Spanish Inquisition

The Catholic Inquisition was a widespread persecution of heretics across Europe that lasted several centuries, marked by unprecedented levels of paranoia and intolerance. Nearly every country had its own version of the Inquisition, each with distinct objectives and varying degrees of violence. However, none were as notorious as the Spanish Inquisition. Within a single generation, Spain underwent a dramatic demographic shift, instilling an unrelenting fear of persecution among its subjects. Spain's reconquest of the Iberian Peninsula from the Moors served as a catalyst for an Inquisition that quickly evolved into a secular, politically motivated campaign. Ferdinand and Isabella wielded it as a tool to unify their territory. Coupled with the expulsion of Jews and Muslims, the Spanish monarchy's control over this Catholic institution fostered a strong sense of autonomy and a belief that their actions were divinely sanctioned. Yet, this very process also sowed the seeds of Spain's later economic, social, and political decline, contributing to a growing disillusionment with the Catholic Church. Inquisitions were far from being solely a Spanish phenomenon. France, Italy, Switzerland, Portugal, and numerous other countries engaged in fierce persecutions of minorities, each with varying degrees of violence. Even Spain had its own rudimentary form of the inquisition long before the rise of the more notorious and powerful “Spanish Inquisition.” For nearly a millennium, the Church maintained a firm grip on its subjects and the land. However, everything shifted as the Cathars gained prominence in the 12th and 13th centuries. This group of Christian “heretics” believed that the world was originally created by God in purity and goodness but had since fallen into evil and corruption. They included the man-run Catholic Church in their critique, which understandably provoked the ire of the largest institution in the world. Recognizing the threat posed by the Cathars, the Church was determined to defend its authority. Yet, it soon became clear that rooting out this group would be a formidable challenge, as their influence had seeped deeply into the fabric of private society. The Cathar society lacked a central location or homeland, with its leaders—particularly Pierre and Jacques Autier—traveling from town to town while spending much of their lives in the wilderness. They typically spent several days in each village, sharing their message with the common peasants. The Cathars were generally well received, as many of the common people felt disenfranchised by the Catholic Church. The Latin services offered by the Church were largely incomprehensible to them, and they had little understanding of its workings, aside from the fines, tithes, and punishments that often left them in poverty. While it would be difficult to say that the peasants were actively seeking a replacement for the Catholic Church, many felt a resonance with the Cathar message. As word of this new philosophy spread, the Church recognized the threat it posed to their authority. Pope Innocent III understood the danger and, after several unsuccessful attempts at peaceful conversion, called for a full-scale assault on heresy—an initiative that became known as the Albigensian Crusade. However, this crusade needed to be approached differently than previous ones against the Muslims, as the Cathar heresy was deeply rooted within the Catholic ranks themselves. Instead of engaging in all-out warfare, he turned to an order established in 1206: the Dominicans. This former monastic group of black-robed men would soon become one of the most feared organizations in all of Europe. Their mission was to infiltrate every town under Church control and eradicate heresy at any cost. With the Church's full backing, they were authorized to use any means necessary, including physical force or coercion if required. While much of Europe felt the Dominicans' growing power, no town experienced the Church’s wrath more acutely than Béziers. On July 22, 1209, the Dominicans, accompanied by a full contingent of knights, besieged the town, expecting its citizens to surrender the Cathar followers willingly. After offering any Catholic the chance to leave unscathed before the impending battle, the Dominicans discovered that most of the local inhabitants were more inclined to side with the Cathars. However, Beziers’ optimism was short-lived; they were swiftly defeated, and the entire population was mercilessly massacred. This brutal eradication of heresy through total annihilation was precisely what the Church had sought to avoid. In response, the Dominicans dedicated themselves to establishing an institution designed to infiltrate cities gradually, fostering an atmosphere of paranoia and fear. This institution would come to be known as the Inquisition, which would serve as the Church's primary tool for extending its power and influence throughout Europe. Initially, inquisitors entered cities relatively quietly, often with the assistance of local secular authorities. Typically, there was just one inquisitor accompanied by two assistants tasked with overseeing the inquisition of an entire town—though this number would eventually swell to over fifty inquisitors per town. Their primary focus was to interrogate as many individuals as possible to gauge the extent of heretical beliefs within the community. Typically, inquisitors posed questions to assess individuals' understanding of Christianity and noted any discrepancies between local beliefs and Catholic Church doctrine. With the backing of secular authorities, they would then act against those suspected of heresy, initiating arrests and employing increasingly harsh interrogation tactics. After enduring months of brutal prison conditions—marked by extreme temperatures, starvation, and exhaustion—most prisoners, save for the strongest, were willing to say anything to escape their suffering. As the institution evolved, many inquisitors grew impatient with the slow process of breaking down their captives and resorted directly to infamous methods such as the rack, garrote, stake, or red-hot pincers to extract the desired confessions. Through direct questioning, torturers could compel prisoners to say anything or implicate others as heretics. These brutal techniques enabled the Inquisition to wield its power as it saw fit, ensuring a continuous stream of victims. While the Inquisition underwent various phases, Europe predominantly experienced a Church-led initiative that reinforced the Catholic Church's authority over secular governance. While Spain’s Inquisition differed from those in the rest of Europe, medieval historian Henry Kamen emphasizes a fundamental truth: the Spanish Inquisition was essentially modeled after its medieval predecessors. The Spanish inquisitors meticulously adhered to the established regulations of the thirteenth-century Inquisition in Languedoc and Aragon, encompassing every aspect from arrest and trial procedures to confiscations and personnel recruitment. Despite some minor variations, the Spanish Inquisitors were intent on creating an institution similar to those elsewhere in Europe. With the fervent and ruthless inquisitor Tomás de Torquemada at the helm, one might expect the Spanish Inquisition to align closely with the European model. However, the actions of the Spanish monarchy reveal a clear trend toward secular control over this religious institution, further widening the gap between the Spanish Inquisition and its medieval counterparts. While European nations generally permitted the Inquisition to function with varying degrees of independence, Spain sought to exert control, using it as a tool to consolidate authority over its many autonomous provinces. The country’s unique blend of Christian, Muslim, and Jewish influences, coupled with significant regional differences, fostered an environment rife with distrust, paranoia, and jealousy—conditions that allowed the Inquisition to thrive. Spain’s Inquisition was fueled by intense anti-Semitism, particularly against the blending of Jewish customs with Christian beliefs, which infuriated the Catholic Church. In 1378, Archdeacon Ferrant Martinez began preaching to his followers that Jews were to blame for society's ills. At that time, the Jewish population in Spain was substantial, and their strong business acumen granted them significant political influence. Martinez attracted fervent followers, indoctrinated with notions of the “evils” of Judaism and envious of the Jewish community's power. His incendiary speeches reached a boiling point on Ash Wednesday in 1391, sparking a wave of massacres that swept across Spain, resulting in the deaths of approximately fifty thousand Jewish men, women, and children. These atrocities impacted nearly every Jewish citizen in the country, as zealous Christians brutally murdered anyone associated with Jewish synagogues, including women and infants. Faced with such horrific violence, many Jews felt compelled to convert to Christianity to escape a gruesome fate. Known as conversos or Marranos, those who converted were initially celebrated as successful adherents of the faith. However, over the next century, many merely adopted a façade of Christianity while secretly practicing their Jewish rites and rituals behind closed doors. Even more significantly, the conversos regained their previously lost power within society. The Christian peasant and middle-class populations, witnessing the revival of “Closet Judaism,” were understandably envious of the re-emergence of Jewish influence. Despite the violence instigated by Christians in their quest to reclaim power, their efforts proved futile, as the converted Jews simply reclaimed their positions in society as “Christians.” As anti-Semitism surged once again in Spain, the marriage of Ferdinand and Isabella in 1469 solidified the fate of the Jewish community. Both rulers came from strong Catholic backgrounds, particularly Isabella, who aspired to be the most devout and powerful queen in Europe. Their union aimed to unite a fractured and conflicted Spain, and with the diverse groups and ethnicities they needed to bring together, they determined that Catholicism would serve as an effective means to achieve their goals. After all, the majority of Spain was Catholic, and expelling the overt Jewish and Muslim populations would not pose a significant challenge, especially given the prevailing anti-Semitic sentiments. Under pressure from fervent Catholic factions, Isabella sought the support of Pope Sixtus IV to issue a Papal Bull that would initiate the purge of heresy from the Spanish kingdom through an officially sanctioned inquisition. Their objective was clear: to eradicate the converso population and establish a thoroughly Catholic state. In November 1478, Ferdinand and Isabella received the official Bull after several personal visits to the Pope. This Bull granted the Spanish monarchy extensive oversight of the Inquisition, allowing them to appoint or dismiss priests, establish guidelines and objectives, and maintain only a vague accountability to the Church. Although the Pope was theoretically in charge of the Inquisition process, the rise of Spanish power would ultimately undermine his authority. After a two-year period of leniency to develop the structure and policies for a more rigorous Inquisition, it began in earnest in 1480. Even those who supported the Inquisition could not have foreseen the malevolent institution it would become, one that would threaten nearly every Spaniard. It is important to note that the inquisitors primarily targeted heretics within Christianity and Catholicism, largely ignoring other religions. Jews and Muslims were not initially persecuted outright, although most were expelled from Spain in 1492 and 1502, respectively. The inquisitors quickly identified and exposed the conversos by scrutinizing anyone with Jewish ancestry. However, as the inquisitors decimated the initial converso population, rooting out heresy—defined as any practice or belief not sanctioned by the Catholic Church—became increasingly challenging. This shift set the stage for the rampant accusations of “heresy” in the later years of the Inquisition, where even the slightest infractions could be deemed sacrilegious and result in a death sentence. People could be executed or imprisoned for seemingly trivial offenses, such as wearing clean clothes on a Saturday, being labeled a heretic by a rival, or working on the Sabbath. These accusations could be levied against almost anyone, allowing the Inquisition to serve as a political tool easily manipulated by the Spanish crown. The political advantages for the Spanish monarchy far overshadowed any genuine religious motives behind the Inquisition. Ferdinand and Isabella united the kingdoms of Aragon and Castile through marriage in 1469, forging a nation that had long embraced a remarkable degree of religious tolerance. Muslims, Jews, Catholics, and others coexisted alongside gypsies and homosexuals. However, the Catholic community held a significant majority, and both Ferdinand and Isabella were raised in deeply Catholic environments. In their quest for national unity, Catholicism emerged as a compelling avenue for bringing Spain together. While both monarchs harbored grand visions of divine guidance and aspired to be purely divine leaders, their actions suggest a stronger influence of political ambition. As Stanley Payne notes in his book Spanish Catholicism, the Spanish crown sought nothing less than a homogeneous Catholic society, free from external influences, including that of the Pope. Ferdinand and Isabella were determined to go to any lengths to protect Spain from outsiders and dissent, crushing opposition and creating a common enemy in the process. Spain stood out among European nations due to its rich Muslim heritage. In 711 AD, the Moors invaded the Iberian Peninsula, establishing firm control over nearly all of Spain. During their rule, various religions coexisted in a system known as convivencia. While Jews and Christians paid taxes to their Muslim rulers, society largely flourished. Art, science, mathematics, and engineering experienced a golden age, and many in Spain began to feel that religion was no longer the sole bond uniting their culture. However, the Moors' control over lands that had once been Christian sparked discontent among the "Old Regime Christians," who had lost their power and social standing. Over the next few centuries, this group instigated rebellions and rallied external forces to reclaim their land “for Christianity.” As Moorish rule weakened, the once marginalized Christian population sought to assert their newfound strength. However, leaders like King Juan II and Enrique IV struggled to maintain cohesion among the diverse mix of religions and cultures, not to mention unify the various regions. By the time Ferdinand and Isabella ascended to power, a culture of reconquista (reconquest) had taken hold in Spain. Their marriage united the provinces of Aragon and Castile, yet Spain still lacked a sense of unity, as evidenced by the violent uprisings that erupted across the country. As James Reston noted in his book, Dogs of God, “In the centuries before 1468, the reconquest of Spain for Christianity went hand-in-hand with efforts towards unifying the Northern Spanish realms and establishing the religious zeal that marked the beginnings of the Inquisition.” The reconquest of the peninsula permeated the thoughts of most Spaniards, and the establishment of a Christian nation became a key rallying point. The Spanish people, traditionally Catholic, found living under Moorish rule both disheartening and humiliating. Much like the Crusades centuries earlier, the Reconquista invigorated the Christian population of Spain, creating a fervent atmosphere that facilitated the workings of the Inquisition. The Spanish people's eagerness to drive the Inquisition forward enabled Ferdinand and Isabella to tighten their grip on this purely religious institution. Pressure mounted from anti-Semitic factions within Spain, pushing for the expulsion of conversos and Jews, a sentiment that aligned with the monarchs' own views. With a significant portion of the country advocating for unification, the Spanish royalty sought the assistance of Pope Sixtus IV to eradicate heresy from Spain. The resulting Papal Bull of December 1478 granted Ferdinand and Isabella extensive authority, notably allowing the Spanish crown to appoint its own inquisitors. This provision was initially intended to give the Spanish crown a degree of independence in managing the Inquisition according to its own discretion. In theory, with the Spanish crown in control, the Pope could focus on other matters while still maintaining loose oversight and ultimate authority over the Inquisition. However, the Spaniards quickly began to exploit this provision, establishing their own methods of absolute control over the Inquisition. By 1482, Pope Sixtus IV found himself virtually powerless in Spain, having unwittingly ceded authority and lost control over the affairs of his religious subordinates. Simultaneously, Ferdinand compelled the inquisitors to align with his objectives. As Henry Kamen notes in his book, The Spanish Inquisition, Ferdinand took several decisive steps between 1481 and 1482 to gain control over the selection and payment of inquisitors. Essentially, the inquisitors became entirely dependent on the Spanish monarchy rather than the Pope, shifting power from the Church to the Spanish crown. Ferdinand effectively asserted dominance over the inquisitors, despite their official allegiance to the Pope. In a revealing statement, he told them, “Although you and the others enjoy the title of inquisitor, it is I and the queen who have appointed you, and without our support, you can do very little.” This created an ever-widening rift between Spain and the Church, resulting in an Inquisition that lacked a clear religious direction. The inquisitors were officially working for the Pope, yet found themselves in a precarious position where they had to fulfill Spanish objectives or risk losing their roles. Pope Sixtus IV ultimately recognized that the Inquisition was failing to meet its stated objectives. In 1482, he issued a Papal Bull instructing the Spanish Inquisition to cease its activities. In this document, he expressed his concerns, stating that in Aragon, Valencia, Majorca, and Catalonia, the Inquisition had become motivated not by a genuine zeal for faith and the salvation of souls, but rather by a desire for wealth. He noted that many true and faithful Christians had been unjustly imprisoned, tortured, and condemned as relapsed heretics based solely on the testimony of enemies, rivals, and other dubious sources, without any legitimate evidence. These individuals were stripped of their property and handed over to secular authorities for execution, which not only endangered their souls but also set a troubling precedent that repulsed many. In theory, a Papal Bull issued by the most powerful figure in the religious world should have been enough to halt the persecution he had once authorized. However, it is likely that the Pope felt immense pressure from the affluent converso community and Jews worldwide who had strong political connections. This letter is somewhat atypical for Pope Sixtus, as he rarely condemned atrocities; yet he chose to address the Spanish Inquisition specifically to voice his concerns. Regardless of his motivations, his intent was clear: he aimed to put an end to the egregious injustices occurring within the Spanish Inquisition and was willing to risk his name and authority to reassert Papal control. Like many of his predecessors, Sixtus IV was not immune to the influence of bribes and gifts in exchange for favors. In this instance, Ferdinand recognized an opportunity and seized it to his advantage, as evidenced by his letter dated May 13, 1482, in which he outright rejects the new Papal Bull. “Things have been told to me, Holy Father, which, if true, would merit the greatest astonishment. It is said that Your Holiness has granted the conversos a general pardon for all the errors and crimes they have committed. However, we have given no credence to these rumors, as they seem to be matters that could in no way have been conceded by Your Holiness, who has a duty to the Inquisition. Yet, if by chance concessions have been made through the persistent and cunning persuasion of the said conversos, I intend to ensure they never take effect. Therefore, take care not to let this matter proceed any further, and revoke any concessions, entrusting us with the resolution of this question.” Ferdinand’s response was one of utter contempt and defiance. He understood that the Inquisition was no longer a religious institution under the Pope’s authority; it had become his own domain, one over which he wielded complete control. He appointed and compensated the inquisitors, directed their actions, and was in a strong position to compel a repeal of the 1482 Papal Bull. Ferdinand recognized the dilemma facing the Pope: he could either maintain his current stance and publicly oppose the Spanish Inquisition, risking a loss of credibility and authority in the region when faced with Spanish royal defiance, or he could reconsider his position. Or he could rescind the Bull, conceding defeat while maintaining a façade of authority over the Spanish people. Ferdinand likely understood that the conversos had bribed the Pope and genuinely believed he was destined to fulfill the mission that Pope Sixtus had initiated. While it is clear that there was a religious foundation to the Inquisition, the true, ultimate purpose had shifted. The objective had become the unification of Spain through intense persecution, aiming to instill fear in the citizens and compel their loyalty to both Catholicism and the Spanish crown. Ferdinand’s message to the Pope reflected his newfound power and influence, particularly evident when Pope Sixtus relented and rescinded his previous letter shortly after Ferdinand's response. Although Sixtus withdrew the Bull to preserve his standing with the Church, he nonetheless lost prestige and power in his relationship with the Spanish crown. Furthermore, Ferdinand and Isabella’s actions in the kingdom of Aragon illustrate the ongoing trend toward political autonomy. In his book, The Origins of the Spanish Inquisition, Benjamin Netanyahu explores the fragile relationship between the monarchs and the local nobility. He notes, “Ferdinand may have concluded that by ordinary means, military or political, royalty in Spain would never achieve its goal, and that only an inquisition controlled by the Kings could force the nobility to surrender to the monarch and make an absolute regime possible.”[^23] At that time, in 1484, Aragon was characterized by its rugged terrain and a strong sense of independence from royal authority. To the east, it had largely evaded the more brutal conflicts of the Reconquista, allowing its people to lead an agrarian lifestyle. However, the local nobility wielded considerable power and influence over their subjects. Ferdinand and Isabella understood that launching a large-scale military campaign would not serve their interests, as it would divert their forces from the ongoing struggle against the Moors. Instead, they established an inquisition under Torquemada, which would create the appearance of enforcing religious doctrine while still respecting local autonomy. Many governors and leaders wrote to Ferdinand in anger, insisting, “We do not believe that being a converso makes one a heretic.” In response, Ferdinand stated: “If the old inquisitors had acted conscientiously in accordance with the canons, there would have been no need for new ones. But they were corrupt and swayed by bribes. If there are as few heretics as you claim, there should be no fear of the Inquisition. It must not be impeded...for rest assured, no cause or interest, however significant, will be allowed to interfere with its proceedings.” Ferdinand skillfully appealed to the people's religious conscience, emphasizing that his cause was just and that they were accountable to God for their actions. It's essential to remember that Spain had a deeply devout population, one that genuinely believed they would answer not only to the Church but to God Himself. Leveraging this sense of duty, Ferdinand promised rationality and equality to solidify his influence in his homeland. Once he established a community of inquisitors and loyal secularists, he launched his inquisition without mercy. He personally oversaw the first three auto-da-fé (Acts of Faith), during which seven people were burned alive in the first week. The people of Aragon were appalled by the way the inquisition executed many of its wealthier inhabitants without any input from the local nobility. The corrupt practice of confiscating a heretic’s property revealed a glaring hypocrisy in its operations. A local man named Bernadez noted, "A few days later, they burned three of the city’s richest leaders, including Diego de Susan, who was said to be worth ten million maravedis and served as chief rabbi, and who apparently died as a Christian... along with many other prominent and wealthy citizens who were also burned." The people of Aragon even went so far as to hire a group of assassins to kill the Inquisitor General, Pedro Arbues, as he prayed. While they succeeded in murdering him, it backfired; Ferdinand seized the opportunity to portray Aragon as a hotbed of heresy, unleashing a wave of violence and auto-da-fé. As Reston writes, "Both Ferdinand and Torquemada immediately recognized the gift they had been given... the repercussions from Arbues's murder would last for five years in Aragon, providing ample time to terrify the populace and force it into submission." Ferdinand skillfully exploited the public's fear. With each trial and grotesque execution, the traditional independence of the Aragonese nobility eroded. As their power waned, the king's central authority grew stronger. The Spanish government adeptly used the Inquisition to consolidate unprecedented power for the crown. Yet, the institution had a critical weakness: the priests relied on secular authorities to deliver ultimate justice to those they deemed heretics. Church doctrine prohibited the clergy from executing anyone. Thus, once a heretic was tortured and either confessed or was found guilty of heresy, the Church would hand over the condemned individual to the secular authorities. The government then held the final authority to carry out the capital punishment, which typically meant burning at the stake. Jean Plaidy vividly portrays the brutality and hypocrisy of the Catholic Church in her book The Spanish Inquisition. These so-called “holy priests,” whose stated mission was to guide people to Christianity, resorted to torturing their suspects to the brink of death. To avoid the sin of murder, a high-ranking priest would sanctify the victim just before death, allowing the clergy to absolve themselves of guilt for the acts of torture and killing, free from the fear of sin. In many instances, they shifted the responsibility for the prisoners’ fates onto secular authorities. Even if a prisoner died suddenly before being handed over or sanctified, the priests would conveniently blame Satan for hardening the victim’s heart against the truth. Plaidy characterizes the entire institution as a collective of hypocrites who evaded accountability for their sins in the torture chambers by shifting blame to others. Despite these self-serving loopholes, the Inquisition still relied on support from secular authorities to sustain their large-scale persecution. In France and Italy, the secular governments often feared the wrath of the Catholic Church, typically adhering to the Vatican's directives. This deference may have stemmed from their geographical proximity to the Vatican, unlike the Spanish crown, which was much farther removed. Additionally, other European nations were generally reluctant to challenge the Church's authority. In contrast, Spain was determined to assert its own power. The role of Tomás de Torquemada as Inquisitor General during the early years of the Spanish Inquisition is particularly significant. Sebastian de Olmeda famously referred to him as the “Hammer of the Heretics,” a title that reflects his formidable reputation. Torquemada was arguably one of the most devout figures in the Inquisition, convinced that he was a crucial instrument in the fight against heresy. He rejected many of the prizes and accolades that his fellow inquisitors eagerly accepted, dedicating his entire life to the cause of Christianity. However, his relationship with the Spanish royalty was, at best, precarious. He was chosen as Isabella’s confessor when she was just a child, and his unwavering loyalty and devotion helped her cultivate a deep sense of piety and divine inspiration. Once Isabella ascended to the throne, she quickly granted Torquemada greater authority and responsibility, relying on him as an advisor in religious matters. He became a leading advocate for an official inquisition aimed at strengthening Christianity in Spain, and Isabella was the first to nominate him for the position. When the inquisition commenced, Torquemada approached his work with relentless fervor, personally overseeing the execution of over two thousand heretics in just three years. As James Reston notes, “His institution was well established in all of Christian Spain, and he essentially had a free hand while the sovereigns were preoccupied with war in the south.” However, when Ferdinand and Isabella regained control of Granada, they adeptly turned Torquemada’s fervor to their advantage. While it would have been challenging for them to overtly manage his actions, they skillfully directed public animosity toward him, diverting the population's ire away from the monarchy. By making Torquemada the face of the Inquisition, Ferdinand and Isabella deflected much of the criticism aimed at the institution itself, while simultaneously directing Torquemada to regions where royal control was limited. Typically, Torquemada traveled with fifty cavalrymen and two hundred foot soldiers to fend off assassination attempts, and he employed several food tasters to protect himself from poison. Meanwhile, Ferdinand and Isabella were regarded as gracious rulers by many in Castile, including some misguided Jews and conversos. Torquemada’s role in the Inquisition may have solidified the dominance of religious authority over secular power, but Ferdinand and Isabella allowed him to unwittingly pursue his agenda, satisfying both his religious convictions and the ambitions of the monarchy. A notable example of this dynamic is the case of Foilan Diaz. The Spanish royalty once again asserted their influence over ecclesiastical authority when Diaz, a former confidant of Charles II, was arrested at the behest of Inquisitor General Balthasar de Mendoza for allegedly casting a spell on the king. Although a trial found no grounds for conviction, Mendoza insisted on a second trial that yielded the same result. Mendoza wielded his power to keep Diaz imprisoned for another five years, consistently asserting his authority as Inquisitor General by refusing to release him. It was evident that Mendoza either sought to settle a personal vendetta against Diaz or was entangled in a covert arrangement with Charles II. However, with Charles's replacement by Philip V, the new ruler recognized Mendoza’s political ambitions and ordered Diaz's release, effectively sidelining Mendoza in his seat in Segovia. The significance of this situation lies in Mendoza's response. Throughout the Spanish Inquisition, no high-ranking inquisitors had reported back to Rome or sought assistance. Although the Diaz case unfolded nearly 200 years after Ferdinand and Isabella's reign, their legacy of establishing a secular inquisition remained firmly intact, allowing Spain to maintain strict control over its implementation. In a break from tradition, Mendoza sent letters of appeal to the Pope—an act unprecedented in the entire history of the Spanish Inquisition. Not only was he rebuffed by the Pope, but he also came to realize that Rome held no authority in Spain. Mendoza was swiftly replaced as Inquisitor General and imprisoned by the new king. This incident highlighted the significant influence Ferdinand and Isabella wielded in establishing a state-controlled Inquisition, to the extent that even Rome could not intervene to protect one of its own. Following the fall of Granada in 1492, Ferdinand and Isabella took immediate steps to unify Spain, the most crucial being the expulsion of Jews in March of that same year. To reinforce Christian authority, the Spanish monarchy granted the Jewish population just three months to leave the country, prohibiting them from taking any money, silver, or gold. They were, however, offered the option to convert, effectively dismantling any semblance of convivencia while disregarding the fears of many conversos. The Moors, who would come to be known as moriscos, were allowed to remain in Spain for another ten years, but they too would ultimately face the same expulsion edict that had befallen the Jews. Both groups were initially promised a degree of autonomy during the reconquest, but they soon discovered that many of these assurances were broken and tolerance diminished. The two significant expulsions in Spain highlight just how far Ferdinand and Isabella were willing to go in their quest for national unity. The expulsion of the Jews had a profound impact on the remaining population, particularly in economic terms. While many argue that the Inquisition was primarily driven by greed—an assertion that holds some truth when examining the actions of individual inquisitors—historian Henry Kamen provides insight into the rationale behind Ferdinand and Isabella's decision to expel the Jews. He notes, “The decision to expel, however, was the crown’s alone, and it appears to have been taken exclusively for religious and political reasons: there are no grounds to maintain that the government stood to profit, and Ferdinand himself admitted that the measure hurt his finances.” Despite the rulers' pious intentions, it is clear that they understood the consequences of expelling the most prosperous segment of society in the name of unification. Jews were among the most ingenious, insightful, and educated groups in society, and their expulsion signaled that some of the Old Regime Christians would step into their roles. However, these new inheritors of Jewish businesses and properties were far less business-savvy, and any advantages gained were only temporary. A society that willingly expels its economically active middle class is bound to face serious challenges in the future. These expulsions reveal the lengths to which Ferdinand and Isabella were willing to go to unify and homogenize their country. Moreover, it was the rulers of Spain, rather than the citizens who might have benefited in the short term, who ordered this expulsion. If Spain had truly wished to end the Inquisition, the crown could have simply instructed all state officials to disregard the Church’s death sentences. Yet, the Inquisition persisted for over three hundred years, clearly indicating that Spain was intent on maintaining this profitable institution. A simple edict could have dismantled the entire establishment, yet the political policies that birthed the Inquisition persisted through generations, fueled by secular greed. It is no coincidence that Niccolò Machiavelli later held Ferdinand up as a model in his book, The Prince. In a revealing passage, Machiavelli writes: "Besides this, in order to undertake greater enterprises, always making use of religion, he devoted himself to the pious cruelty of driving the conversos out of his kingdom and despoiling them—this example could not be more rare. These actions sprang one from another in such a way that between the two, he never gave his enemies a moment's peace to conspire against him. [Ferdinand] never preaches anything but peace and loyalty, yet he is the greatest enemy of both." Ferdinand and Isabella skillfully transformed a traditionally religious Inquisition into a secular institution for their own political advantage. Not only did they curtail the power of Rome within Spain, but they also took proactive control over the inquisitors and their functions. While they did succeed in homogenizing Spain and strengthening royal authority, the ultimate legacy they left behind remains questionable. The Spanish Inquisition is now regarded as one of history's most oppressive and intolerant examples of religious fanaticism. In parallel, Spain serves as a stark illustration of how the disappearance of the middle class can have lasting, destructive effects. Even today, Spain remains one of the most impoverished countries in Europe, still grappling with the repercussions of the mass expulsion of its Jewish and Muslim middle class. Religious tensions continue to simmer, as evidenced by the 2004 Madrid train bombings, where the Islamic terrorists responsible cited their actions as revenge for the atrocities committed by Christians during the era of al-Andalus. The Inquisition was not merely an isolated institution that spiraled out of control; it was a tool employed alongside the Reconquista and the expulsion of Jews and Muslims to unify and homogenize Spain, leaving powerful and enduring effects. Initially conceived as a means to eradicate heresy and bolster Christianity, the Spanish royalty—particularly Ferdinand and Isabella—exploited it for political gain. By controlling the inquisitors’ salaries, limiting their contact with the Pope, resisting Vatican intervention, and deploying the Inquisition in more autonomous Spanish regions, Spain transformed it into a formidable instrument for national unification. While the Spanish Inquisition and the subsequent expulsions did create a degree of homogeneity, they ultimately contributed to the decline of the Spanish Empire.