The Spanish Inquisition: Truth and Myths About the Most Terrifying Court in History
- Davit Grigoryan
- 4 days ago
- 9 min read
The Spanish Inquisition wasn’t just a symbol of religious terror. How did Ferdinand and Isabella turn faith into a tool of power? Why were the conversos and Moriscos targeted? And why did Tomás de Torquemada—himself of Jewish descent—burn thousands at the stake? This article explores the tribunal's history that ruled Spain through fear, informants, and confiscations for 356 years. Real execution numbers, secrets of the auto-da-fé, colonial fires in Mexico. How did the “Black Legend” shape culture, and why are some modern historians defending the Inquisition? Answers based on documents, research, and surprising facts.
"Black legend" or a tool of power?
Imagine: Seville, 1481. In the central square, the crowd holds its breath. To the monks’ prayers, dozens of people are led to the fires—they have been accused of secretly practicing Judaism. This is the first auto-da-fé—an “act of faith,” where execution becomes a theatre. But why would the Catholic monarchs, who had just united Spain, stage such a cruel show?
The Spanish Inquisition is usually blamed on fanaticism. But if you look closer, it's really about power. Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabella of Castile, who married in 1469, dreamed of building a strong state. But how? The country was a patchwork of different groups: Christians, Muslims, Jews, nobles from the north, and wealthy “New Christians” (conversos) in the south. The latter caused special anger: many families who had converted after the anti-Jewish attacks of the 14th century had by the 15th century climbed into the elite—they became priests, judges, and bankers.
“They are like worms eating Spain from the inside!” whispered at court. The kings needed a tool to tame the nobles, refill the treasury, and unite the people around a common “threat.” The papal bull of 1478 gave them a free hand: the Inquisition became a royal body, not a church one. Its victims were not only Jews but also wealthy conversos—their property was seized and divided between the treasury and the tribunal.
Here’s the paradox: the first inquisitors, like Tomás de Torquemada, were themselves rumored to come from converso families. Maybe that explains their zeal—they proved their loyalty to the new faith with the blood of their own.
Today, historians argue: How many lives did the Inquisition take? Ten thousand? Two thousand? Those numbers fade next to the main question: why did it last 356 years? The answer lies in fear. Not so much fear of the flames, but fear of a neighbor’s accusation, of betrayal by family. It was a brilliant tool of control, hidden under the guise of protecting the faith.
The birth of the tribunal: How did the Inquisition begin?
The end of the 15th century. Spain had just completed the Reconquista—a seven-century war with the Moors. But instead of the long-awaited unity, the country was like a powder keg. In the south, in Andalusia, Jews and Moors who had formally become Christians controlled the markets, the courts, and even church parishes. They were called conversos and moriscos—and they irritated everyone: the old nobility, the jealous bourgeoisie, and even the peasants, who whispered about “Jewish plots.”
Why them? As early as the 14th century, a wave of pogroms forced thousands of Jews to convert. But many, as rabbis wrote, secretly kept their ancestors’ faith. By the 15th century, their children, the conversos, had become the elite: the queen’s bankers, court advisors, and professors in Salamanca. They had Christian names, but… they never blended in with the “Old Christians.” Trade fights, tax arguments, and envy of their wealth all exploded into rumors: “They poison the wells!” “They want to take power!”
Royal gambit. Ferdinand and Isabella knew that to unite the country, they needed a common enemy. In 1478, they asked Pope Sixtus IV for a bull to set up their own Inquisition—not a papal one, but a royal court. Officially, it was to fight heresy. In reality, it was to reshape society. The first inquisitors appeared in 1480, and by the next year, fires were burning in Seville.
How did it work?
Confiscations. The property of “heretics” was split between the royal treasury and the tribunal. The gold of the conversos flowed straight into the crown’s coffers.
Denunciations. Inquisitors issued an “edict of grace”: thirty days to confess—or face a neighbor’s report. Fear ate away at families: a son might accuse his father, a wife her husband.
Centralization. In 1488, they set up the “Suprema,” the Inquisition’s council answerable only to the king. Tribunals sprang up across Andalusia and Aragon—and later in the American colonies.
Irony of fate: In 1492, when Spain was celebrating the capture of Granada, the monarchs signed an edict expelling all Jews. Those who stayed faced baptism—and the Inquisition’s inevitable watch. The “clean-up” was only beginning.
Tomás de Torquemada: The Face of the Inquisition
He wore a rough Dominican robe, slept on straw, and ate from a clay bowl. But behind Tomás de Torquemada’s ascetic life hid a ruthless machine of power. As Isabella of Castile’s confessor turned Grand Inquisitor, he approved death sentences and set interrogation rules. They said his face did not change even when he saw charred bodies.
Torquemada was the perfect tool of the crown. First, his background was full of secrets: there were rumors that his grandmother was a converso. If that was true, his fanaticism was an attempt to hide that “stain” on his name. Second, he believed deeply in his mission. In 1484, he gathered all the inquisitors in Seville and gave them a code of 28 rules. From then on, anyone who hid Jewish scrolls or refused to eat pork at dinner could be targeted.
Torquemada liked to say: “God’s mercy is limitless, but only for those who repent.” When they arrived in a town, the inquisitors gave people thirty days to “voluntarily” admit to heresy. Many believed that if they showed remorse, they would avoid the fire. But it was a trick. Those who confessed were forced to betray their relatives, friends, and neighbors. Those who stayed silent were tortured: the rack, the “Spanish boot,” and red-hot tongs.
In the 15 years under Torquemada’s leadership, the Inquisition:
Created 14 tribunals — from Seville to Zaragoza.
Confiscated the lands and gold of thousands of families.
Held hundreds of auto-da-fé, where executions became a public spectacle.
But even his cruelty had limits. When, in 1485, in Zaragoza, the inquisitor Pedro Arbués was stabbed to death, Torquemada did not carry out mass executions. Instead, he turned the killer into a martyr: Arbués’s body was displayed in the cathedral, and his blood was declared “sacred.” Thus, fear became a religion.
Paradoxically, Torquemada died in 1498 in his monastic cell, surrounded by honor. Yet his name became a symbol of terror—even Pope Alexander VI, when appointing his successors, demanded “moderation.”
Victims and Executioners: Who Were Targeted and Why?
In the jails of the Spanish Inquisition, you could meet anyone: a wealthy converso merchant accused of secretly praying in Hebrew; a peasant woman suspected of witchcraft because she knew how to heal with herbs; a priest who dared to criticize the inquisitors. But the main target was always those who broke the “purity of blood” — limpieza de sangre.
“New Christians”: The Hunt for Ghosts.
Marranos (Jews who had become Christians) were afraid even to light a candle on Saturday—neighbors might report them.
Moriscos (baptized Moors) hid the Quran under the floorboards, but the inquisitors sniffed out anyone who refused pork or prayed in Arabic.
Protestants from Northern Europe, simply passing through Seville, vanished into dungeons for keeping the Bible in their language.
But the tribunal caught more than just heresy. In the archives are cases of bigamy, sodomy, and even a monk who blasphemously declared that the inquisitors were “greedy hypocrites.”
Juan Antonio Llorente, the first historian of the Inquisition, wrote in the 19th century about tens of thousands of people executed. Modern research—like the work of Henry Kamen—paints a different picture:
Over 350 years – about 5,000 executions (mostly in the 15th–16th centuries).
95% of sentences were fines, confiscations, or public penance.
Why so “few”? The Inquisition didn’t want death – it wanted property. A heretic burned at the stake paid nothing, but one who repented handed over everything down to the last coin.
The most absurd case: in 1610 in Logroño, they tried a group of “witches” accused of flying to a Sabbath. Contrary to expectations, the inquisitors acquitted them, saying, “Their confessions were forced by torture, and the flights are nonsense.” The irony is that in Spain’s secular courts at the same time, “witches” were burned far more actively.
Spanish Inquisition vs. Europe: Colonies, Protestants, and Black Propaganda
In 1569, fires burned in Mexico City and Lima, the capitals of New Spain. The Inquisition had reached the colonies. Conquistadors, who only yesterday had wiped out the Aztecs, were now judging their own: soldiers caught stealing gold, monks living with Indigenous women, and even baptized chiefs accused of secret rituals. But what terrified Europe wasn’t these far-off trials—it was the very image of the Spanish Inquisition: a ruthless machine that burned away any thought of dissent.
An Englishman, John Foxe, who fled Queen Mary’s Catholic persecutions, published a pamphlet in 1563 that cast the Inquisitors as sadists and Spain as the “realm of the Antichrist.” His Book of Martyrs was reprinted hundreds of times. But is it true? Foxe never set foot in Spain. He gathered rumors of torture, added woodcut images of boiling cauldrons—and that was enough! Protestant preachers then carried the myth all across Europe.
Paradox: In Spain itself, the Inquisition executed about 5,000 people over 300 years. In Geneva, the stronghold of the Reformation, they burned 500 “witches” in 60 years, ten times more. Yet history remembers Spain. Why?
Colonies: The Inquisition as an Export.
In Peru, inquisitors persecuted hidalgos who blended Christianity with Inca cults.
In Mexico, 120 people were burned for "diabolical rituals" — including descendants of Montezuma.
In Goa (a Portuguese colony), the tribunal operated until 1812, later than in Spain itself.
But the main victim was Spain’s reputation. The Dutch, fighting for independence from the Habsburgs, circulated engravings showing inquisitors torturing children. The English justified the looting of Spanish ships as a “fight against tyranny.” Thus was born the Black Legend — a blend of truth, lies, and geopolitics.
The Soviet Myth: In the 20th century, the USSR picked up the baton. Historian Iosif Grigulevich described the Inquisition as a “forerunner of fascism,” even though the tribunal had long been abolished. All for one central claim: religion and progress are incompatible.
The Decline of the Inquisition: From Napoleon to Isabella II
Napoleon's troops occupy Spain in 1812, and his brother, Joseph Bonaparte, declares the Inquisition a "relic of the dark ages." It seemed the tribunal would die under the roar of French cannons. But no — it survived even that. The Spanish, who hated the occupiers, suddenly began defending the Inquisition as a symbol of national identity. After the French were expelled in 1814, King Ferdinand VII restored it, declaring, "Without faith, there is no Spain!"
Why did the Inquisition survive?
Money. The confiscation of the property of "heretics" still filled the treasury.
Fear of the elites. Aristocrats feared that liberals would take away their privileges.
Popular support. In remote villages, priests branded the inquisitors as "defenders from the devil."
But times were changing. In 1820, liberal officers led a rebellion. They abolished the Inquisition, introduced a constitution, and... lost. In 1823, French troops restored King Ferdinand VII to the throne, and the tribunal regained its former power. But this was already its agony.
The final act.
1826. In Valencia, schoolteacher Caetano Ripol is executed — the last victim of the Inquisition. His crime? He taught children that "God is nature" and refused to confess.
1827. Regent Maria Christina, ruling on behalf of the young Isabella II, signs a decree dissolving the tribunal. The reason? Not fear of God, but pressure from Britain and France, where the Inquisition had become a card in diplomatic games.
The irony of history: By the time the Inquisition was abolished, it was already a shadow of its former self. Its prisons were empty, confiscations had ceased, and banned books like Don Quixote were freely sold in Madrid. But the myth of its omnipotence lived on — now it was used to scare children.
What remains as a legacy?
The Spanish Inquisition has long since died, but its ghost still haunts textbooks, films, and memes. Some see it as a symbol of religious obscurantism, others as a brilliant tool of control. Who is right?
Modern scholars like Henry Kamen and José Pérez debunk the myths:
The Inquisition did not stifle culture. Cervantes, Lope de Vega, and Quevedo wrote under its censorship and became classics. Even banned books were added to the index with a delay of decades.
It was not the bloodiest. In the 16th-17th centuries, secular courts in Europe executed many more "witches" and heretics.
The main victim was not the Jews, but the Spanish people. The tribunal severed ties with Protestant Northern Europe, turning the country into a closed enclave of conservatism.
Inquisition in culture:
Francisco Goya in his series of engravings "Caprichos" (1799), depicted inquisitors as grotesque owls devouring reason.
In video games (Assassin’s Creed, Dragon Age), inquisitors are either fanatics or cynical villains.
Even in Dostoevsky's "The Brothers Karamazov," the Grand Inquisitor asks the key question: "Freedom or bread?"
But the main legacy is fear. Fear of denunciation, of dissent, of the "other." In the 21st century, the Inquisition has become a metaphor: it's used to describe censorship on social media, political repression, and media witch hunts.
What if the "Black Legend" is a mirror? We still search for scapegoats, believe in conspiracies, and demand "cleansing." The Spanish Inquisition hasn’t disappeared — it has simply changed its mask.
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