for a time,
finally vanquished.[2] St. Bernard invoked the aid of the secular arm
to rid France of him. Later on Pope Eugenius III excommunicated him.
He was executed during the pontificate of Adrian IV, in 1155. He was
arrested in the city of Rome after a riot which was quelled by the
Emperor Frederic, now the ally of the Pope, and condemned to be
strangled by the prefect of the city. His body was then burned, and
his ashes thrown into the Tiber, "for fear," says a writer of the
time, "the people would gather them up, and honor them as the ashes
of a martyr."[3]

[1] For details concerning Arnold of Brescia, cf. Vacandard, _Vie de
Saint Bernard_, vol. ii, pp. 235-258, 465-469.

[2] Otto Frising, _Gesta Friderici_, lib. ii. cap. xx. Cf. _Historia
Pontificalis_, in the _Mon. Germ. SS_., vol. xx, p. 538.

[3] Boso, _Vita Hadriani_, in Watterich, _Romanorum pontificum Vitæ_,
vol. ii. pp. 326, 330.

In 1148, the Council of Rheims judged the case of the famous Éon de
l'Etoile (Eudo de Stella). This strange individual had acquired a
reputation for sanctity while living a hermit's life. One day, struck
by the words of the liturgy, _Per Eum qui venturus est judicare vivos
et mortuos_, he conceived the idea that he was the Son of God. He
made some converts among the lowest classes, who, not content with
denying the faith, soon began to pillage the churches. Éon was
arrested for causing these disturbances, and was brought before Pope
Eugenius III, then presiding over the Council of Rheims. He was
judged insane, and in all kindness was placed under the charge of
Suger, the Abbot of St. Denis. He was confined to a monastery, where
he died soon after.

Strangely enough, some of his disciples persisted in believing in
him; "they preferred to die rather than renounce their belief," says
an historian of the time. They were handed over to the secular arm
and perished at the stake. In decreeing this penalty, the civil power
was undoubtedly influenced by the example of Robert the Pious.

It is easy to determine the responsibility of the Church, i.e., her
bishops and priests, in this series of executions (1020 to 1150). At
Orleans, the populace and the king put the heretics to death; the
historians of the time tell us plainly that the clergy merely
declared the orthodox doctrine. It was the same at Goslar. At Asti,
the Bishop's name appears with the names of the other nobles who had
the Cathari executed, but it seems certain that he exercised no
special authority in the case. At Milan, the civil magistrates
themselves, against the Archbishop's protest, gave the heretics the
choice between reverencing the cross, and the stake.

At Soissons, the populace, feeling certain that the clergy would not
resort to extreme measures, profited by the Bishop's absence to burn
the heretics they detested. At Liège, the Bishop managed to save a
few heretics from the violence of the angry mob. At Cologne, the
Archbishop was not so successful; the people rose in their anger and
burned the heretics before they could be tried. Peter of Bruys and
the Manichean at Cambrai were both put to death by the people. Arnold
of Brescia, deserted by fortune, fell a victim to his political
adversaries; the prefect of Rome was responsible for his
execution.[1]

[1] The case of Arnold, however, is not so clear. The _Annales
Augustani minores_ (_Mon. Germ. SS_., vol. x, p. 8) declare that the
Pope hanged the rebel. Another anonymous writer (cf. Tanon, _Hist.
des tribunaux de l'Inq. en France_, p. 456, n. 2) says with more
probability, that Adrian merely degraded him. According to Otto of
Freisingen (_Mon. Germ. SS_., vol. xx, p. 404), Arnold _principis
examini reservatus est, ad ultimum a præfecto Urbis ligno adactus_.
Finally, Geroch de Reichersberg tells us (_De investigatione
Antichristi_, lib. i, cap. xiii, ed. Scheibelberger, 1875, pp. 88-89)
that Arnold was taken from the ecclesiastical prison and put to death
by the servants of the Roman prefect. In any case, politics rather
than religion was the cause of his death.

In a word, in all these executions, the Church either kept aloof, or
plainly manifested her disapproval.

During this period, we know of only one bishop, Théodwin of Liège,
who called upon the secular arm to punish heretics. This is all the
more remarkable because his predecessor, Wazo, and his successor,
Adalbero II, both protested in word and deed against the cruelty of
both sovereign and people.

Wazo, his biographer tells us, strongly condemned the execution of
heretics at Goslar, and, had he been there, would have acted as St.
Martin of Tours in the case of Priscillian.[1] His reply to the
letter of the Bishop of Châlons reveals his inmost thoughts on the
subject. "To use the sword of the civil authority," he says, "against
the Manicheans,[2] is contrary to the spirit of the Church, and the
teaching of her Divine Founder. The Saviour ordered us to let the
cockle grow with the good grain until the harvest time, lest in
uprooting the cockle we uproot also the wheat with it.[3] Moreover,
continues Wazo, those who are cockle to-day may be converted
to-morrow, and be garnered in as wheat at the harvest time.
Therefore, they should be allowed to live. The only penalty we should
use against them is excommunication."[4]

The Bishop of Liège, quoting this parable of Christ which St.
Chrysostom had quoted before him, interprets it in a more liberal
fashion than the Bishop of Constantinople. For he not only condemns
the death penalty, but all recourse to the secular arm.

[1] _Vita Vasonis_, cap. xxv, xxvi, Migne, P.L., vol. cxlii, col.
753.

[2] Ibid., col. 752.

[3] Matt. xiii. 29-30.

[4] _Vita Vasonis_, loc. cit., col. 753.

Peter Cantor, one of the best minds of northern France in the twelfth
century, also protested against the infliction of the death penalty
for heresy, "Whether," he says, "the Cathari are proved guilty of
heresy, or whether they freely admit their guilt, they ought not to
be put to death, unless they attack the Church in armed rebellion."
For the Apostle said, "A man that is a heretic, after the first and
second admonition, avoid;" he did not say: "Kill him." "Imprison
heretics if you will, but do not put them to death."[1]

[1] _Verbum abbreviatum_, cap. lxxviii, Migne, P.L., vol. ccv, col.
231.

Geroch of Reichersberg, a famous German of the same period, a
disciple and friend of St. Bernard, speaks in a similar strain of the
execution of Arnold of Brescia. He was most anxious that the Church,
and especially the Roman curia, should not be held responsible for
his death. "The priesthood," he says, "ought to refrain from the
shedding of blood." There is no doubt whatever that this heretic
taught a wicked doctrine, but banishment, imprisonment, or some
similar penalty would leave been ample punishment for his
wrong-doing, without sentencing him to death.

St. Bernard had also asked that Arnold be banished. The execution of
heretics at Cologne gave him a chance to state his views on the
suppression of heresy. The courage with which these fanatics met
death rather disconcerted Evervin, the provost of Steinfeld, who
wrote the Abbot of Clairvaux for an explanation.[1]

[1] Evervin's letter in Migne, P.L., vol. clxxxii, col. 676 and seq.

"Their courage," he replies, "arose from mere stubbornness; the devil
inspired them with this constancy you speak of, just as he prompted
Judas to hang himself. These heretics are not real but counterfeit
martyrs (_perfidiæ martyres_). But while I may approve the zeal of
the people for the faith, I cannot at all approve their excessive
cruelty; for faith is a matter of persuasion, not of force: _fides
suadenda est, non imponenda_."[1]

[1] In Cantica, Sermo lxiv, n. 12.

On principle, the Abbot of Clairvaux blames the bishops and even the
secular princes, who through indifference or less worthy reasons fail
to hunt for the foxes who are ravaging the vineyards of the Savior.
But once the guilty ones have been discovered, he declares that only
kindness should be used to win them back. "Let us capture them by
arguments and not by force,"[1] i.e., let us first refute their
errors, and if possible bring them back into the fold of the Catholic
Church.

[1] Ibid., n. 8.

If they stubbornly refuse to be converted, let the bishop
excommunicate them, to prevent their doing further injury; if
occasion require it, let the civil power arrest them and put them in
prison. Imprisonment is a severe enough penalty, because it prevents
their dangerous propaganda:[1] _aut corrigendi sunt, ne pereant; aut,
ne perimant, coercendi_.[2] St. Bernard was always faithful to his
own teaching, as we learn from his mission in Languedoc.[3]

[1] _De Consideratione_, lib. iii, cap. i, n. 3.

[2] Ibid.; cf. Ep. 241 and 242. For more details, cf. Vacandard, _Vie
de Saint Bernard_, vol. ii, pp. 211-216, 461-462.

[3] Cf. Vacandard, op. cit., vol. ii, pp. 217-234.

Having ascertained the views of individual churchmen, we now turn to
the councils of the period, and find them voicing the self-same
teaching. In 1049, the Council held at Rheims by Pope Leo IX declared
all heretics excommunicated, but said nothing of any temporal
penalty, nor did it empower the secular princes to aid in the
suppression of heresy.[1]

[1] Cf. Labbe, _Concilia_, vol. ix, col. 1042.

The Council of Toulouse in 1119, presided over by Calixtus II, and
the General Council of the Lateran, in 1139, were a little more
severe; they not only issued a solemn bull of excommunication against
heretics, but ordered the civil power to prosecute them: _per
potentates exteras coerceri præcipimus._[1] This order was,
undoubtedly an answer to St. Bernard's request of Louis VII to banish
Arnold from his kingdom. The only penalty referred to by both these
councils was imprisonment.

[1] Council of Toulouse, can. 3, Labbe, vol. x, col. 857; Council of
Lateran, can. 23, ibid., col. 1008.

The Council of Rheims in 1148, presided over by Eugenius III, did not
even speak of this penalty, but simply forbade secular princes to
give support or asylum to heretics.[1] We know, moreover, that at
this council Éon de l'Etoile was merely sentenced to the seclusion of
a monastery.

[1] Can. 18, Labbe, _Concilia_, vol. x, col. 1113.

In fact, the execution of heretics which occurred during the eleventh
and twelfth centuries were due to the impulse of the moment. As an
historian has remarked: "These heretics were not punished for a crime
against the law; for there was no legal crime of heresy and no
penalty prescribed. But the men of the day adopted what they
considered a measure of public safety, to put an end to a public
danger."[1]

[1] Julien Havet, _L'hérésie et le bras seculier au moyen âge_, in
his OEuvres, vol. ii, p. 134.

Far from encouraging the people and the princes in their attitude,
the Church through her bishops, teachers, and councils continued to
declare that she had a horror of bloodshed: _A domo sacerdotis
sanguinis questio remota sit_, writes Geroch of Reichersberg.[1]
Peter Cantor also insists on the same idea. "Even if they are proved
guilty by the judgment of God," he writes, "the Cathari ought not to
be sentenced to death, because this sentence is in a way
ecclesiastical, being made always in the presence of a priest. If
then they are executed, the priest is responsible for their death,
for he by whose authority a thing is done is responsible
therefor."[2]

[1] _De investigatione Antichristi_, lib. i, cap. xlii, 1oc. cit., pp.
88, 89.

[2] _Verbum abbreviatum_, cap. lxxviii, Migne, P.L., vol. ccv, col.
231.

Was excommunication to be the only penalty for heresy? Yes, answered
Wazo, Leo IX, and the Council of Reims in the middle of the eleventh
century. But later on the growth of the evil induced the churchmen of
the time to call upon the aid of the civil power. They thought that
the Church's excommunication required a temporal sanction. They
therefore called upon the princes to banish heretics from their
dominions, and to imprison those who refused to be converted. Such
was the theory of the twelfth century.

We must not forget, however, that the penalty of imprisonment, which
was at first a monastic punishment, had two objects in view: to
prevent heretics from spreading their doctrines, and to give them an
opportunity of atoning for their sins. In the minds of the
ecclesiastical judges, it possessed a penitential, almost a
sacramental character. In a period when all Europe was Catholic, it
could well supplant exile and banishment, which were the severest
civil penalties after the death penalty.



CHAPTER IV
FOURTH PERIOD
FROM GRATIAN TO INNOCENT III
THE INFLUENCE OF THE CANON LAW, AND THE REVIVAL OF THE ROMAN LAW

THE development of the Canon law and the revival of the Roman law
could not but exercise a great influence upon the minds of princes
and churchmen with regard to the suppression of heresy; in fact, they
were the cause of a legislation of persecution, which was adopted by
every country of Christendom.

In the beginning of this period, which we date from Gratian,[1] the
prosecution of heresy was still carried on, in a more or less
irregular and arbitrary fashion, according to the caprice of the
reigning sovereign, or the hasty violence of the populace. But from
this time forward we shall see it carried on in the name of both the
canon and the civil law: _secundum canonicas et legitimas
sanctiones_, as a Council of Avignon puts it.[2]

[1] The Decree of Gratian was written about 1140.

[2] This council was held in 1209, d'Achery, _Spicilegium_, in-fol.,
vol. i, p. 704, col. 1.

In Germany and France, especially in northern France, the usual
punishment was the stake. We need not say much of England, for heresy
seems to have made but one visit there in 1166. In 1160, a German
prince, whose name is unknown, had several Cathari beheaded. Others
were burned at Cologne in 1163. The execution of the heretics
condemned at Vezelai by the Abbot of Vezelai and several bishops,
forms quite a dramatic picture.

When the heretics had been condemned, the Abbot, addressing the
crowd, said "My brethren, what punishment should be inflicted upon
those who refuse to be converted?" All replied: "Burn them." "Burn
them." Their wishes were carried out. Two abjured their heresy, and
were pardoned, the other seven perished at the stake.[1]

[1] _Hugo Pictav., _Historia Vezeliacensis monasterii, lib. iv, ad.
finem, _Hist. des Gaules_, vol. xii, pp. 343-344.

Philip, Count of Flanders, was particularly cruel in prosecuting
heretics.[1] He had an able auxiliary also in the Archbishop of
Rheims, Guillaume aux Blanches-Mains. The chronicle of Anchin tells
us that they sent to the stake a great many nobles and people,
clerics, knights, peasants, young girls, married women, and widows,
whose property they confiscated and shared between them.[2] This
occurred in 1183. Some years before, Archbishop Guillaume and his
council had sent two heretical women to the stake.[3]

[1] Raoul de Coggeshall, in _Rerum Britann. medii ævi Scriptores_,
ed. Stevenson, p. 122.

[2] Sigeberti, _Continuatio Aquicinctina_, ad. ann. 1183, in the
_Mon. Germ. SS_., vol. vi, p. 421.

[3] Raoul de Coggeshall, loc. cit.; _Hist. des Gaules_, vol. xviii,
p. 92.

Hugh, Bishop of Auxerre (1183-1206), prosecuted the neo-Manicheans
with equal severity; he confiscated the property of some, banished
others, and sent several to the stake.

The reign of Philip Augustus was marked by many executions. Eight
Cathari were sent to the stake at Troyes in 1200, one at Nevers in
1201, and several others at Braisne-sur-Vesle in 1204. A most famous
case was the condemnation of the followers of the heretic, Amaury de
Beynes. "Priests, clerics, men and women belonging to the sect, were
brought before a council at Paris; they were condemned and handed
over to the secular court of King Philip." The king was absent at the
time. On his return he had them all burned outside the walls of the
city.

In 1163 a council of Tours enacted a decree fixing the punishment of
heresy. Of course it had in view chiefly the Cathari of Toulouse and
Gascony: "If these wretches are captured," it says, "the Catholic
princes are to imprison them and confiscate their property."[1]

[1] Can. 4, Labbe, _Concilia_, vol. x, col. 1419.

This canon was applied probably for the first time at Toulouse in
1178. The Bishop began proceedings against several heretics, among
them a rich noble named Pierre Mauran, who was summoned before his
tribunal, and condemned to make a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. His
property was confiscated, although later on when he professed
repentance it was restored to him, on condition that he dismantle the
towers of his castles, and pay the Count of Toulouse a fine of five
hundred pounds of silver.

In this meantime the Cathari increased with alarming rapidity
throughout this region. Count Raymond V (1148-1194), wishing to
strike terror into them, enacted a law which decreed the confiscation
of their property, and death. The people of Toulouse quoted this law
later on in a letter to King Pedro of Aragon to justify their sending
heretics to the stake, and when the followers of Simon de Montfort
arrived in southern France, in 1209, they followed the example of
Count Raymond by sending heretics to the stake everywhere they went.

The authenticity of this law has been questioned, on account of its
unheard-of severity. But Pedro II, King of Aragon and Count of
Barcelona, enacted a law in 1197 which was just as terrible. He
banished the Waldenses and all other heretics from his dominions,
ordering them to depart before Passion Sunday of the following year
(March 23, 1198). After that day, every heretic found in the kingdom
or the county was to be sent to the stake, and his property
confiscated. It is worthy of remark, that in the king's mind the
stake was merely a subsidiary penalty.

In enacting this severe law, Pedro of Aragon declared that he was
moved by zeal for the public welfare, and "had simply obeyed the
canons of the Holy Roman Church." With the exception of the death
penalty by the stake, his reference to the canon law is perfectly
accurate. Pope Alexander III, who had been present at the Council of
Tours in 1163, renewed, at the Lateran Council in 1179, the decrees
already enacted against the heretics of central France. He considered
the Cathari, the Brabançons, etc., disturbers of the public welfare,
and therefore called upon the princes to protect by force of arms
their Christian subjects against the outrages of these heretics. The
princes were to imprison all heretics and confiscate their property.
The Pope granted indulgences to all who carried on this pious work.

In 1184, Pope Lucius III, in union with the Emperor Frederic
Barbarossa, adopted at Verona still more vigorous measures. Heretics
were to be excommunicated, and then handed over to the secular arm,
which was to inflict upon them the punishment they deserved
(_animadversio debita_).[1] The Emperor decreed the imperial ban
against them.

[1] Canon 27, inserted in the Decretals of Gregory IX, lib. v, tit.
vii, _De Hæreticis_, cap. ix.

This imperial ban was, as Ficker has pointed out, a very severe
penalty in Italy; for it comprised banishment, the confiscation of
the property, and the destruction of the houses of the condemned,
public infamy, the inability to hold public office, etc. This is
beyond question the penalty the King of Aragon alluded to in his
enactment. The penalty of the stake which he added, although in
conformity with the Roman law, was an innovation.

The pontificate of Innocent III, which began in 1198, marks a pause
in the development of the Church's penal legislation against heresy.
Despite his prodigious activity, this Pope never dreamt of enacting
new laws, but did his best to enforce the laws then in vogue, and to
stimulate the zeal of both princes and magistrates in the suppression
of heresy.

Hardly had he ascended the pontifical throne when he sent legates to
southern France, and wrote urgent letters full of apostolic zeal to
the Archbishops of Auch and Aix, the Bishop of Narbonne, and the King
of France. These letters, as well as his instructions to the legates,
are similar in tone: "Use against heretics the spiritual sword of
excommunication, and if this does not prove effective, use the
material sword. The civil laws decree banishment and confiscation;
see that they are carried out."[1]

[1] Letters of Innocent III in Migne, P.L., vol. ccxiv-ccxvi.

At this time the Cathari were living not only in the cities of
Languedoc and Provence, but some had even entered the papal States,
e.g., at Orvieto and Viterbo. The Pope himself went to these cities
to combat the evil, and at once saw the necessity of enacting special
laws against them. They may be read in his letters of March 25, 1199,
and September 22, 1207, which form a special code for the use of the
princes and the podestà. Heretics were to be branded with infamy;
they were forbidden to be electors, to hold public office, to be
members of the city councils, to appear in court or testify, to make
a will or to receive an inheritance; if officials, all their acts
were declared null and void; and finally their property was to be
confiscated.

"In the territories subject to our temporal jurisdiction," adds the
Pope, "we declare their property confiscated; in other places we
order the podestà and the secular princes to do the same, and we
desire and command this law enforced under penalty of ecclesiastical
censures."[1]

[1] Letter of March 25, 1199, to the magistrates and people of
Viterbo; constitution of September 23, 1207, Ep. x, 130.

We are not at all surprised at such drastic measures, when we
consider the agreement made by Lucius III with Frederic Barbarossa,
at Verona. But we wish to call attention to the reasons that Innocent
III adduced to justify his severity, on account of the serious
consequences they entailed. "The civil law," says the Pope, "punishes
traitors with confiscation of their property and death; it is only
out of kindness that the lives of their children are spared. All the
more then should we excommunicate and confiscate the property of
those who are traitors to the faith of Jesus Christ; for it is an
infinitely greater sin to offend the Divine Majesty than to attack
the majesty of the sovereign."[1]

[1] Letter of March 25, 1199, to the magistrates of Viterbo, Ep. ii,
1.

Whether this comparison be justified or not, it is certainly most
striking. Later on Frederic II and others will quote it to justify
their severity.

The Lateran Council in 1215 made the laws of Innocent III canons of
the universal Church; it declared all heretics excommunicated, and
delivered them over to the State to receive due punishment. This
_animadversio debita_ entailed banishment with all its consequences
and confiscation. The council also legislated against the abettors of
heresy, even if they were princes, and ordered the despoiling of all
rulers who neglected to enforce the ecclesiastical law in their
domains.[1]

[1] Labbe, _Concilia_, vol. xi, col. 148-150; _Decretales_, cap.
xiii, _De hæreticis_, lib. v, tit. vii.

In practice, Innocent III, although very severe towards obdurate
heretics, was extremely kind to the ignorant and heretics in good
faith. While he banished the Patarins from Viterbo,[1] and razed
their houses to the ground, he at the same time protected, against
the tyranny of an archpriest of Verona, a society of mystics, the
Humiliati, whose orthodoxy was rather doubtful. When, after the
massacre of the Albigenses, Pope Innocent was called upon to apply
the canon law in the case of Raymond, Count of Toulouse, and to
transfer the patrimony of his father to Simon de Montfort, he was the
first to draw back from such injustice. Although a framer of severe
laws against heresy, he was ready to grant dispensations, when
occasion arose.

[1] _Gesta Innocentii_, cap. cxxiii, Migne, P.L., vol. ccxiv, col.
clxi.

We must remember also that the laws he enacted were not at all
excessive compared with the strict Roman law, or even with the
practice then in vogue in France and Germany. It has been justly
said: "The laws and letters of Innocent III never once mention the
death penalty for heresy. He merely decrees against them banishment,
and the confiscation of their property. When he speaks of having
recourse to the secular arm, he means simply the force required to
carry out the laws of banishment enacted by his penal code. This
code, which seems so pitiless to us, was in reality at that time a
great improvement in the treatment of heretics. For its special laws
prevented the frequent outbreaks of popular vengeance, which punished
not only confessed heretics, but also mere suspects."[1]

[1] Luchaire, Innocent III, _et la croisade des Albigeois_, pp. 57,
58. Julien Havet also says: "We must in justice say of Innocent III
that, if he did bitterly prosecute heretics, and everywhere put them
under the ban, he never demanded the infliction of the death penalty.
Ficker has brought this out very clearly." _L'hérésie et le bras
séculier_, p. 165, n. 3. For Ficker's view, cf. op. cit., pp.
189-192.

In fact, the development in the methods of suppressing heresy from
the eleventh century, ends with Innocent III in a code that was far
more kindly than the cruel customs in vogue at the time.

The death penalty of the stake was common in France in the twelfth
century, and in the beginning of the thirteenth. Most of the
executions were due to the passions of the mob, although the Roman
law was in part responsible. Anselm of Lucca and the author of the
_Panormia_ (Ivo of Chartres?) had copied word for word the fifth law
of the title _De Hæreticis_ of the Justinian code, under the rubric:
_De edicto imperatorum in damnationem hæreticorum_.[1] This law which
decreed the death penalty against the Manicheans, seemed strictly
applicable to the Cathari, who were regarded at the time as the
direct heirs of Manicheism. Gratian, in his Decree, maintained the
views of St. Augustine on the penalties of heresy, viz., fine and
banishment.[2] But some of his commentators, especially Rufinus,
Johannes, Teutonicus, and an anonymous writer whose work is inserted
in Huguccio's great _Summa_ of the Decree, declared that impenitent
heretics might and even ought to be put to death.

[1] Tanon, op. cit., pp. 453-454.

[2] Decretum, 2 Pars, Causa xxiii, quest. 4, 6, 7.

These different works appeared before the Lateran Council of 1215.[1]
They are a good indication of the mind of the time. We may well ask
whether the Archbishop of Rheims, the Count of Flanders, Philip
Augustus, Raymond of Toulouse, and Pedro of Aragon, who authorized
the use of the stake for heretics, did not think they were following
the example of the first Christian emperors. We must, however, admit
that there is no direct allusion to the early imperial legislation
either in their acts or their writings. Probably they were more
influenced by the customs of the time than by the written law.

[1] The collection of Anselm of Lucca is prior to 1080. The
_Panormia_ was written about the beginning of the twelfth century;
the Decree about 1140; the three commentaries were written a little
before 1215.

As a matter of fact, Gratian, who with St. Augustine mentioned only
fine and banishment as the penalties for heresy, was followed for
some time. We learn from Benencasa's _Summa_ of the Decree that
heretics were punished not by death, but by banishment and
confiscation of their property.[1]

[1] _Biblioth. Nation_., Ms. 3892, _Summa_ of Benencasa: 41, cap. 23,
q. 4, _Non invenitur_.

The Councils of Tours and Lateran also decreed confiscation, but for
banishment they substituted imprisonment, a penalty unknown to the
Roman law. The Council of Lateran appealed to the authority of St.
Leo the Great, to compel Christian princes to prosecute heresy.[1]

[1] Canon 27, Labbe, _Concilia_, vol. x, col. 1522; Leonis, Epist.
xv, ad Turribium, Migne, _Pat. Lat_., vol. liv, col. 679-680.

From the time of Lucius III, owing to the influence of the lawyers,
the two penalties of banishment and confiscation prevailed. Innocent
III extended them to the universal Church.

This was undoubtedly a severer penal legislation than that of the
preceding age. But, on the other hand, it was an effective barrier
against the infliction of the death penalty, which had become so
common in many parts of Christendom.

Besides, during this period, the Church used vigorous measures only
against obdurate heretics, who were also disturbers of the public
peace.[1] They alone were handed over to the secular arm; if they
abjured their heresy, they were at once pardoned, provided they
freely accepted the penance imposed upon them.[2] This kind
treatment, it was true, was not to last. It, however, deserves
special notice, for the honor of those who preached and practiced it.

[1] Innocent III merely condemned to prison in a monastery the
heretical abbot of Nevers; cf. letter of June 19, 1199, to a cardinal
and a bishop of Paris. Ep. ii, 99.

[2] Cf. Canon 27 of the Lateran Council (1179), which we have quoted
above, and which is inserted in the Decretals of Gregory x, cap. ix,
_De hæreticis_, lib. v, tit. vii.



CHAPTER V
THE CATHARAN OR ALBIGENSIAN HERESY--ITS ANTI-CATHOLIC AND
ANTI-SOCIAL CHARACTER

WHILE Popes Alexander III, Lucius III, and Innocent III, were
adopting such vigorous measures, the Catharan heresy by its rapid
increase caused widespread alarm throughout Christendom. Let us
endeavor to obtain some insight into its character, before we
describe the Inquisition, which was destined to destroy it.

The dominant heresy of the period was the Albigensian or Catharan
heresy;[1] it was related to Oriental Manicheism[2] through the
Paulicians and the Bogomiles, who professed a dualistic theory on the
origin of the world.

[1] The heretics called themselves "_Cathari_," or "_the Pure_." They
wished thereby to denote especially their horror of all sexual
relations, says the monk Egbert: _Sermones contra Catharos_, in
Migne, P.L., cxcv, col. 13.

[2] On the origin of the Manichean heresy, cf. Duchesne, _Histoire
ancienne de l'Eglise_, pp. 555, 556.

In the tenth century, the Empress Theodora, who detested the
Paulicians, had one hundred thousand of them massacred; the Emperor
Alexis Commenus (about 1118), persecuted the Bogomiles in like
manner. Many, therefore, of both sects went to western Europe, where
they finally settled, and began to spread.

As early as 1167, they held a council at St. Felix de Caraman, near
Toulouse, under the presidency of one of their leaders, Pope or
perhaps only Bishop Niketas (Niquinta) of Constantinople. Other
bishops of the sect were present: Mark, who had charge of all the
churches of Lombardy, Tuscany, and the Marches of Treviso; Robert de
Sperone, who governed a church in the north, and Sicard Cellerier,
Bishop of the Church of Albi. They appointed Bernard Raymond, Bishop
of Toulouse, Guiraud Mercier, Bishop of Carcassonne, and Raymond of
Casalis, Bishop of Val d'Aran, in the diocese of Comminges. Such an
organization certainly indicates the extraordinary development of the
heresy about the middle of the twelfth century.

About the year 1200 its progress was still more alarming. Bonacursus,
a Catharan bishop converted to Catholicism, writes about 1190:
"Behold the cities, towns and homes filled with these false
prophets."[1] Cessarius, of Heisterbach, tells us that a few years
later there were Cathari in about one thousand cities,[2] especially
in Lombardy and Languedoc.

[1] _Manifestatio hæresis Catharorum_, in Migne, P.L., vol. cciv col.
778.

[2] _Dialogi_, Antwerp, 1604, p. 289.

There were at least seven to eight hundred of "the Perfected" in
Languedoc alone; and to obtain approximately the total number of the
sect, we must multiply this number by twenty or even more.[1]

[1] This is Döllinger's estimate, _Beiträge_, vol. i, pp. 212, 213.

Of course, perfect unity did not exist among the Cathari. The
different names by which they were known clearly indicate certain
differences of doctrine among them. Some, like the Cathari of Alba
and Desenzano, taught with the Paulicians an absolute dualism,
affirming that all things created came from two principles, the one
essentially good, and the other essentially bad. Two other groups,
the Concorrezenses and the Bagolenses, like the ancient Gnostics,
held a modified form of dualism; they pretended that the evil spirit
had so marred the Creator's work, that matter had become the
instrument of evil in the world. Still they agreed with the
pronounced dualists in nearly all their doctrines and observances;
their few theoretical differences were scarcely appreciable in
practice.[1]

[1] On the Catharan doctrines, cf. Dõllinger's _Beiträge_.

Still, contemporary writers called them by different names. In Italy
they were confounded with the orthodox Patarins and Arnaldists of
Milan; which explains the frequent use of the word Patareni in the
constitutions of Frederic II, and other documents.

The Arnaldists or Arnoldists and the Speronistæ, were the disciples
of Arnold of Brescia, and the heretical Bishop Sperone. Although the
chief center of the Cathari in France was Toulouse and not Albi, they
were called _Albigeois_ (Albigenses), and _Tisserands_ (Texerants),
because many were weavers by trade; _Arians_, because of their denial
of Christ's divinity; _Paulicians_, which was corrupted into
_Poplicani, Publicani, Piphes_ and _Piples_ (Flanders); _Bulgarians_
(_Bulgari_), from their origin, which became in the mouths of the
people of _Bugari, Bulgri_, and _Bugres_. In fact about 1200, nearly
all the heretics of western Europe were considered Cathari.

Catharism was chiefly a negative heresy; it denied the doctrines,
hierarchy and worship of the Catholic Church, as well as the
essential rights of the State.

These neo-Manicheans denied that the Roman Church represented the
Church of Christ. The Popes were not the successors of St. Peter, but
rather the successors of Constantine. St. Peter never came to Rome.
The relics which were venerated in the Constantinian basilica, were
the bones of someone who died in the third century; they were not
relics of the Prince of the Apostles. Constantine unfortunately
sanctioned this fraud, by conferring upon the Roman pontiff an
immense domain, together with the prestige that accompanies temporal
authority.[1] How could anyone recognize under the insignia, the
purple mantle, and the crown of the successors of St. Sylvester, a
disciple of Jesus Christ? Christ had no place where to lay His head,
whereas the Popes lived in a palace! Christ rebuked worldly dominion,
while the Popes claimed it! What had the Roman curia with its thirst
for riches and honors in common with the gospel of Christ? What were
these archbishops, primates, cardinals, archdeacons, monks, canons,
Dominicans, and Friars Minor but the Pharisees of old! The priests
placed heavy burdens upon the faithful people, and they themselves
did not touch them with the tips of their fingers; they received
tithes from the fields and flocks; they ran after the heritage of
widows; all practices which Christ condemned in the Pharisees.

[1] The Middle Ages believed firmly in the donation of Constantine.
It was, however questioned by Wetzel, a disciple of Arnold of
Brescia, in 1152, in a letter to Frederic Barbarossa, Martène and
Durand, _Veterum scriptorunt ... amplissima collectio_, Paris, 1724,
vol. ii, col. 554-557.

And yet, withal, they dared persecute humble souls who, by their pure
life, tried to realize the perfect ideal proposed by Christ! These
persecutors were not the true disciples of Jesus. The Roman Church
was the woman of the apocalypse,[1] drunk with the blood of the
Saints, and the Pope was Antichrist.

[1] Apoc. vii, 3, 18.

The sacraments of the Church were a mere figment of the imagination.
The Cathari made one sacrament out of Baptism, Confirmation, Penance
and Eucharist, which they called the _consolamentum_; they denied the
real presence of Jesus Christ in the Eucharist, and they repudiated
marriage.

Baptism of water was to them an empty ceremony, as valueless as the
baptism of John. Christ had undoubtedly said: "Unless a man be born
again of water and the Holy Ghost, he cannot enter into the Kingdom
of God."[1] But the acts of the Apostles proved that baptism was a
mere ceremony, for they declared that the Samaritans, although
baptized, had not thereby received the Holy Spirit, by Whom alone the
soul is purified from sin.[2]

[1] John iii, 5.

[2] Acts i. 5; viii. 14-17.

The Catholic Church also erred greatly in teaching infant baptism. As
their faculties were undeveloped, infants could not receive the Holy
Spirit. The Cathari--at least to the middle of the thirteenth
century--did not confer the _consolamentum_ upon newly born infants.
According to them, the Church could only abandon these little ones to
their unhappy destiny. If they died, they were either forever lost,
or, as others taught, condemned to undergo successive incarnations,
until they received the _consolamentum_, which classed them with "the
Perfected."

It was preposterous to imagine that Christ wished to change bread and
wine into His Body in the Eucharist. The Cathari considered
transubstantiation as the worst of abominations, since matter, in
every form, was the work of the Evil Spirit. They interpreted the
Gospel texts in a figurative sense: at "This is My Body," they said,
simply means: "This represents My Body," thus anticipating the
teaching of Carlstadt and Zwingli. They all agreed in denouncing
Catholics for daring to claim that they really partook of the Body of
Christ, as if Christ could enter a man's stomach, to say nothing
worse; or as if Christ would expose Himself to be devoured by rats
and mice.

The Cathari, defying the real presence of Jesus Christ in the
Eucharist, rejected the sacrifice of the Mass. God, according to
them, repudiated all sacrifices. Did He not teach us through His
prophet Osee: "I desire mercy and not sacrifice."[1]

[1] Osee vi. 6.

The Lord's Supper which the Apostles ate so often was something
altogether different from the Roman Mass. They knew nothing of
sacerdotal vestments, stone altars with shining candelabra, incense,
hymns, and chantings. They did not worship in an immense building
called a church--a word which should be applied exclusively to the
assembly of the saints.

The Cathari, in their hatred of Catholic piety, railed in the most
abusive language against the veneration of images, and especially of
the cross. The images and statues of the saints were to them nothing
but idols, which ought to be destroyed. The cross on which Jesus died
should be hated rather than reverenced. Some of them, moreover,
denied that Jesus had been really crucified; they held that a demon
died, or feigned to die in His stead. Even those who believed in the
reality of the Saviour's crucifixion made this very belief a reason
for condemning the veneration of the cross. What man is there, they
said, who could see a loved one, for example a father, die upon a
cross, and not feel ever after a deep hatred of this instrument of
torture? The cross, therefore, should not be reverenced, but
despised, insulted and spat upon. One of them even said: "I would
gladly hew the cross to pieces with an axe, and throw it into the
fire to make the pot boil."

Not only were the Cathari hostile to the Church and her divine
worship, but they were also in open revolt against the State, and its
rights.

The feudal society rested entirely upon the oath of fealty
(_jusjurandum_), which was the bond of its strength and solidity.

According to the Cathari, Christ taught that it was sinful to take an
oath, and that the speech of every Christian should be yes, yes; no,
no.[1] Nothing, therefore, could induce them to take an oath.

[1] Matt. v. 37; James v. 12.

The authority of the State, even when Christian, appeared to them, in
certain respects, very doubtful. Had not Christ questioned Peter,
saying: "What is thy opinion, Simon? The kings of the earth, of whom
do they receive tribute or custody? of their own children, or of
strangers?" Peter replied: "Of strangers." Jesus saith to him: "Then
are the children free (of every obligation)."[1]

[1] Matt. xvii. 24, 25.

The Cathari quoted these words to justify their refusal of allegiance
to princes. Were they not disciples of Christ, whom the truth had
made free? Some of them not only disputed the lawfulness of taxation,
but went so far as to condone stealing, provided the thief had done
no injury to "Believers."[1]

[1] Contrary to the Catholic teaching, the Cathari absolved those who
stole from "non-believers," without obliging them to make
restitution. Döllinger, _Beiträge_, vol. ii, pp. 248, 249, cf. pp.
245, 246.

Some of the Cathari admitted the authority of the State, but denied
its right to inflict capital punishment. "It is not God's will," said
Pierre Garsias, "that human justice condemn any one to death;" and
when one of the Cathari became consul of Toulouse, he wrote to remind
him of this absolute law. But the _Summa contra hæreticos_ asserts:
"all the Catharan sects taught that the public prosecution of crime
was unjust, and that no man had a right to administer justice;"[1] a
teaching which denied the State's right to punish.

[1] _Summa contra hæreticos_, ed. Douais, p. 133, Moneta, op. cit.,
p. 513.

The Cathari interpreted literally the words of Christ to Peter: "All
that take the sword shall perish with the sword,"[1] and applied the
commandment _Non occides_ absolutely. "In no instance," they said,
"has one the right to kill another;"[2] neither the internal welfare
of a country, nor its external interests can justify murder. War is
never lawful. The soldier defending his country is just as much a
murderer as the most common criminal. It was not any special aversion
to the crusades, but their horror of war in general, that made the
Cathari declare the preachers of the crusades murderers.

[1] Matt. xxvi. 52.

[2] Cf. Döllinger, _Beiträge_, vol. ii, p. 199.

These anti-Catholic, anti-patriotic, and anti-social theories were
only the negative side of Catharism. Let us now ascertain what they
substituted for the Catholic doctrines they denied.

Catharism, as we have already hinted, was a hodgepodge of pagan
dualism and Gospel teaching, given to the world as a sort of reformed
Christianity.

Human souls, spirits fallen from heaven into a material body which is
the work of the Evil Spirit, were subject on this earth to a
probation, which was ended by Christ, or rather by the Holy Spirit.
They were set free by the imposition of hands, the secret of which
had been committed to the true Church by the disciples of Jesus.

This Church had its rulers, the Bishops, and its members who are
called "the Perfected," "the Consoled," and "the Believers."

We need not dwell upon the episcopate of the Catharan hierarchy.
Suffice it to say that the Bishop was always surrounded by three
dignitaries, the _Filius Major_, the _Filius Minor_, and the Deacon.
The Bishop had charge of the most important religious ceremonies: the
imposition of hands for the initiation or _consolamentum_, the
breaking of bread which replaced the Eucharist, and the liturgical
prayers such as the recitation of the Lord's Prayer. When he was
absent, the _Filius Major_, the _Filius Minor_, or the Deacon took
his place. It was seldom, however, that these dignitaries traveled
alone; the Bishop was always accompanied by his Deacon, who served as
his _socius_.

One joined the Church by promising (the _Convenenza_) to renounce the
Catholic faith, and to receive the Catharan initiation (the
_consolamentum_), at least at the hour of death. This was the first
step on the road to perfection. Those who agreed to make it were
called "the Believers." Their obligations were few. They were not
bound to observe the severe Catharan fasts, which we will mention
later on. They could live in the world like other mortals, and were
even allowed to eat meat and to marry. Their chief duty was "to
venerate" "the Perfected," each time they entered their presence.
They genuflected, and prostrated themselves three times, saying each
time as they rose, "Give us your blessing;" the third time they
added: "Good Christians, give us God's blessing and yours; pray God
that He preserve us from an evil death, and bring us to a good end!"
The Perfected replied: "Receive God's blessing and ours; may God
bless you, preserve you from an evil death, and bring you to a good
end." If these heretics were asked why they made others venerate them
in this manner, they replied that the Holy Spirit dwelling within
them gave them the right to such homage. The Believers were always
required to pay this extraordinary mark of respect. In fact it was a
_sine qua non_ of their being admitted to the _Convenenza._

The _Convenenza_ was not merely an external bond, uniting "the
Believers" and "the Perfected," but it was also an earnest of eternal
salvation. It assured the future destiny of "the Believers;" it gave
them the right to receive the _consolamentum_ on their death-bed.
This remitted all the sins of their life. Only one thing could
deprive them of "this good end," viz., the absence of one of the
Perfected, who alone could lay hands upon them.

Those who died without the Catharan _consolamentum_ were either
eternally lost, or condemned to begin life anew with another chance
of becoming one of "the good men." These transmigrations of the soul
were rather numerous. The human soul did not always pass directly
from the body of a man into the body of another man. It occasionally
entered into the bodies of animals, like the ox and the ass. The
Cathari were wont to tell the story of "a good Christian," one of
"the Perfected," who remembered, in a previous existence as a horse,
having lost his shoe in a certain place between two stones, as he was
running swiftly under his master's spur. When he became a man he was
curious enough to hunt for it, and he found it, in the self-same
spot. Such humiliating transmigrations were undoubtedly rather rare.
A woman named Sybil, "a Believer" and later on one of "the
Perfected," remembered having been a queen in a prior existence.

What the _Convenenza_ promised, the Catharan initiation or
_consolamentum_ gave; the first made "Believers," and predisposed
souls to sanctity; the second made "the Perfected," and conferred
sanctity with all its rights and prerogatives.

The _consolamentum_ required a preparation which we may rightly
compare with the catechumenate of the early Christians.

This probation usually lasted one year. It consisted in an honest
attempt to lead the life of "the Perfected," and chiefly in keeping
their three "lents," abstaining from meat, milk-food and eggs. It was
therefore called the time of abstinence (_abstinentia_). One of "the
Perfected" was appointed by the Church to report upon the life of the
postulant, who daily had to venerate his superior, according to the
Catharan rite.

After this probation, came the ceremony of "the delivery"
(_traditio_) of the Lord's Prayer. A number of "the Perfected" were
always present. The highest dignitary, the Bishop or "the Ancient,"
made the candidate a lengthy speech, which has come down to us:

"Understand," he said, "that when you appear before the Church of God
you are in the presence of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit,
as the Scriptures prove," etc. Then, having repeated the Lord's
Prayer to "the Believer" word for word, and having explained its
meaning, he continued: "We deliver to you this holy prayer, that you
may receive it from us, from God, and from the Church, that you may
have the right to say it all your life, day and night, alone and in
company, and that you may never eat or drink without first saying it.
If you omit it, you must do penance." The Believer replied "I receive
it from you and from the Church."[1]

[1] Clédat, _Rituel Cathare_, pp. xi-xv.

After these words came the _Abrenuntiatio_. At the Catholic baptism,
the catechumen renounced Satan, with his works and pomps. According
to the Catharan ritual, the Catholic Church was Satan.

"The Perfected" said to the Believer: "Friend, if you wish to be one
of us, you must renounce all the doctrines of the Church of Rome,"
and he replied: "I do renounce them."

--Do you renounce that cross made with chrism upon your breast, head,
and shoulders?

--I do renounce it.

--Do you believe that the water of Baptism is efficacious for
salvation?

--No, I do not believe it.

--Do you renounce the veil, which the priest placed upon your head,
after you were baptized?

--I do renounce it.[1]

Again the Bishop addressed "the Believer" to impress upon him the new
duties involved in his receiving the Holy Spirit. Those who were
present prayed God to pardon the candidate's sins, and then venerated
"the Perfected" (the ceremony of the _Parcia_). After the Bishop's
prayer, "May God bless thee, make thee a good Christian, and grant
thee a good end," the candidate made a solemn promise faithfully to
fulfill the duties he had learned during his _probatio_. The words of
his promise are to be found in Sacconi: "I promise to devote my life
to God and to the Gospel, never to lie or swear, never to touch a
woman, never to kill an animal, never to eat meat, eggs or milk-food;
never to eat anything but fish and vegetables, never to do anything
without first saying the Lord's Prayer, never to eat, travel, or pass
the night without a _socius_. If I fall into the hands of my enemies
or happen to be separated from my _socius_, I promise to spend three
days without food or drink. I will never take off my clothes on
retiring, nor will I deny my faith even when threatened with death."
The ceremony of the _Parcia_ was then repeated.

[1] Sacconi, _Summa de Catharis_, in Martens and Durand, _Thesaurus
novus anecdotorum_, vol. v, p. 1776.

Then, according to the ritual, "the Bishop takes the book (the New
Testament), and places it upon the head of the candidate," while the
other "good men" present impose hands upon him, saying: "Holy Father,
accept this servant of yours in all righteousness, and send your
grace and your Spirit upon him." The Holy Spirit was then supposed to
descend, and the ceremony of the _consolamentum_ was finished; "the
Believer" had become one of "the Perfected."

However, before the assembly disposed, "the Perfected" proceeded to
carry out two other ceremonies: the vesting and the kiss of peace.

"While their worship was tolerated," writes an historian, "they gave
their new brother a black garment; but in times of persecution they
did not wear it, for fear of betraying themselves to the officials of
the Inquisition. In the thirteenth century, in southern France, they
were known by the linen or flaxen belt, which the men wore over their
shirts, and the women wore _cordulam cinctam ad carnem nudam subtus
mamillas_. They resembled the cord or scapular that the Catholic
tertiaries wore to represent the habit of the monastic order to which
they belonged. They were therefore called _hæretici vestiti_, which
became a common term for 'the Perfected.'"

[1] Jean Guiraud, _Le consolamentum ou initiation cathare_, loc.
cit., p. 134.

The last ceremony was the kiss of peace, which "the Perfected" gave
their new brother, by kissing him twice (on the mouth), _bis in ore
ex transverso_. He in turn kissed the one nearest him, who passed on
the _pax_ to all present. If the recipient was a woman, the minister
gave her the _pax_ by touching her shoulder with the book of the
gospels, and his elbow with hers. She transmitted this symbolic kiss
in the same manner to the one next to her, if he was a man. After a
last fraternal embrace, they all congratulated the new brother, and
the assembly dispersed.

The promises made by this new member of "the Perfected" were not all
equally hard to keep. As far as positive duties were concerned, there
were but three: the daily recitation of the Lord's Prayer, the
breaking of bread, and the _Apparellamentum_.

Only "the Perfected" were allowed to recite the Lord's Prayer. The
Cathari explained the esoteric character of this prayer by that
passage in the Apocalypse which speaks of the one hundred and
forty-four thousand elect who follow the Lamb whithersoever He goeth,
and who sing a hymn which only virgins can sing.[1] This hymn was the
Pater Noster. Married people, therefore, and consequently "the
Believers," could not repeat it without profanation. But "the
Perfected" were obliged to say it every day, especially before
meals.[2]

[1] Apoc. xiv. 1-4.

[2] The Perfected had to live with a _socius_ who blessed his food,
while he in turn had to bless the food of his companion. If he
separated from his _socius_, he had to do without food and drink for
three days. This frequently happened when they were arrested and cast
into prison.

They blessed the bread without making the sign of the cross.

This "breaking of bread" replaced the Eucharist. They thought in this
way to reproduce the Lord's Supper, while they repudiated all the
ceremonies of the Catholic Mass. "The Believers" partook of this
blessed bread when they sat at the table with "the Perfected," and
they were wont to carry some of it home to eat from time to time.

Some attributed to it a wonderful sanctifying power, and believed
that if at their death none of "the Perfected" were present to
administer the _consolamentum_, this "bread of the holy prayer" would
itself ensure their salvation. They were therefore very anxious to
keep some of it on hand; and we read of "the Believers" of Languedoc
having some sent them from Lombardy, when they were no longer able to
communicate with their persecuted brethren.

It was usually distributed to all present during the
_Apparellamentum_. This was the solemn monthly reunion of all the
Cathari, "the Believers" and "the Perfected." All present confessed
their sins, no matter how slight, although only a general confession
was required. As a rule the Deacon addressed the assembly, which
closed with the _Parcia_ and the kiss of peace: _osculantes sese
invicem ex transverso_.

There was nothing very hard in this; on the contrary, it was the
consoling side of their life. But their rigorous laws of fasting and
abstinence constituted a most severe form of mortification.

"The Perfected" kept three Lents a year; the first from St. Brice's
day (November 13) till Christmas; the second from Quinquagesima
Sunday till Easter; the third from Pentecost to the feast of Saints
Peter and Paul. They called the first and last weeks of these Lents
the strict weeks (_septimana stricta_), because during them they
fasted on bread and water every day, whereas the rest of the time
they fasted only three days out of the seven. Besides these special
penitential seasons, they observed the same rigorous fast three days
a week all during the year, unless they were sick or were
traveling.[1]

[1] Bernard Gui, _Practica inquisitionis_, p. 239.

These heretics were known everywhere by their fasting and abstinence.
"They are good men," it was said, "who live holy lives, fasting three
days a week and never eating meat."[1]

[1] Douais, _Les manuscrits du château de Merville_, in the _Annales
du Midi_, 1890, p. 185.

They never ate, meat, in fact, and this law of abstinence extended,
as we have seen, to eggs, cheese, and everything which was the result
of animal propagation. They were allowed, however, to eat
cold-blooded animals like fish, because of the strange idea they had
of their method of propagation.

One of the results, or rather one of the causes of their abstinence
from meat, was the absolute respect they had for animal life in
general. We have seen that they admitted metempsychosis. According to
their belief, the body of an ox or an ass might be the dwelling place
of a human soul. To kill these animals, therefore, was a crime
equivalent to murder. "For that reason," says Bernard Gui, "they
never kill an animal or a bird; for they believe that in animals and
birds dwell the souls of men, who died without having been received
into their sect by the imposition of hands."[1] This was also one of
the signs by which they could be known as heretics. We read of them
being condemned at Goslar and elsewhere for having refused to kill
and eat a chicken.

[1] _Practica inquisitionis_, p. 240.

Their most extraordinary mortification was the law of chastity, as
they understood and practiced it. They had a great horror of
Christian marriage, and endeavored to defend their views by the
Scriptures. Had not Christ said: "Whosoever shall look on a woman to
lust after her, hath already committed adultery with her in his
heart;"[1] i.e., was he not guilty of a crime? "The children of this
world marry," He says again, "and are given in marriage; but they
that shall be accounted worthy of that world and of the resurrection
from the dead, shall neither be married, nor take wives."[2] "It is
good," says St. Paul, "for a man not to touch a woman."[3]

[1] Matt. v. 28.

[2] Luke xx. 34, 35.

[3] I Corinth. vii. 1, 7.

The Cathari interpreted these texts literally, and when their
opponents cited other texts of Scripture which plainly taught the
sacred character of Christian marriage, they at once interpreted them
in a spiritual or symbolic sense. The only legitimate marriage in
their eyes was the union of the Bishop with the Church, or the union
of the soul with the Holy Spirit by the ceremony of the
_consolamentum_.

They condemned absolutely all marital relations. That was the sin of
Adam and Eve. Pierre Garsias taught at Toulouse that the forbidden
fruit of the Garden of Eden was simply carnal pleasure.

One of the purposes of marriage is the begetting of children. But the
propagation of the human species is plainly the work of the Evil
Spirit. A woman with child is a woman possessed of the devil. "Pray
God," said one of "the Perfected" to the wife of a Toulouse lumber
merchant, "pray God that He deliver you from the devil within you."
The greatest evil that could befall a woman was to die _enceinte_;
for being in the state of impurity and in the power of Satan, she
could not be saved. We read of the Cathari saying this to Peirona de
la Caustra: _quod si decederet prægnans non posset salvari_.

Marriage, because it made such a condition possible, was absolutely
condemned. Bernard Gui thus resumes the teaching of the Cathari on
this point: "They condemn marriage absolutely; they maintain that it
is a perpetual state of sin; they deny that a good God can institute
it. They declare the marital relation as great a sin as incest with
one's mother, daughter, or sister." And this is by no means a
calumnious charge. The language which Bernard Gui attributes to these
heretics was used by them on every possible occasion. They were
unable to find words strong enough to express their contempt for
marriage. "Marriage," they said, "is nothing but licentiousness;
marriage is merely prostitution." In their extreme hatred, they even
went so far as to prefer open licentiousness to it, saying:
"Cohabitation with one's wife is a worse crime than adultery." One
might be inclined to think that this was merely an extravagant
outburst; but, on the contrary, they tried to defend this view by
reason. Licentiousness, they argued, was a temporary thing, to which
a man gave himself up only in secret; he might in time become ashamed
of it, repent and renounce it entirely. The married state, on the
contrary, caused no shame whatever; men never thought of renouncing
it, because they did not dream of the wickedness it entailed: _quia
magis publice et sine verecundia peccatum fiebat_.

No one, therefore, was admitted to the _consolamentum_ unless he had
renounced all marital relations. In this case, the woman "gave her
husband to God, and to the good men." It often happened, too, that
women, moved by the preaching of "the Perfected," condemned their
unconverted husbands to an enforced celibacy. This was one of the
results of the neo-Manichean teachings.

Moreover, they carried their principles so far as to consider it a
crime even to touch a woman.

They forbade a man to sit next to a woman except in case of
necessity. "If a woman touches you," said Pierre Autier, "you must
fast three days on bread and water; and if you touch a woman, you
must fast nine days on the same diet." At the ceremony of the
_consolamentum_, the Bishop who imposed hands on the future sister
took great care not to touch her, even with the end of his finger; to
avoid doing so, he always covered the postulant with a veil.

But in times of persecution, this over-scrupulous caution was
calculated to attract public attention. "The Perfected" (men and
women) lived together, pretending that they were married, so that
they would not be known as heretics. It was their constant care,
however, to avoid the slightest contact. This caused them at times
great inconvenience. While traveling, they shared the same bed, the
better to avoid suspicion. But they slept with their clothes on, and
thus managed to follow out the letter of the law: _tamen induti quod
unus alium in nuda carne non tangebat_.

Many Catholics were fully persuaded that this pretended love of
purity was merely a cloak to hide the grossest immorality. But while
we may admit that many of "the Perfected" did actually violate their
promise of absolute chastity, we must acknowledge that, as a general
rule, they did resist temptation, and preferred death to what they
considered impurity.

Many who feared that they might give way in a moment of weakness to
the temptations of a corrupt nature, sought relief in suicide, which
was called the _endura_. There were two forms for the sick heretic,
suffocation and fasting. The candidate for death was asked whether he
desired to be a martyr or a confessor. If he chose to be a martyr,
they placed a handkerchief or a pillow over his mouth, until he died
of suffocation. If he preferred to be a confessor, he remained
without food or drink, until he died of starvation.

The Cathari believed that "the Believers," who asked for the
_consolamentum_ during sickness, would not keep the laws of their new
faith, if they happened to get well. Therefore, to safeguard them
against apostasy, they were strongly urged to make their salvation
certain by the _endura_. A manuscript of the Register of the
Inquisition of Carcassonne, for instance, tells us of a Catharan
minister who compelled a sick woman to undergo the _endura_, after he
had conferred upon her the Holy Spirit. He forbade any one "to give
her the least nourishment"... and as a matter of fact no food or
drink was given her that night or the following day, lest perchance
she might be deprived of the benefit of the _consolamentum_.

One of "the Perfected," named Raymond Belhot, congratulated a mother
whose daughter he had just "consoled," and ordered her not to give
the sick girl anything to eat or drink until he returned, even though
she requested it. "If she asks me for it," said the mother, "I will
not have the heart to refuse her." "You must refuse her," said "the
good man," "or else cause great injury to her soul." From that moment
the girl neither ate nor drank; in fact she did not ask for any
nourishment. She died the next Saturday.

About the middle of the thirteenth century, when the Cathari began to
give the consolamentum to infants, they were often cruel enough to
make them undergo the _endura_. "One would think," says an historian
of the time, "that the world had gone back to those hateful days when
unnatural mothers sacrificed their children to Moloch."

It sometimes happened that the parents of "the consoled" withstood
more or less openly the cruelty of "the Perfected."

When this happened, some of "the Perfected" remained in the house of
the sick person, to see that their murderous prescriptions were
obeyed to the letter. Or if this was impossible, they had "the
consoled" taken to the house of some friend, where they could readily
carry out their policy of starvation.

But as a general rule the "heretics" submitted to the _endura_ of
their own free will. Raymond Isaure tells us of a certain Guillaume
Sabatier who began the _endura_ in a retired villa, immediately after
his initiation; he starved himself to death in seven weeks. A woman
named Gentilis died of the _endura_ in six or seven days. A woman of
Coustaussa, who had separated from her husband, went to Saverdum to
receive the _consolamentum_. She at once began the _endura_ at Ax,
and died after an absolute fast of about twelve weeks. A certain
woman named Montaliva submitted to the _endura_; during it "she ate
nothing whatever, but drank some water; she died in six weeks."[1]
This case gives us some idea of this terrible practice; we see that
they were sometimes allowed to drink water, which explains the
extraordinary duration of some of these suicidal fasts.

[1] Ms. 609, of the library of Toulouse, fol. 28.

Some of the Cathari committed suicide in other ways. A woman of
Toulouse named Guillemette first began to subject herself to the
_endura_ by frequent blood letting; then she tried to weaken herself
more by taking long baths; finally she drank poison, and as death did
not come quickly enough, she swallowed pounded glass to perforate her
intestines.[1] Another woman opened her veins in the bath.2

[1] Ms. 609, of Toulouse, fol. 33.

[2] Ibid., fol. 70.

Such methods of suicide were exceptional, although the _endura_
itself was common, at least among the Cathari of Languedoc. "Every
one," says a trustworthy historian, "who reads the acts of the
tribunals of the Inquisition of Toulouse and Carcassonne must admit
that the _endura_, voluntary or forced, put to death more victims
than the stake or the Inquisition."

Catharism, therefore, was a serious menace to the Church, to the
State, and to society.

Without being precisely a Christian heresy, its customs, its
hierarchy, and above all its rites of initiation--which we have
purposely explained in detail--gave it all the appearance of one. It
was really an imitation and a caricature of Christianity. Some of its
practices were borrowed from the primitive Christians, as some
historians have proved.[1] That in itself would justify the Church in
treating its followers as heretics.

[1] Jean Guirard, _Le consolamentum ou initiation cathare_, in
_Questions d'histoire_, p. 145 seq.

Besides, the Church merely acted in self-defense. The Cathari tried
their best to destroy her by attacking her doctrines, her hierarchy,
and her apostolic character. If their false teachings had prevailed,
disturbing as they did the minds of the people, the Church would have
perished.

The princes, who did not concern themselves with these heretics while
they merely denied the teachings of the Church, at last found
themselves attacked just as vigorously. The Catharan absolute
rejection of the oath of fealty was calculated to break the bond that
united subjects to their suzerain lords, and at one blow to destroy
the whole edifice of feudalism. And even granting that the feudal
system could cease to exist without dragging down in its fall all
form of government, how could the State provide for the public
welfare, if she did not possess the power to punish criminals, as the
Cathari maintained?

But the great unpardonable crime of Catharism was its attempt to
destroy the future of humanity by its _endura_, and its abolition of
marriage. It taught that the sooner life was destroyed the better.
Suicide, instead of being considered a crime, was a means of
perfection. To beget children was considered the height of
immorality. To become one of "the Perfected," which was the only way
of salvation, the husband must leave his wife, and the wife her
husband. The family must cease to exist, and all men were urged to
form a great religious community, vowed to the most rigorous
chastity. If this ideal had been realized, the human race would have
disappeared from the earth in a few years. Can any one imagine more
immoral and more anti-social teaching?

The Catholic Church has been accused of setting up a similar ideal.
This is a gross calumny. For while Catharism made chastity a _sine
qua non_ of salvation, and denounced marriage as something infamous
and criminal, the Church merely counsels virginity to an élite body
of men and women in whom she recognizes the marks of a special
vocation, according to the teaching of the Savior, "He that can take,
let him take it." _Qui potest capiare capiat_.[1] She endeavors at
the same time to uphold the sacrament of marriage, declaring it a
holy state, in which the majority of mankind is to work out its
salvation.

[1] Matt. xix. 11, 12.

There is consequently no parity whatever between the two societies
and their teachings. In bitterly prosecuting the Cathari, the Church
truly acted for the public good. The State was bound to aid her by
force, unless it wished to perish herself with all the social order.
This explains and to a certain degree Justifies the combined action
of Church and State in suppressing the Catharan heresy.



CHAPTER VI
FIFTH PERIOD
GREGORY IX AND FREDERIC II
THE ESTABLISHMENT OF THE MONASTIC INQUISITION

THE penal system codified by Innocent III was rather liberally
interpreted in France and Italy. In order to make the French law
agree with it, an oath was added to the coronation service from the
time of Louis IX, whereby the King swore to exterminate, i.e., banish
all heretics from his kingdom. We are inclined to interpret in this
sense the laws of Louis VIII (1226) and Louis IX (April, 1228), for
the south of France. The words referring to the punishment of
heretics are a little vague: "Let them be punished," says Louis VIII,
"with the punishment they deserve." "_Animadversione debita
puniantur_. The other penalties specified are infamy and
confiscation; in a word, all the consequences of banishment."[1]

[1] _Ordonnances des roys de France_, vol. xii, pp. 319, 320.

Louis IX re-enacted this law in the following terms: "We decree that
our barons and magistrates ... do their duty in prosecuting
heretics." "_De ipsis festinanter faciant quod debebunt_."[1] These
words in themselves are not very clear, and, if we were to interpret
them by the customs of a few years later, we might think that they
referred to the death penalty, even the stake; but comparing them
with similar expressions used by Lucius III and Innocent III, we see
that they imply merely the penalty of banishment.

[2] Ibid., vol. i, p. 51; Labbe, _Concilia_, vol. vii, col. 171.

However, a canon of the Council of Toulouse in 1229 seems to make the
meaning of these words clear, at least for the future. It decreed
that all heretics and their abettors are to be brought to the nobles
and the magistrates to receive due punishment, _ut animadversione
debita puniantur_. But it adds that "heretics, who, _through fear of
death_ or any other cause, except their own free will, return to the
faith, are to be imprisoned by the bishop of the city to do penance,
that they may not corrupt others;" the bishop is to provide for their
needs out of the property confiscated.[1] The fear of death here
seems to imply that the _animadversione debita_ meant the death
penalty. That would prove the elasticity of the formula. At first it
was a legal penalty which custom interpreted to mean banishment and
confiscation; later on it meant chiefly the death penalty; and
finally it meant solely the penalty of the stake. At any rate, this
canon of the Council of Toulouse must be kept in mind; for we will
soon see Pope Gregory IX quoting it.

[1] D'Achery, _Spicilegium_, in-fol., vol. i, p. 711.

In Italy, Frederic II promulgated on November 22, 1220, an imperial
law which, in accordance with the pontifical decree of March 25,
1199, and the Lateran Council of 1215, condemned heretics to every
form of banishment, to perpetual infamy, together with the
confiscation of their property, and the annulment of all their civil
acts and powers. It is evident that the emperor was influenced by
Innocent III, for, having declared that the children of heretics
could not inherit their father's property, he adds a phrase borrowed
from the papal decree of 1199, viz., "that to offend the divine
majesty was a far greater crime than to offend the majesty of the
emperor."[1]

[1] _Monum. Germaniæ, Leges_, sect. iv, vol. ii, pp. 107-109.

This at once put heresy on a par with treason, and consequently
called for a severer punishment than the law actually decreed. We
will soon see others draw the logical conclusion from the emperor's
comparison, and enact the death penalty for heresy.

The legates of Pope Honorius were empowered to introduce the
canonical and imperial legislation into the statutes of the Italian
cities, which hitherto had not been at all anxious to take any
measures whatever against heretics. They succeeded in Bergamo,
Piacenza, and Mantua in 1221; and in Brescia in 1225. In 1226, the
emperor himself ordered the podestà of Pavia to banish all heretics
from the city limits. About the year 1230, therefore, it was the
generally accepted law throughout all Italy (recall what we have said
above about Faenza, Florence, etc.) to banish all heretics,
confiscate their property, and demolish their houses.

Two years had hardly elapsed when, through the joint efforts of
Frederic II and Gregory IX, the death penalty of the stake was
substituted for banishment; Guala, a Dominican, seems to leave been
the prime mover in bringing about this change.

Frederic II, influenced by the jurists who were reviving the old
Roman law, prolmulgated a law for Lombardy in 1224, which condemned
heretics to the stake, or at least to have their tongues cut out.[1]
This penalty of the stake was common--if not legal--in Germany. For
instance, we read of the people of Strasburg burning about eighty
heretics about the year 1212[2], and we could easily cite other
similar executions.[3] The emperor, therefore, merely brought the use
of the stake from Germany into Italy. Indeed it is very doubtful
whether this law was in operation before 1230.

[1] A Constitution sent to the Archbishop of Magdeburg, in the _Mon.
Germ., Leges_, sect. iv, vol. ii, p. 126. [2] _Annales Marbacenses_,
ad ann. 1215, in the _Mon. Germ. SS_., vol. xvii, p. 174. . [3] Cf.
Julien Havet, op. cit., pp. 143, 144.

But in that year, Guala, the Dominican, who had become Bishop of
Brescia, used his authority to enact for his episcopal city the most
severe laws against heresy. The podestà of the city had to swear that
he would prosecute heretics as Manicheans and traitors, according to
both the canon and the civil law, especially in view of Frederic's
law of 1224. Innocent III's comparison between heretics and traitors,
and between the Cathari and the Manicheans, now bore fruit. Traitors
deserved the death penalty, while the old Roman law sent the
Manicheans to the stake; accordingly Guala maintained that all
heretics deserved the stake.

Pope Gregory IX adopted this stern attitude, probably under the
influence of the Bishop of Brescia, with whom he was in frequent
correspondence.[1] The imperial law of 1224 was inscribed in 1230 or
1231 upon the papal register, where it figures as number 103 of the
fourth year of Gregory's pontificate. The Pope then tried to enforce
it, beginning with the city of Rome. He enacted a law in February,
1231, ordering, as the Council of Toulouse had done in 1229, heretics
condemned by the Church to be handed over to the secular arm, to
receive the punishment they deserved, _animadversio debita_. All who
abjured and accepted a fitting penance were to be imprisoned for
life, without prejudice to the other penalties for heresy, such as
confiscation.[2]

[1] Gregory IX was four years Pope before he enacted these new laws.

[2] Cap. ii, _Mon. Germ., Leges_, sect. iv, vol. ii, p. 196.

About the same time, Annibale, the Senator of Rome, established the
new jurisprudence of the Church in the eternal city. Every year, on
taking office, the Senator was to banish (_diffidare_) all heretics.
All who refused to leave the city were, eight days after their
condemnation, to receive the punishment they deserved. The penalty,
_animadversio debita_, is not specified, as if every one knew what
was meant.

Inasmuch as reluctant heretics were imprisoned for life, it seems
certain that the severer penalty reserved for obstinate heretics must
have been the death penalty of the stake, for that was the mode of
punishment decreed by the imperial law of 1224, which had just been
copied on the registers of the papal chancery. But we are not left to
mere conjecture. In February, 1231, a number of Patarins were
arrested in Rome; those who refused to abjure were sent to the stake,
while those who did abjure were sent to Monte Cassino and Cava to do
penance. This case tells us instantly how we are to interpret the
_animadversio debita_ of contemporary documents.

Frederic II exercised an undeniable influence over Gregory IX, and
the Pope in turn influenced the emperor. Gregory wrote denouncing the
many heretics who swarmed throughout the kingdom of Sicily (the two
Sicilies), especially in Naples and Aversa, urging him to prosecute
them with vigor. Frederic obeyed. He was then preparing his Sicilian
Code, which appeared at Amalfi in August, 1231. The first law,
_Inconsutilem tunicam_, was against heretics. The emperor did not
have to consult any one about the penalty to be decreed against
heresy; he had merely to copy his own law, enacted in Lombardy in
1224. This new law declared heresy a crime against society on a par
with treason, and liable to the same penalty. And that the law might
not be a dead letter for lack of accusers, the state officials were
commanded to prosecute it just as they would any other crime. This
was in reality the beginning of the Inquisition. All suspects were to
be tried by an ecclesiastical tribunal, and if, being declared
guilty, they refuse to abjure, they were to be burned in the presence
of the people.[1]

[1] _Constitut. Sicil_., i, 3, in Eymeric, _Directorium
inquisitorum_, Appendix, p. 14.

Once started on the road to severity, Frederic II did not stop. To
aid Gregory IX in suppressing heresy, he enacted at Ravenna, in 1237,
an imperial law condemning all heretics to death.[1] The kind of
death was not indicated. But every one knew that the common German
custom of burning heretics at the stake had now become the law. For
by three previous laws, May 14, 1238, June 26, 1238, and February 22,
1239, the emperor had declared that the Sicilian Code and the law of
Ravenna were binding upon all his subjects; the law of June 26, 1238,
merely promulgated these other laws throughout the kingdom of Arles
and Vienne. Henceforth all uncertainty was at an end. The legal
punishment for heretics throughout the empire was death at the stake.

[1] _Mon. Germ., Leges_, sect. iv, vol. ii, pp. 196.

Gregory IX did not wait for these laws to be enacted to carry out his
intentions.

As early as 1231 he tried to have the cities of Italy and Germany
adopt the civil and canonical laws in vogue at Rome against heresy,
and he was the first to inaugurate that particular method of
prosecution, the permanent tribunal of the Inquisition.

We possess some of the letters which he wrote in June, 1231, urging
the bishops and archbishops to further his plans. He did not meet
with much success, however, although the Dominicans and the Friars
Minor did their best to help him. Still some cities like Milan,
Verona, Piacenza and Vercelli adopted the measures of persecution
which he proposed. At Milan, Peter of Verona, a Dominican, on
September 15, 1233, had the laws of the Pope and the Senator of Rome
inscribed in the city's statutes. The _animadversio debita_ was
henceforth interpreted to mean the penalty of the stake. "In this
year," writes a chronicler of the time, "the people of Milan began to
burn heretics." In the month of July, sixty heretics were sent to the
stake at Verona. The podestà of Piacenza sent to the Pope the
heretics he had arrested. Vercelli, at the instance of the
Franciscan, Henry of Milan, incorporated in 1233 into its statutes
the law of the Senator of Rome and the imperial law of 1224; it,
however, omitted in the last named law the clause which decreed the
penalty of cutting out the tongue. In Germany, the Dominican, Conrad
of Marburg, was particularly active, in virtue of his commission from
Gregory IX. In accordance with the imperial law, we find him
sentencing to the stake a great number of heretics.

It may be admitted, however, that in his excessive zeal he even went
beyond the desires of the sovereign pontiff. Gregory IX did not find
everywhere so marked an eagerness to carry out his wishes. A number
of the cities of Italy for a long time continued to punish obstinate
heretics according to the penal code of Innocent III, i.e., by
banishment and confiscation.

That the penalty of the stake was used at this time in France is
proved by the burning of one hundred and eighty-three Bulgarians or
Bugres at Mont-Wimer in 1239 and by two important documents, the
_Établissements de Saint Louis_ and the _Coutumes de Beauvaisis_.

"As soon as the ecclesiastical judge has discovered, after due
examination, that the suspect is a heretic, he must hand him over to
the secular arm; and the secular judge must send him to the
stake."[1] Beaumanoir says the same thing: "In such a case, the
secular court must aid the Church; for when the Church condemns any
one as a heretic, she is obliged to hand him over to the secular arm
to be sent to the stake; for she herself cannot put any one to
death."[2]

[1] _Établissements de Saint Louis_, ch. cxxiii.

[2] _Coutumes de Beauvaisis_, xi, 2; cf. xxx, 11, ed. Beugnot, vol.
i, pp. 157, 413.

It is a question whether this legislation is merely the codification
of the custom introduced by popular uprisings against heresy and by
certain royal decrees, or whether it owes its origin to the law of
Frederic II which Gregory IX tried to enforce in France, as he had
done in Germany and Italy. This second hypothesis is hardly probable.
The tribunals of the Inquisition did not have to import into France
the penalty of the stake; they found it already established in both
central and northern France.

In fact, Gregory IX urged everywhere the enforcement of the existing
laws against heresy, and where none existed he introduced a very
severe system of prosecution. He was the first, moreover, to
establish an extraordinary and permanent tribunal for heresy
trials--an institution which afterwards became known as the monastic
Inquisition.

. . . . . . . .

The prosecution and the punishment of heretics in every diocese was
one of the chief duties of the bishops, the natural defenders of
orthodoxy. While heresy appeared at occasional intervals, they had
little or no difficulty in fulfilling their duty. But when the
Cathari and the Patazins had sprung up everywhere, especially in
southern Italy and France and northern Spain, the secrecy of their
movements made the task of the bishop extremely hard and complicated.
Rome soon perceived that they were not very zealous in prosecuting
heresy. To put an end to this neglect, Lucius III, jointly with the
Emperor Frederic Barbarossa and the bishops of his court, enacted a
decretal at Verona in 1184, regulating the _episcopal inquisition_.

All bishops and archbishops were commanded to visit personally once
or twice a year, or to empower their archdeacons or other clerics to
visit, every parish in which heresy was thought to exist. They were
to compel two or three trustworthy men, or, if need be, all the
inhabitants of the city, to swear that they would denounce every
suspect who attended secret assemblies, or whose manner of living
differed from that of the ordinary Catholic. After the bishop had
questioned all who had been brought before his tribunal, he was
empowered to punish them as he deemed fit, unless the accused
succeeded in establishing their innocence. All who superstitiously
refused to take the required oath (we have seen how the Cathari
considered it criminal to take an oath) were to be condemned and
punished as heretics, and if they refused to abjure they were handed
over to the secular arm.[1] This was an attempt to recall the bishops
to a sense of their duty. The Lateran Council of 1215 re-enacted the
laws of Lucius III; and to ensure their enforcement it decreed that
every bishop who neglected his duty should be deposed, and another
consecrated in his place.[2] The Council of Narbonne in 1227 likewise
ordered the bishop to appoint synodal witnesses (_testes synodales_)
in every parish to prosecute heretics.[3] But all these decrees,
although properly countersigned and placed in the archives, remained
practically a dead letter. In the first place it was very difficult
to obtain the synodal witnesses. And again, as a contemporary bishop,
Lunas de Tuy, assures us, the bishops for the most part were not at
all anxious to prosecute heresy. When reproached for their inaction
they replied: "How can we condemn those who are neither convicted nor
confessed?"[4]

[1] Lucius III, Ep. clxxl, Migne, P.L., vol. cci, col. 1297 and seq.

[2] The Bull _Excommunicamus_, Decretals, cap. xiii, in fine, _De
hæreticis_, lib. v, tit. vii.

[3] Can. 14, Labbe, _Concilia_, vol. xi, pars i, col. 307, 308.

[4] Lucas Tudensis, _De altera vita fideique controversiis adversus
Albigensium errores_, cap. xix, in the _Bibliotheca Patrum_, 4 ed.
vol. iv, col. 575-714. Lucas was Bishop of Tuy in Galicia, from 1239
to 1249.

The Popes, as the rulers of Christendom, tried to make up for the
indifference of the bishops by sending their legates to hunt for the
Cathari in their most hidden retreats. But they soon realized that
this legatine inquisition was ineffective.[1]

[1] Cf. Lea, op. cit., vol. i, p. 315 and seq.

"Bishop and legate," writes Lea, "were alike unequal to the task of
discovering those who carefully shrouded themselves under the cloak
of the most orthodox observance; and when by chance a nest of
heretics was brought to light, the learning and skill of the average
Ordinary failed to elicit a confession from those who professed the
most entire accord with the teachings of Rome. In the absence of
overt acts, it was difficult to reach the secret thoughts of the
sectary. Trained experts were needed whose sole business it should be
to unearth the offenders, and extort a confession of their guilt."

At an opportune moment, therefore, two mendicant orders, the
Dominicans and the Franciscans, were instituted to meet the new needs
of the Church. Both orders devoted themselves to preaching; the
Dominicans were especially learned in the ecclesiastical sciences,
i.e., canon law and theology.

"The establishment of these orders," continues Lea, "seemed a
providential interposition to supply the Church of Christ with what
it most sorely needed. As the necessity grew apparent of special and
permanent tribunals, devoted exclusively to the widespread sin of
heresy, there was every reason why they should be wholly free from
the local jealousies and enmities which might tend to the prejudice
of the innocent, or the local favoritism which might connive at the
escape of the guilty. If, in addition to this freedom from local
partialities, the examiners and judges were men specially trained to
the detection and conversion of the heretics; if also, they had by
irrevocable vows renounced the world; if they could acquire no
wealth, and were dead to the enticement of pleasure, every guarantee
seemed to be afforded that their momentous duties would be fulfilled
with the strictest justice--that while the purity of the faith would
be protected, there would be no unnecessary oppression or cruelty or
persecution dictated by private interests and personal revenge. Their
unlimited popularity was also a warrant that they would receive far
more efficient assistance in their arduous labors than could be
expected by the bishops, whose position was generally that of
antagonism to their flocks, and to the petty seigneurs and powerful
barons whose aid was indispensable."[1]

[1] Lea, op. cit., pp. 318, 319.

Gregory IX fully understood the help that the Dominicans and
Franciscans could render him as agents of the Inquisition throughout
Christendom.

It is probable that, the Senator of Rome refers to them in his oath
in 1231, when he speaks of the _Inquisitores datos ab Ecclesia_.[1]
Frederic II, in his law of 1232, also mentions the _Inquisitores ab
apostolica sede datos.[2] The Dominican Albéric traveled through
Lombardy in November, 1232, with the title of _Inquisitor hereticæ
pravitatis.[3] In 1231 a similar commission was entrusted to the
Dominicans of Freisach and to the famous Conrad of Marburg. Finally,
to quote but one more instance, Gregory IX, in 1233, wrote an
eloquent letter to the bishops of southern France in which he said:
"We, seeing you engrossed in the whirlwind of cares, and scarce able
to breathe in the pressure of overwhelming anxieties, think it well
to divide your burdens, that they may be more easily borne. We have
therefore determined to send preaching friars against the heretics of
France and the adjoining provinces, and we beg, warn, and exhort you,
ordering you, as you reverence the Holy See, to receive them kindly,
and to treat them well, giving them in this as in all else, favor,
counsel, and aid, that they may fulfill their office."

[1] Raynaldi, _Annales_, ad ann. 1231, sect. 16, 17.

[2] Cap. iii, in the _Mon. Germ., Leges_, sect. iv, vol. ii, p. 196.

[3] Potthast, _Regesta Roman. Pontif_., no. 904, 1.

Their duties are outlined in a letter of Gregory IX to Conrad of
Marburg, October 11, 1231: "When you arrive in a city, summon the
bishops, clergy and people, and preach a solemn sermon on faith; then
select certain men of good repute to help you in trying the heretics
and suspects denounced before your tribunal. All who on examination
are found guilty or suspected of heresy must promise to absolutely
obey the commands of the Church; if they refuse, you must prosecute
them, according to the statutes which we have recently promulgated."
We have in these instructions all the procedure of the Inquisition:
the time of grace; the call for witnesses and their testimony; the
Interrogation of the Accused; the reconciliation of repentant
heretics; the condemnation of obdurate heretics.

Each detail of this procedure calls for a few words of explanation.

The Inquisitor first summoned every heretic of the city to appear
before him within a certain fixed time, which as a rule did not
exceed thirty days. This period was called "the time of grace"
(tempus gratiæ). The heretics who abjured during this period were
treated with leniency. If secret heretics, they were dismissed with
only a slight secret penance; if public heretics, they were exempted
from the penalties of death and life imprisonment, and sentenced
either to make a short pilgrimage, or to undergo one of the ordinary
canonical penances.

If the heretics failed to come forward of their own accord, they were
to be denounced by the Catholic people. At first the number of
witnesses required to make an accusation valid was not determined;
later on two were declared necessary. In the beginning, the
Inquisition could only accept the testimony of men and women of good
repute; and the Church for a long time maintained that no one should
be admitted as an accuser who was a heretic, was excommunicated, a
homicide, a thief, a sorcerer, a diviner, or the bearer of false
witness. But her hatred of heresy led her later on to set aside this
law, when the faith was in question. As early as the twelfth century,
Gratian had declared that the testimony of infamous and heretical
witnesses might be accepted in trials for heresy.[1]

[1] Pars ii, _Causa_ ii, quaest. vii, cap. xxii; _Causa_ vi, quaest.
i, cap. xix.

The edicts of Frederic II declared that heretics could not testify in
the courts, but this disability was removed when they were called
upon to testify against other suspects.[1] In the beginning, the
Inquisitors were loath to accept such testimony. But in 1261
Alexander IV assured them that it was lawful to do so.[2] Henceforth
the testimony of a heretic was considered valid, although it was
always left to the discretion of the Inquisition to reject it at
will. This principle was finally incorporated into the canon law, and
was enforced by constant practice. All legal exceptions were
henceforth declared inoperative except that of moral enmity.[3]

[1] _Historia diplomatica Frederici II_, vol. iv, pp. 299, 300.

[2] Bull _Consuluit_, of January 23, 1261, in Eymeric, _Directorium
inquisitorum_, Appendix, p. 40.

[3] Eymeric, ibid., 3a pars, quæst. lxvii, pp. 606, 607. Pegna,
ibid., pp. 607, 609, declares that great cruelty or even insulting
words--e.g., to call a man _cornutus_ or a woman _meretrix_--might
come under the head of enmity, and invalidate a man's testimony.

Witnesses for the defence rarely presented themselves. Very seldom do
we come across any mention of them. This is readily understood, for
they would almost inevitably have been suspected as accomplices and
abettors of heresy. For the same reason, the accused were practically
denied the help of counsel. Innocent III had forbidden advocates and
scriveners to lend aid or counsel to heretics and their abettors.[1]
This prohibition, which in the mind of the Pope was intended only for
defiant and acknowledged heretics, was gradually extended to every
suspect who was striving to prove his innocence.[2]

[1] Decretals, cap. xi, _De hæreticis_, lib.. v, tit. vii.

[2] Eymeric, _Directorium inquisitorum_, 3a pars, quaest. xxxix, p.
565; cf. 446. Sometimes, however, the accused was granted counsel,
but _juxta juris formam ac stylum et usum officii Inquisitionis_; cf.
Vidal, _Le tribunal d'Inquisition_, in the _Annales de Saint Louis
des Français_, vol. ix (1905), p. 299, note. Eymeric himself grants
one (_Directorium_, pp. 451-453). But this lawyer was merely to
persuade his client to confess his heresy; he was rather the lawyer
of the court than of the accused. Vidal, op. cit., pp. 302, 303.
Pegna, however, says (in Eymeric _Directorium_, 2a pars, ch. xi,
Comm. 10) that in his time the accused was allowed counsel, if he
were only suspected of heresy. Cf. Tanon, op. cit., pp. 400, 401.

Heretics or suspects, therefore, denounced to the Inquisition
generally found themselves without counsel before their judges.

They personally had to answer the various charges of the indictment
(_capitula_) made against them. It certainly would have been a great
help to them, to have known 'the names of their accusers. But the
fear--well-founded it was true[1]--that the accused or their friends
would revenge themselves on their accusers, induced the Inquisitors
to withhold the names of the witnesses.[2] The only way in which the
prisoner could invalidate the testimony against him was to name all
his mortal enemies. If his accusers happened to be among them, their
testimony was thrown out of court.[3] But otherwise, he was obliged
to prove the falsity of the accusations against him--a practically
impossible undertaking. For if two witnesses, considered of good
repute by the Inquisitor, agreed in accusing the prisoner, his fate
was at once settled; whether he confessed or not, he was declared a
heretic.

[1] Guillem Pelhisse tells us that the Cathari sometimes killed those
who had denounced their brethren. _Chronique_, ed. Douai, p. 90. A
certain Arnold Dominici, who had denounced seven heretics, was killed
at night in his bed by "the Believers." _Ibid._, pp. 98, 99.

[2] Eymeric, _Directorium_, 3a pars, q. 72. The law on this point
varied from time to time. When Boniface VIII incorporated into the
canon law the rule of withholding the names of witnesses, he
expressly said that they might be produced, if there was no danger in
doing so. Cap. 20, Sexto v, 2.

[3] Eymeric, _Directorium_, 3a pars, _De defensionibus reorum_, p.
446 and seq.

After the prisoner had been found guilty, he could choose one of two
things; he could abjure his heresy and manifest his repentance by
accepting the penance imposed by his judge, or he could obstinately
persist either in his denial or profession of heresy, accepting
resolutely all the consequences of such an attitude.

If the heretic abjured he knelt before the Inquisitor as a penitent
before his confessor. He had no reason to fear his judge. For,
properly speaking, he did not inflict punishment.

"The mission of the Inquisition," writes Lea, "was to save men's
souls; to recall them to the way of salvation, and to assign salutary
penance to those who sought it, like a father-confessor with his
penitent. Its sentences, therefore, were not like those of an earthly
judge, the retaliation of society on the wrongdoer, or deterrent
examples to prevent the spread of crime; they were simply imposed for
the benefit of the erring soul, to wash away its sin. The Inquisitors
themselves habitually speak of their ministrations in this sense."[1]

[1] Lea, op. cit., p. 459.

But "the sin of heresy was too grave to be expiated simply by
contrition and amendment."[1] The Inquisitor, therefore, pointed out
other means of expiation: "The penances customarily imposed by the
Inquisition were comparatively few in number. They consisted,
firstly, of pious observances--recitation of prayers, frequenting of
churches, the discipline, fasting, pilgrimages, and fines nominally
for pious uses,--such as a confessor might impose on his ordinary
penitents." These were for offences of trifling import. "Next in
grade are the _poenae confusibiles_,--the humiliating and degrading
penances, of which the most important was the wearing of yellow
crosses sewed upon the garments; and, finally, the severest
punishment among those strictly within the competence of the Holy
Office, the _murus_ or prison."[2]

[1] Lea, ibid., p. 463.

[2] Lea, ibid., p. 462.

If the heretic refused to abjure, his obduracy put an end to the
judge's leniency, and withdrew him at once from his jurisdiction.

"The Inquisitor never condemned to death, but merely withdrew the
protection of the Church from the hardened and impenitent sinner who
afforded no hope of conversion, or from him who showed by relapse
that there was no trust to be placed in his pretended repentance."[1]

[1] Lea, ibid., p. 460.

It was at this juncture that the State intervened. The ecclesiastical
judge handed over the heretic to the secular arm, which simply
enforced the legal penalty of the stake. However, the law allowed the
heretic to abjure even at the foot of the stake; in that case his
sentence was commuted to life imprisonment.

It is hard to conceive of a greater responsibility than that of a
mediæval Inquisitor. The life or death of the heretic was practically
at his disposal. The Church, therefore, required him to possess in a
pre-eminent degree the qualities of an impartial judge. Bernard Gui,
the most experienced Inquisitor of his time (1308-1323), thus paints
for us the portrait of the ideal Inquisitor: "He should be diligent
and fervent in his zeal for religious truth, for the salvation of
souls, and for the destruction of heresy. He should always be calm in
times of trial and difficulty, and never give way to outbursts of
anger or temper. He should be a brave man, ready to face death if
necessary, but while never cowardly running from danger, he should
never be foolhardy rushing into it. He should be unmoved by the
entreaties or the bribes of those who appear before his tribunal;
still he must not harden his heart to the point of refusing to delay
or mitigate punishment, as circumstances may require from time to
time.

"In doubtful cases, he should be very careful not to believe too
easily what may appear probable, and yet in reality is false; nor, on
the other hand, should he stubbornly refuse to believe what may
appear improbable, and yet is frequently true. He should zealously
discuss and examine every case, so as to be sure to make a just
decision.... Let the love of truth and mercy, the special qualities
of every good judge, shine in his countenance, and let his sentences
never be prompted by avarice or cruelty."[1]

[1] _Practica Inquisitionis_, pars 6a, ed. Douais, 1886, pp. 231-233.

This portrait corresponds to the idea that Gregory IX had of the true
Inquisitor. In the instructions which he gave to the terrible Conrad
of Marburg, October 21, 1223, he took good care to warn him to be
prudent as well as zealous: "Punish if you will," he said, "the
wicked and perverse, but see that no innocent person suffers a your
hands:" _ut puniatur sic temeritas perversorum, quod innocentiæ
puritas non lædatur_. Gregory IX cannot be accused of injustice, but
he will ever be remembered as the Pope who established the
Inquisition as a permanent tribunal, and did his utmost to enforce
everywhere the death penalty for heresy.

This Pope was, in certain respects, a very slave to the letter of the
law. The protests of St. Augustine and many other early Fathers did
not affect him in the least. In the beginning, while he was legate,
he merely insisted upon the enforcement of the penal code of Innocent
III, which did not decree any punishment severer than banishment, but
he soon began to regard heresy as a crime similar to treason, and
therefore subject to the same penalty, death. Certain ecclesiastics
of his court with extremely logical minds, and rulers like Pedro II
of Aragon and Frederic II, had reached the same conclusion, even
before he did. Finally, in the fourth year of his pontificate, and
undoubtedly after mature deliberation, he decided to compel the
princes and the podestà to enforce the law condemning heretics to the
stake.

He did his utmost to bring this about. He did not forget, however,
that the Church could not concern herself in sentences of death. In
fact, his law of 1231 decrees that: "Heretics condemned by the Church
are to be handed over to the secular courts to receive due punishment
(_animadversio debita_)."[1] The emperor Frederic II had the same
notion of the distinction between the two powers. His law of 1224
points out carefully that heretics convicted by an ecclesiastical
trial are to be burned in the name of the civil authority:
_auctoritate nostra ignis judicio concremandus_.[2] The imperial law
of 1232 likewise declares that heretics condemned by the Church are
to be brought before a secular tribunal to receive the punishment
they deserve.[3] This explains why Gregory IX did not believe that in
handing over heretics to the secular arm he participated directly or
indirectly in a death sentence.[4] The tribunals of the Inquisition
which he established in no way modified this concept of
ecclesiastical justice. The Papacy, the guardian of orthodoxy for the
universal Church, simply found that the Dominicans and the
Franciscans were more docile instruments than the episcopate for the
suppresion of heresy. But whether the Inquisition was under the
direction of the bishops or the monks, it could have been conducted
on the same lines.

[1] _Decretales_, cap. xv, _De Hæreticis_, lib. v, tit. vii.

[2] _Mon. Germ., Leges_, sect. iv, vol. ii, p. 126.

[3] Ibid., p. 196.

[4] Lea writes (op. cit., vol. i, p. 536, note): "Gregory IX had no
scruple in asserting the duty of the Church to shed the blood of
heretics." In a brief of 1234 to the Archbishop of Sens, he says:
_Nec enim decuit Apostolicam Sedem, in oculis suis cum Madianita
coeunte Judæo, manum suam a sanguine prohibere, ne si secus ageret
non custodire populum Israel ... videretur_. Ripoll, i, 66. This is
certainly a serious charge, but the citation he gives implies
something altogether different. Lea has been deceived himself, and in
turn has misled his readers, by a comparison which he mistook for a
doctrinal document. The context, we think, clearly shows that the
Pope was making a comparison between the Holy See and the Jewish
leader Phinees, who had slain an Israelite and a harlot of Madian, in
the very act of their crime (Num. xxv. 6, 7). That does not imply
that the Church use the same weapons. Even if the comparison is not a
very happy one, still we must not exaggerate its import. The Pope's
letter did not even mention the execution of heretics. Ripoll,
_Bullarium ord. FF. Prædicatorum_, vol. 1, p. 66.

But, as a matter of fact, it unfortunately changed completely under
the direction of the monks. The change effected by them in the
ecclesiastical procedure resulted wholly to the detriment of the
accused. The safeguards for their defense were in part done away
with. A pretense was made to satisfy the demands of justice by
requiring that the Inquisitors be prudent and impartial judges. But
this made everything depend upon individuals, whereas the law itself
should have been just and impartial. In this respect, the criminal
procedure of the Inquisition is markedly inferior to the criminal
procedure of the Middle Ages.



CHAPTER VI
SIXTH PERIOD
DEVELOPMENT OF THE INQUISITION
INNOCENT IV AND THE USE OF TORTURE

The successors of Gregory IX were not long in perceiving certain
defects in the system of the Inquisition. They tried their best to
remedy them, although their efforts were not always directed with the
view of mitigating its rigor. We will indicate briefly their various
decrees pertaining to the tribunals, the penalties and the procedure
of the Inquisition.

In appointing the Dominicans and the Franciscans to suppress heresy,
Gregory IX did not dream of abolishing the episcopal Inquisition.
This was still occasionally carried on with its rival, whose
procedure it finally adopted. Indeed no tribunal of the Inquisition
could operate in a diocese without the permission of the Bishop, whom
it was supposed to aid. But it was inevitable that the Inquisitors
would in time encroach upon the episcopal authority, and relying upon
their papal commission proceed to act as independent judges. This
abuse frequently attracted the attention of the Popes, who, after
some hesitation, finally settled the law on this point.

"If previous orders requiring it" (episcopal concurrence), writes
Lea, "had not been treated with contempt, Innocent IV would not have
been obliged, in 1254, to reiterate the instructions that no
condemnations to death or life imprisonment should be uttered without
consulting the Bishops; and in 1255 he enjoined Bishop and Inquisitor
to interpret in consultation any obscurities in the laws against
heresy, and to administer the lighter penalties of deprivation of
office and preferment. This recognition of episcopal jurisdiction was
annulled by Alexander IV, who, after some vacillation, in 1257
rendered the Inquisition independent by releasing it from the
necessity of consulting with the Bishops even in cases of obstinate
and confessed heretics, and this he repeated in 1260. Then there was
a reaction. In 1262, Urban IV, in an elaborate code of instructions,
formally revived the consultation in all cases involving the death
penalty or perpetual imprisonment; and this was repeated by Clement
IV in 1265. Either these instructions, however, were revoked in some
subsequent enactment, or they soon fell into desuetude, for in 1273,
Gregory X, after alluding to the action of Alexander IV in annulling
consultation, proceeds to direct that Inquisitors in deciding upon
sentences shall proceed in accordance with the counsel of the Bishops
or their delegates, so that the episcopal authority might share in
decisions of such moment."[1]

[1] Lea, op. cit., p. 335.

This decretal remained henceforth the law. But as the Inquisitors at
times seemed to act as if it did not exist, Boniface VIII and Clement
IV strengthened it by declaring null and void all grave sentences in
which the Bishop had not been consulted.[1] The consultation,
however, between the Bishop and Inquisitor could be conducted through
delegates. In insisting upon this, the Popes proved that they were
anxious to give the sentences of the Inquisition every possible
guarantee of perfect justice.

[1] _Sexto_, lib. v, tit. ii, cap. 17, _Per hoc_; Clementin. lib v.
tit. iii, cap. i, _Multorum querela_.

Another way in which the Popes labored to render the sentences of the
Inquisition just, was the institution of experts. As the questions
which arose before the tribunals in matters of heresy were often very
complex, "it was soon found requisite to associate with the
Inquisitors in the rendering of sentences men versed in the civil and
canon law, which had by this time become an intricate study,
requiring the devotion of a lifetime. Accordingly they were empowered
to call in experts to deliberate with them over the evidence, and
advise with them on the sentence to be rendered."[1]

[1] Lea, op. cit., vol. i. p. 388.

The official records of the sentences of the Inquisition frequently
mention the presence of these experts, _periti_ and _boni viri_.
Their number, which varied according to circumstances, was generally
large. At a consultation called by the Inquisitors in January, 1329,
at the Bishop's palace in Pamiers, there were thirty-five present,
nine of whom were jurisconsults; and at another in September, 1329,
there were fifty-one present, twenty of whom were civil lawyers.

"At a comparatively early date, the practice was adopted of allowing
a number of culprits to accumulate, whose fate was determined and
announced in a solemn _Sermo_ or _auto-da-fé_. In the final shape
which the assembly of counsellors assumed, we find it summoned to
meet on Fridays, the _Sermo_ always taking place on Sundays. When the
number of criminals was large, there was not much time for
deliberation in special cases. The assessors were always to be
jurists and Mendicant Friars, selected by the Inquisitor in such
numbers as he saw fit. They were severally sworn on the Gospels to
secrecy, and to give good and wise counsel, each one according to his
conscience, and to the knowledge vouchsafed him by God. The
Inquisitor then read over his summary of each case, sometimes
withholding the name of the accused, and they voted the sentence,
"Penance at the discretion of the Inquisitor"--"that person is to be
imprisoned, or abandoned to the secular arm"--while the Gospels lay
on the table to so that our judgment might come from the face of God,
and our eyes might see justice."[1]

[1] Lea, op. cit., vol. i, p. 389.

We have here the beginnings of our modern jury. As a rule, the
Inquisitors followed the advice of their counsellors, save when they
themselves favored a less severe sentence. The labor of these experts
was considerable, and often lasted several days. "A brief summary of
each case was submitted to them. Eymeric maintained that the whole
case ought to be submitted to them; and that was undoubtedly the
common practice. But Pegna, on the other hand, thought it was better
to withhold from the assessors the names of both the witnesses and
the prisoners. He declares that this was the common practice of the
Inquisition, at least as far as the names were concerned. This was
also the practice of the Inquisitors of southern France, as Bernard
Gui tells us. The majority of the counsellors received a brief
summary of the case, the names being withheld. Only a very few of
them were deemed worthy to read the full text of all the
interrogatories."[1]

[1] Tanon, op. cit., p. 421.

We can readily see how the _periti_ or _boni viri_, who were called
upon to decide the guilt or innocence of the accused from evidence
considered in the abstract, without any knowledge of the prisoners'
names or motives, could easily make mistakes. In fact, they did not
have data enough to enable them to decide a concrete case. For
tribunals are to judge criminals and not crimes, just as physicians
treat sick people and not diseases in the abstract. We know that the
same disease calls for a different treatment in different
individuals; in like manner a crime must be judged with due reference
to the mentality of the one Who has committed it. The Inquisition did
not seem to understand this.[1]

[1] Even in our day the jury is bound to decide on the merits of the
case submitted to it, without regarding the consequences of its
verdict. The foreman reminds the jurymen in advance that "they will
be false to their oath if, in giving their decision, they are biased
by the consideration of the punishment their verdict will entail upon
the prisoner."

The assembly of experts, therefore, instituted by the Popes did not
obtain the good results that were expected. But we must, at least, in
justice admit that the Popes did their utmost to protect the
tribunals of the Inquisition from the arbitrary action of individual
judges, by requiring the Inquisitors to consult both the _boni viri_
and the Bishops.

Over the various penalties of the Inquisition, the Popes likewise
exercised a supervision which was always just and at times most
kindly.

The greatest penalties which the Inquisition could inflict were life
imprisonment, and abandonment of the prisoner to the secular arm. It
is only with regard to the first of these penalties that we see the
clemency of both Popes and Councils. Any one who considers the rough
manners of this period, must admit that the Church did a great deal
to mitigate the excessive cruelty of the medieval prisons.

The Council of Toulouse, in 1229, decreed that repentant heretics
"must be imprisoned, in such a way that they could not corrupt
others." It also declared that the Bishop was to provide for the
prisoners' needs out of their confiscated property. Such measures
betoken an earnest desire to safeguard the health, and to a certain
degree the liberty of the prisoners. In fact, the documents we
possess prove that the condemned sometimes enjoyed a great deal of
freedom, and were allowed to receive from their friends an additional
supply of food, even when the prison fare was ample.

But in many places the prisoners, even before their trial, were
treated with great cruelty. "The papal orders were that they (the
prisons) should be constructed of small, dark cells for solitary
confinement, only taking care that the _enormis rigor_ of the
incarceration should not extinguish life."[1] But this last provision
was not always carried out. Too often the prisoners were confined in
narrow cells full of disease, and totally unfit for human habitation.
The Popes, learning this sad state of affairs, tried to remedy it.
Clement V was particularly zealous in his attempts at prison
reform.[2] That he succeeded in bettering, at least for a time, the
lot of these unfortunates, in whom he interested himself, cannot be
denied.[3]

[1] Lea, op. cit., vol. i, p. 491.

[2] He ordered that the prisons be kept in good condition, that they
be looked after by both Bishop and Inquisitor, each of whom was to
appoint a jailer who would keep the prison keys, that all provisions
sent to the prisoners should be faithfully given them, etc. Cf.
Decretal _Multorum querela_ in Eymeric, _Directorium_, p. 112.

[3] His legates Pierre de la Chapelle and Béranger fr Frédol visited
in April, 1306, the prisons of Carcassonne and Albi, changed the
jailers, removed the irons from the prisoners, and made others leave
the subterranean cells in which they had been confined. Douais,
_Documents_, vol. ii, p. 304 seq. Cf. Compayré, Études historiques
sur l'Albigeois, pp. 240-245.

If the reforms he decreed were not all carried out, the blame must be
laid to the door of those appointed to enforce them. History frees
him from all responsibility.

The part played by the Popes, the Councils, and the Inquisitors in
the infliction of the death penalty does not appear in so favorable a
light. While not directly participating in the death sentences, they
were still very eager for the executions of the heretics they
abandoned to the secular arm. This is well attested by both documents
and facts.

Lucius III, at the Council of Verona in 1184, ordered sovereigns to
swear, in the presence of their Bishops, to execute fully and
conscientiously the ecclesiastical and civil laws against heresy. If
they refused or neglected to do this, they themselves were liable to
excommunication and their rebellious cities to interdict.[1]

[1] Decretal _Ad abolendam_, in the Decretals, cap. ix, _De
Hæreticis_, lib. v, tit. vii. Cf. Sexto, lib. v, tit. ii, c. 2. _Ut
Officium_; Council of Arles, 1254, can. iii; Council of Béziers,
1246, can. ix.

Innocent IV, in 1252, enacted a law still more severe, insisting on
the infliction of the death penalty upon heretics. "When," he says,
"heretics condemned by the Bishop, his Vicar, or the Inquisitors,
have been abandoned to the secular arm, the podestà or ruler of the
city must take charge of them at once, and within five days enforce
the laws against them."[1]

[1] Eymeric, _Directorium_, Appendix. p. 8.

This law, or rather the bull _Ad Extirpanda_, which contains it, was
to be inscribed in perpetuity in all the local statute books. Any
attempt to modify it was a crime, which condemned the offender to
perpetual infamy, and a fine enforced by the ban. Moreover, each
podestà, at the beginning and end of his term, was required to have
this bull read in all places designated by the Bishop and the
Inquisitors, and to erase from the statute books all laws to the
contrary.

At the same time, Innocent IV issued instructions to the Inquisitors
of upper Italy, urging them to have this bull and the edicts of
Frederic II inserted in the statutes of the various cities.[1] And to
prevent mistakes being made as to which imperial edicts he wished
enforced, he repeated these instructions in 1254, and inserted in one
of his bulls the cruel laws of Frederic II, viz., the edict of
Ravenna, _Commissis nobis_, which decreed the death of obdurate
heretics; and the Sicilian law, _Inconsutilem tunicam_, which
expressly decreed that such heretics be sent to the stake.

[1] Cf. the bulls _Cum adversus, Tunc potissime, Ex Commissis nobis_,
etc., in Eymeric, ibid., pp. 9-12.

These decrees remained the law as long as the Inquisition lasted. The
bull _Ad Extirpanda_ was, however, slightly modified from time to
time. "In 1265, Clement IV again went over it, carefully making some
changes, principally in adding the word 'Inquisitors' in passages
where Innocent had only designated the Bishops and Friars, thus,
showing that the Inquisition had, during the interval, established
itself as the recognized instrumentality in the prosecution of
heresy, and the next year he repeated Innocent's emphatic order to
the Inquisitors to enforce the insertion of his legislation and that
of his predecessors upon the statute books everywhere, with the free
use of excommunication and interdict."[1]

[1] Lea, op. cit., vol. i, p. 339.

A little later, Nicholas IV, who during his short pontificate
(1288-1292), greatly favored the Inquisition in its work, re-enacted
the bulls of Innocent IV and Clement IV, and ordered the enforcement
of the laws of Frederic II, lest, perchance, they might fall into
desuetude.[1]

[1] _Registers_, published by Langlois, no. 4253.

It is therefore proved beyond question that the Church, in the person
of the Popes, used every means at her disposal, especially
excommunication, to compel the State to enforce the infliction of the
death penalty upon heretics. This excommunication, moreover, was all
the more dreaded, because, according to the canons, the one
excommunicated, unless absolved front the censure, was regarded as a
heretic himself within a year's time, and was liable therefore to the
death penalty.[1] The princes of the day, therefore, had no other way
of escaping this penalty, except by faithfully carrying out the
sentence of the Church.

[1] Alexander IV decreed this penalty against the contumacious.
Sexto, _De Hæreticis_, cap. vii. Boniface VIII extended it to those
princes and magistrates who did not enforce the sentences of the
Inquisition. Sexto, _De Hæreticis_, cap. xviii in Eymeric, 2a pars,
p. 110.

. . . . . . . .

The Church is also responsible for having introduced torture into the
proceedings of the Inquisition. This cruel practice was introduced by
Innocent IV in 1252.

Torture had left too terrible an impression upon the minds of the
early Christians to permit of their employing it in their own
tribunals. The barbarians who founded the commonwealths of Europe,
with the exception of the Visigoths, knew nothing of this brutal
method of extorting confessions. The only thing of the kind which
they allowed was flogging, which, according to St. Augustine, was
rather akin to the correction of children by their parents. Gratian,
who recommends it in his _Decretum_,[1] lays it down as an "accepted
rule of canon law that no confession is to be extorted by
torture."[2] Besides, Nicholas I, in his instructions to the
Bulgarians, had formally denounced the torturing of prisoners.[3] He
advised that the testimony of three persons be required for
conviction; if these could not be obtained, the prisoner's oath upon
the Gospels was to be considered sufficient.

[1] _Causa_ v, quæst. v, Illi qui, cap. iv.

[2] _Causa_ xv, quæst, vi, cap. i.

[3] _Responsa ad Consulta Bulgarorum_, cap. lxxxvi, Labbe,
_Concilia_, vol. viii, col. 544.

The ecclesiastical tribunals borrowed from Germany another method of
proving crime, viz., the ordeals, or judgments of God.

There was the duel, the ordeal of the cross, the ordeal of boiling
water, the ordeal of fire, and the ordeal of cold water. They had a
great vogue in nearly all the Latin countries, especially in Germany
and France. But about the twelfth century they deservedly fell into
great disfavor, until at last the Popes, particularly Innocent III,
Honorius III, and Gregory IX, legislated them out of existence.[1]

[1] _Decretals_, lib. v, tit. xxxv, cap. i-iii. Cf. Vacandard,
_L'Église et les Ordalies_ in _Études de critique et d'histoire_, 3d
ed., Paris, 1906, pp. 191-215.

At the very moment the popes were condemning the ordeals, the revival
of the Roman law throughout the West was introducing the customs of
antiquity. It was then "that jurists began to feel the need of
torture, and accustom themselves to the idea of its introduction."
"The earliest instances with which I have met," writes Lea, "occur in
the Veronese code of 1228, and the Sicilian constitutions of Frederic
II in 1231, and in both of these the references to it show how
sparingly and hesitatingly it was employed. Even Frederic, in his
ruthless edicts, from 1220 to 1239, makes no allusion to it, but in
accordance with the Verona decree of Lucius III, prescribes the
recognized form of canonical purgation for the trial of all suspected
heretics."[1]

[1] Lea, op. cit., vol. i, p. 421.

The use of torture, as Tanon has pointed out, had perhaps never been
altogether discontinued. Some ecclesiastical tribunals, at least in
Paris, made use of it in extremely grave cases, at the close of the
twelfth andd beginning of the thirteenth centuries.[1] But this was
exceptional: in Italy, apparently, it had never been used.

[1] Tanon, op. cit., pp. 362-373.

Gregory IX ignored all references to torture made in the Veronese
code, and the constitutions of Frederic II. But Innocent IV, feeling
undoubtedly that it was a quick and effective method for detecting
criminals, authorized the tribunals of the Inquisition to employ it.
In his bull _Ad Extirpanda_, he says: "The podestà or ruler (of the
city) is hereby ordered to force all captured heretics to confess and
accuse their accomplices by torture which will not imperil life or
injure limb, just as thieves and robbers are forced to accuse their
accomplices, and to confess their crimes; for these heretics are true
thieves, murderers of souls, and robbers of the sacraments of
God."[1] The Pope here tries to defend the use of torture, by
classing heretics with thieves and murderers. A mere comparison is
his only argument.

[1] Bull _Ad Extirpanda_, in Eymeric, _Directorium_, Appendix, p. 8.

This law of Innocent IV was renewed and confirmed November 30, 1259,
by Alexander IV,[1] and again on November 3, 1265, by Clement IV.[2]
The restriction of Innocent III to use torture "which should not
imperil life or injure limb" (_Cogere citra membri diminutionem et
mortis periculum_), left a great deal to the discretion of the
Inquisitors. Besides flogging, the other punishments inflicted upon
those who refused to confess the crime of which they were accused
were antecedent imprisonment, the rack, the _strappado_, and the
burning coals.

[1] Potthast, _Regesta_, no. 17714.

[2] Ibid., no. 19433.

When after the first interrogatory the prisoner denied what the
Inquisitors believed to be very probable or certain, he was thrown
into prison. The _durus carcer et arcta vita_ was deemed an excellent
method of extorting confessions.

"It was pointed out," says Lea, "that judicious restriction of diet
not only reduced the body, but weakened the will, and rendered the
prisoner less able to resist alternate threats of death and promises
of mercy. Starvation, in fact, was reckoned one of the regular and
most efficient methods to subdue unwilling witnesses and
defendants."[1] This was the usual method employed in Languedoc. "It
is the only method," writes Mgr. Douais,[2] "to to extort confessions
mentioned either in the records of the notary of the Inquisition of
Carcassonne[3] or in the sentences of Bernard Gui. It was also the
practice of the Inquisitors across the Rhine."

[1] Lea, op. cit., vol. i, p. 421.

[2] Douais, _Documents_, vol. i, p. ccxl.

[3] Douais, _Documents_, vol. ii, p. 115 and seq.

Still the use of torture, especially of the rack and the _strappado_,
was not unknown in southern Europe, even before the promulgation of
Innocent's bull _Ad Extirpanda_.

The rack was a triangular frame, on which the prisoner was stretched
and bound, so that he could not move. Cords were attached to his arms
and legs, and then connected with a windlass, which, when turned,
dislocated the joints of the wrists and ankles.

The _strappado_ or vertical rack was no less painful. The prisoner
with his hands tied behind his back was raised by a rope attached to
a pulley and windlass to the top of a gallows, or to the ceiling of
the torture chamber; he was then let fall with a jerk to within a few
inches of the ground. This was repeated several times. The cruel
torturers sometimes tied weights to the victim's feet to increase the
shock of the fall.

The punishment of burning, "although a very dangerous punishment," as
an Inquisitor informs us, was occasionally used. We read of an
official of Poitiers, who, following a Toulousain custom, tortured a
sorceress by placing her feet on burning coals (_juxta carbones
accensos_). This punishment is described by Marsollier in his
_Histoire de l'Inquisition_. First a good fire was started; then the
victim was stretched out on the ground, his feet manacled, and turned
toward the flame. Grease, fat, or some other combustible substance
was rubbed upon them, so that they were horribly burned. From time to
time a screen was placed between the victim's feet and the brazier,
that the Inquisitor might have an opportunity to resume his
interrogatory.

Such methods of torturing the accused were so detestable, that in the
beginning the torturer was always a civil official, as we read in the
bull of Innocent IV. The canons of the Church, moreover, prohibited
all ecclesiastics from taking part in these tortures, so that the
Inquisitor who, for whatever reason, accompanied the victim into the
torture chamber, was thereby rendered irregular, and could not
exercise his office again, until he had obtained the necessary
dispensation. The tribunals complained of this cumbrous mode of
administration, and declared that it hindered them from properly
interrogating the accused. Every effort was made to have the
prohibition against clerics being present in the torture chamber
removed. Their object was at last obtained indirectly. On April 27,
1260, Alexander IV authorized the Inquisitors and their associates to
mutually grant all the needed dispensations for irregularities that
might be incurred.[1] This permission was granted a second time by
Urban IV, August 4, 1262;[2] it was practically an authorization to
assist at the interrogatories at which torture was employed. From
this time the Inquisitors did not scruple to appear in person in the
torture chamber. The manuals of the Inquisition record this practice
and approve it.[3]

[1] Douais, _Documents_, vol. i, p. xxv, n. 3.

[2] _Regesta_, no. 18390.

[3] Eymeric, _Directorium_, 3a pars, p. 481.

Torture was not to be employed until the judge had been convinced
that gentle means were of no avail.[1] Even in the torture chamber,
while the prisoner was being stripped of his garments and was being
bound, the Inquisitor kept urging him to confess his guilt. On his
refusal, the _vexatio_ began with slight tortures. If these proved
ineffectual, others were applied with gradually increased severity;
at the very beginning, the victim was shown all the various
instruments of torture, in order that the mere sight of them might
terrify him into yielding.[2]

[1] A grave suspicion against the prisoner was required before he
could be tortured.

[2] Eymeric, _Directorium_, 3a pars, p. 481, col. 1.

The Inquisitors realized so well that such forced confessions were
valueless, that they required the prisoner to confirm them after he
had left the torture chamber. The torture was not to exceed a half
hour. "Usually," writes Lea, "the procedure appears to be that the
torture was continued until the accuser signified his readiness to
confess, when he was unbound and carried into another room where his
confession was made. If, however, the confession was extracted during
the torture, it was read over subsequently to the prisoner, and he
was asked if it were true.... In any case, the record was carefully
made that the confession was free and spontaneous, without the
pressure of force or fear."[1]

[1] Lea, op. cit., vol. i. p. 427.

"It is a noteworthy fact, however, that in the fragmentary documents
of inquisitorial proceedings which have reached us, the references to
torture are singularly few.... In the six hundred and thirty-six
sentences borne upon the register of Toulouse from 1309 to 1323, the
only allusion to torture is in the recital of the case of Calvarie,
but there are numerous instances in which the information wrung from
the convicts who had no hope of escape, could scarce have been
procured in any other manner. Bernard Gui, who conducted the
Inquisition of Toulouse during this period, has too emphatically
expressed his sense of the utility of torture on both principals and
witnesses for us to doubt his readiness in its employment."[1]

[1] Lea, op. cit., p. 424.

Besides, the investigation which Clement V ordered into the
iniquities of the Inquisition of Carcassonne, proves clearly that the
accused were frequently subjected to torture.[1] That we rarely find
reference to torture in the records of the Inquisition need not
surprise us. For in the beginning, torture was inflicted by civil
executioners outside of the tribunal of the Inquisition; and even
later on, when the Inquisitors were allowed to take part in it, it
was considered merely a means of making the prisoner declare his
willingness to confess afterwards. A confession made under torture
had no force in law; the second confession only was considered valid.
That is why it alone, as a rule, is recorded.

[1] Clement V required the consent of the Inquisitor and the local
Bishop before a heretic could be tortured, _vel tormentis exponere
illis_. Decretal _Multorum querela_, in Eymeric, _Directorium_, 2a
pars, p. 112.

But if the sufferings of the victims of the Inquisition were not
deemed worthy of mention in the records, they were none the less real
and severe. Imprudent or heartless judges were guilty of grave abuses
in the use of torture. Rome, which had authorized it, at last
intervened, not, we regret to say, to prohibit it altogether, but at
least to reform the abuses which had been called to her attention.
One reform of Clement V ordered the Inquisition never to use torture
without the Bishop's consent, if he could be reached within eight
days.[1]

[1] Decretal, _Multorum querela_.

"Bernard Gui emphatically remonstrated against this, as seriously
crippling the efficiency of the Inquisition, and proposed to
substitute for it the meaningless phrase that torture should only be
used _with mature and careful deliberation_, but his suggestion was
not heeded, and the Clementine regulations remained the law of the
Church."[1]

[1] Lea, op. cit., vol. i, p. 424; Bernard Gui, _Practica_, ed.
Douais, 4a pars, p. 188.

The code of the Inquisition was now practically complete, for
succeeding Popes made no change of any importance. The data before us
prove that the Church forgot her early traditions of toleration, and
borrowed from the Roman jurisprudence, revived by the legists, laws
and practices which remind one of the cruelty of ancient paganism.
But once this criminal code was adopted, she endeavored to mitigate
the cruelty with which it was enforced. If this preoccupation is not
always visible--and it is not in her condemnation of obdurate
heretics--we must at least give her the credit of insisting that
torture "should never imperil life or injure limb:" _Cogere citra
membri diminutionem et mortis periculum_.

We will now ask how the theologians and canonists interpreted this
legislation, and how the tribunals of the Inquisition enforced it.



CHAPTER VIII
THEOLOGIANS, CANONISTS, AND CASUISTS OF THE INQUISITION

THE gravity of the crime of heresy was early recognized in the
Church. Gratian discussed this question in a special chapter of his
_Decretum._[1] Innocent III, Guala, the Dominican, and the Emperor
Frederic II, as we have seen, looked upon heresy as treason against
Almighty God, i.e., the most dreadful of crimes.

[1] _Causa_ xxii, q. vii, cap. 16.

The theologians, and even the civil authorities, did not concern
themselves much with the evil effects of heresy upon the social
order, but viewed it rather as an offense against God. Thus they made
no distinction between those teachings which entailed injury on the
family and on society, and those which merely denied certain revealed
truths. Innocent III, in his constitution of September 23, 1207,
legislated particularly against the Patarins, but he took care to
point out that no heretic, no matter what the nature of his error
might be, should be allowed to escape the full penalty of the law.[1]
Frederic II spoke in similar terms in his Constitutions of 1220,
1224, and 1232. This was the current teaching throughout the Middle
Ages.

[1] Ep. x, 130.

But it is important to know what men then understood by the word
heresy. We can ascertain this from the theologians and canonists,
especially from St. Raymond of Pennafort and St. Thomas Aquinas. St.
Raymond gives four meanings to the word heretic, but from the
standpoint of the canon law he says: "A heretic is one who denies the
faith."[1] St. Thomas Aquinas is more accurate. He declares that no
one is truly a heretic unless he obstinately maintains his error,
even after it has been pointed out to him by ecclesiastical
authority. This is the teaching of St. Augustine.[2]

[1] S. Raymundi, _Summa_, lib. i, cap. _De Hæreticis_, sect. i, Roman
Edition, 1603, p. 39.

[2] _Summa_, IIa, IIae, quæst. xi, Conclusio; cf. ibid., ad 3um,
quotations from St. Augustine.

But by degrees the word, taken at first in a strict sense, acquired a
broader meaning. St. Raymond includes schism in the notion of heresy.
"The only difference between these two crimes," he writes, "is the
difference between genus and species;" every schism ends in heresy.
And relying on the authority of St. Jerome, the rigorous canonist
goes so far as to declare that schism is even a greater crime than
heresy. He proves this by the fact that Core, Dathan, and Abiron,[1]
who seceded from the chosen people, were punished by the most
terrible of punishments. "From the enormity of the punishment, must
we not argue the enormity of the crime?" St. Raymond therefore
declares that the same punishment must be inflicted upon the heretic
and the schismatic.[2]

[1] Num. xvi. 31-33.

[2] Loc. cit., lib. i, cap. _De Schismaticis_, pp. 45-47

"The authors of the treatises on the Inquisition," writes Tanon,
"classed as heretics all those who favored heresy, and all
excommunicates who did not submit to the Church within a certain
period. They declared that a man excommunicated for any cause
whatever, who did not seek absolution within a year, incurred by this
act of rebellion a light suspicion of heresy; that he could then be
cited before the Inquisitor to answer not only for the crime which
had caused his excommunication, but also for his orthodoxy. If he did
not answer this second summons, he was at once considered
excommunicated for heresy, and if he remained under this second
excommunication for a year, he was liable to be condemned as a real
heretic. The light suspicion caused by his first excommunication
became in turn a vehement and then a violent suspicion which,
together with his continued contumacy, constituted a full proof of
heresy."[1]

[1] Tanon, op. cit., pp. 235, 236.

The theologians insisted greatly upon respect for ecclesiastical and
especially Papal authority. Everything that tended to lessen this
authority seemed to them a practical denial of the faith. The
canonist Henry of Susa (Hostiensis + 1271), went so far as to say
that "whoever contradicted or refused to accept the decretals of the
Popes was a heretic."[1] Such disobedience was looked upon as a
culpable disregard of the rights of the papacy, and consequently a
form of heresy.

[1] In Baluze-Mansi, _Miscellanea_, vol. ii. p. 275.

Superstition was also classed under the heading of heresy. The
canonist Zanchino Ugolini tells us that he was present at the
condemnation of an immoral priest, who was punished by the
Inquisitors not for his licentiousness, but because he said Mass
every day in a state of sin, and urged in excuse that he considered
himself pardoned by the mere fact of putting on the sacred
vestments.[1]

[1] _Tractat. de Hæret_., cap. ii.

The Jews, as such, were never regarded as heretics. But the usury
they so widely practiced evidenced an unorthodox doctrine on
thievery, which made them liable to be suspected of heresy. Indeed,
we find several Popes upbraiding them "for maintaining that usury is
not a sin." Some Christians also fell into the same error, and
thereby became subject to the Inquisition. Pope Martin V, in his bull
of November 6, 1419., authorizes the Inquisitors to prosecute these
usurers.[1]

[1] Bull _Inter cætera_, sent to the Inquisitor Pons Feugeyron.

Sorcery and magic were also put on a par with heresy. Pope Alexander
IV had decided that divination and sorcery did not fall under the
jurisdiction of the Inquisition, unless there was manifest heresy
involved.[1] But casuists were not wanting to prove that heresy was
involved in such cases. The belief in the witches' nightly rides
through the air, led by Diana or Herodias of Palestine, was very
widespread in the Middle Ages, and was held by some as late as the
fifteenth century. The question whether the devil could carry off men
and women was warmly debated by the theologians of the time. "A case
adduced by Albertus Magnus, in a disputation on the subject before
the Bishop of Paris, and recorded by Thomas of Cantimpré, in which
the daughter of the Count of Schwalenberg was regularly carried away
every night for several hours, gave immense satisfaction to the
adherents of the new doctrine, and eventually an ample store of more
modern instances was accumulated to confirm Satan in his enlarged
privileges."[2] Satan, it seems, imprinted upon his clients an
indelible mark, the _stigma diabolicum_.

[1] Bull of December 9, 1257.

[2] Lea, op. cit., vol. iii, p. 497.

"In 1458, the Inquisitor Nicholas Jaquerius remarked reasonably
enough that even if the affair was an illusion, it was none the less
heretical, as the followers of Diana and Herodias were necessarily
heretics in their waking hours."[1]

[1] Lea, op. cit., pp. 497, 498.

About 1250, the Inquisitor Bernard of Como taught categorically that
the phenomena of witchcraft, especially the attendance at the
witches' Sabbath, were not fanciful but real: "This is proved," he
says, "from the fact that the Popes permitted witches to be burned at
the stake; they would not have countenanced this, if these persons
were not real heretics, and their crimes only imaginary, for the
Church only punishes proved crimes."[1] Witchcraft was, therefore,
amenable to the tribunals of the lnquisition.[2]

[1] _Lucerna Inquisitorium_, Romæ, 1584, p. 144.

[2] In a letter to one of the cardinals of the Holy Office, dated
1643, witchcraft is classed with heresy. Douais, _Documents_, vol. i,
p. ccliv. In practice, the heretical tendency of witchcraft was hard
to determine. Each judge, therefore, as a rule, pronounced sentence
according to his own judgment.

While the casuists thus increased the number of crimes which the
Inquisition could prosecute, on the other hand, they shortened the
judicial procedure then in vogue.

Following the Roman law, the Inquisition at first recognized three
forms of action in criminal cases--_accusatio, denuntiatio_, and
_inquisitio_. In the _accusatio_, the accuser formally inscribed
himself as able to prove his accusation; if he failed to do so, he
had to undergo the penalty which the prisoner would have incurred
(_poena talionis_).[1] "From the very beginning, he was placed in the
same position as the one he accused, even to the extent of sharing
his imprisonment."[2] The _denuntiatio_ did not in any way bind the
accuser; he merely handed in his testimony, and then ceased
prosecuting the case; the judge at once proceeded to take action
against the accused. In the _inquisitio_, there was no one either to
accuse or denounce the criminal; the judge cited the suspected
criminal before him and proceeded to try him. This was the most
common method of procedure; from it the Inquisition received its
name.[3]

[1] Tanon, op. cit., p. 260, n. 4.

[2] Tancrède, _Ordo judiciorum_, lib. ii.

[3] On these three forms of action, cf. Eymeric, _Directorium_, 3a
pars, p. 413 et seq.

The Inquisitorial procedure was therefore inspired by the Roman law.
But in practice the _accusatio_, which gave the prisoner a chance to
meet the charges against him, was soon abandoned. In fact the
Inquisitors were always most anxious to set it aside. Urban IV
enacted a decree, July 28, 1262, whereby they were allowed to proceed
_simpliciter et de plano, absque advocatorum strepitu et figura_.[1]
Bernard Gui insisted on this in his _Practica_.[2] Eymeric advised
his associates, when an accuser appeared before them who was
perfectly willing to accept the _poena talionis_ in case of failure,
to urge the imprudent man to withdraw his demand. For he argued that
the _accusatio_ might prove harmful to himself, and besides give too
much room for trickery.[3] In other words, the Inquisitors wished to
be perfectly untrammeled in their action.

[1] Bull _Præ cunctis_ of July 28, 1262.

[2] _Practica_, 4a pars. ed. Douais, p. 192.

[3] _Directorium_, p. 414. col. 1.

The secrecy of the Inquisition's procedure was one of the chief
causes of complaint.

But the Inquisition, dreadful as it was, did not lack defenders. Some
of their arguments were most extravagant and far-fetched. "Paramo, in
the quaint pedantry with which he ingeniously proves that God was the
first Inquisitor, and the condemnation of Adam and Eve the first
model of the Inquisitorial process, triumphantly points out that he
judges them in secret, thus setting the example which the Inquisition
is bound to follow, and avoiding the subtleties which the criminals
would have raised in their defence, especially at the suggestion of
the crafty serpent. That he called no witnesses is explained by the
confession of the accused, and ample legal authority is cited to show
that these confessions were sufficient to justify the conviction and
punishment."[1]

[1] Lea, op. cit., vol. i, p. 406.

. . . . . . . .

The subtlety of the casuists had full play when they came to discuss
the torture of the prisoner who absolutely refused to confess.
According to law, the torture could be inflicted but once, but this
regulation was easily evaded. For it was lawful to subject the
prisoner to all the various kinds of torture in succession; and if
additional evidence were discovered, the torture could be repeated.
When they desired, therefore, to repeat the torture, even after an
interval of some days, they evaded the law by calling it technically
not a "repetition" but a "continuance of the first torture:" _Ad
continuandum tormenta, non ad iterandum_, as Eymeric styles it.[1]
This quibbling of course gave full scope to the cruelty and the
indiscreet zeal of the Inquisitors.

[1] Eymeric, _Directorium_, 3a pars, p. 481, col. 2.

But a new difficulty soon arose. Confessions extorted under torture,
had, as we have seen, no legal value. Eymeric himself admitted that
the results obtained in this way were very unreliable, and that the
Inquisitors should realise this fact.

If, on leaving the torture chamber, the prisoner reiterated his
confession, the case was at once decided. But suppose, on the
contrary, that the confession extorted under torture was afterwards
retracted, what was to be done? The Inquisitors did not agree upon
this point. Some of them, like Eymeric, held that in this case the
prisoner was entitled to his freedom. Others, like the author of the
_Sacro Arsenale_, held that "the torture should be repeated, in order
that the prisoner might be forced to reiterate his first confession
which had evidently compromised him." This seems to have been the
traditional practice of the Italian tribunals.

But the casuists did not stop here. They discovered "that Clement V
had only spoken of torture in general, and had not specifically
alluded to witnesses, whence they concluded that one of the most
shocking abuses of the system, the torture of witnesses, was left to
the sole discretion of the Inquisitor, and this became the accepted
rule. It only required an additional step to show that after the
accused had been convicted by evidence or had confessed as to
himself, he became a witness as to the guilt of his friends, and thus
could be arbitrarily (?) tortured to betray them."[1]

[1] Lea, op. cit., vol. i, p. 425.

As a matter of course, the canonists and the theologians approved the
severest penalties inflicted by the Inquisition. St. Raymond of
Pennafort, however, who was one of the most favored counselors of
Gregory IX, still upheld the criminal code of Innocent III. The
severest penalties he defended were the excommunication of heretics
and schismatics, their banishment and the confiscation of their
property.[1] His _Summa_ was undoubtedly completed when the Dccretal
of Gregory IX appeared, authorizing the Inquisitors to enforce the
cruel laws of Frederic II.

[1] Lea writes (op. cit., vol. i, p. 229, note) "Saint Raymond of
Pennafort, the compiler of the decretals of Gregory I, who was the
highest authority in his generation, lays it down as a principle of
ecclesiastical law that the heretic is to be coerced by
excommunication and confiscation, and if they fail, _by the extreme
exercise of the secular power_. The man who was doubtful in faith was
to be held a heretic, and so also was the schismatic who, while
believing all the articles of religion, refused the obedience due to
the Roman Church. All alike were to be forced into the Roman fold,
and the fate of Core, Dathan and Abiron was invoked _for the
destruction of the obstinate_." (_Summa_, lib. i. tit. v, 2, 4, 8;
tit. vi, i.) This is a travesty of the mind, and words of Saint
Raymond. He merely called attention to the lot of Core, Dathan and
Abiron to show what a great crime schism was. He never asserted that
heretics or schismatics, even when obdurate, ought to be "destroyed."
_Summa_, lib. i, cap. _De Hæreticis_ and _De Schismaticis_.

But St. Thomas, who wrote at a time when the Inquisition was in full
operation, felt called upon to defend the infliction of the death
penalty upon heretics and the relapsed. His words deserve careful
consideration. He begins by answering the objections that might be
brought from the Scriptures and the Fathers against his thesis. The
first of these is the well-known passage of St. Matthew, in which our
Saviour forbids the servants of the householder to gather up the
cockle before the harvest time, lest they root up the wheat with
it.[1] St. John Chrysostom, he says, "argues from this text that it
is wrong to put heretics to death."[2] But according to St. Augustine
the words of the Saviour: "Let the cockle grow until the harvest,"
are explained at once by what follows: "lest perhaps gathering up the
cockle, you root up the wheat also with it." When there is no danger
of uprooting the wheat and no danger of schism, violent measures may
be used:" _Cum metus iste non subest ... non dormiat severitas
disciplinæ_."[3] We doubt very much whether such reasoning would have
satisfied St. John Chrysostom, St. Theodore the Studite, or Bishop
Wazo, who understood the Saviour's prohibition in a literal and an
absolute sense.

[1] Matt. xiii. 28-30.

[2] _In Matthæum_, Homil. xlvi.

[3] Augustine, _Contra epistol. Parmeniani_, lib. iii. cap. ii.

But this passage does not reveal the whole mind of the Angelic
doctor. It is more evident in his exegesis of Ezechiel xviii. 32,
_Nolo mortem peccatoris_. "Assuredly," he writes, "none of us desires
the death of a single heretic. But remember that the house of David
could not obtain peace until Absalom was killed in the war he waged
against his father. In like manner, the Catholic Church saves some of
her children by the death of others, and consoles her sorrowing heart
by reflecting that she is acting for the general good."[1]

[1] St. Thomas, _Summa_, loc. cit., ad. 4m.

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.