6 Inquisition Cases From Colonial Mexico

The Spanish Inquisition may be a household name in history, but most people probably don’t know that it also had a branch in Mexico. The Inquisition in the New World set its sights on many of the same religious crimes as it had in Europe — polygamy, witchcraft, blasphemy, etc. However, it did have to contend with its own unique challenges. Colonial Mexico was a far more culturally diverse place than Spain was.

The following six trials from the Inquisition’s archives will illustrate the nature and scope of the Inquisition’s role in colonial Mexican life. They range from the seemingly unremarkable to the downright implausible. As we enter the chambers of the Mexican Inquisition, you have been warned.

The case of Luís de Carvajal contains everything: family secrets, slavery, and political intrigue. It illustrates the minefield that was cultural life in colonial Mexico. Even social elites weren’t immune from persecution — especially if they adhered to a religion other than Catholicism.

Luís de Carvajal was the patriarch of the notable Carvajal family. His ancestors had been Jewish but were forced to convert to Catholicism by the Spanish Crown. However, their connections to a member of the nobility probably insulated them from the persecution other Jewish converts (conversos) faced.

By 1570, Luís de Carvajal had several years of maritime experience under his belt. In 1579, King Philip II granted him the post of regional governorship of Nuevo Reino de León, located in northern Mexico.

What followed was a whirlwind of controversy. Carvajal was a distasteful man, known as a slave owner of Native Mesoamericans. As regional governor, he made many enemies. It was allegedly because of his slaving endeavors that his enemies brought legal cases against him. Ultimately, the slaving charges were not sufficient, but investigators did uncover Carvajal’s buried secret: his Jewish heritage. What’s more, Carvajal’s nieces and nephew still practiced Judaism. That was enough for the Inquisition to get involved.

After Carvajal’s arrest for enslavement in 1588, the colonial viceroy turned him over to the Inquisition. Carvajal stayed Catholic but was forced to take part in a huge inquisitorial procession (auto de fe) in 1590. He spent the next year in jail until his death.

However, Luís de Carvajal is not the only significant figure in this story. His nephew, who shared his name, might be even more intriguing. The younger Luís was deeply committed to his Jewish faith. He left behind an ornate spiritual diary; some of the pages are even written in gold leaf!

In 1596, Luís the Younger and his family faced their own auto de fe, and the Inquisition turned them over to the secular leaders. For the crime of “Judaizing,” they burned at the stake.

The Spanish Inquisition didn’t firmly establish a branch in North America until 1571. Yet the Church did set up an inquisitorial headquarters in Mexico City within 15 years of the Spanish conquest. We could regard this early Inquisition as a test run for what was to come.

The investigation of María de Armenta is one of the earliest major Inquisition cases from colonial Mexico. The head Inquisitor was Bishop Juan de Zumárraga — the same bishop who would later recognize the famous Virgin of Guadalupe miracles. He charged María with witchcraft and blasphemy, based on the testimony of a widow named Ana Pérez.

On October 11, 1536, María confessed to the Inquisition that she knew what she had done was immoral. However, she claimed that “she had not made any spells or enchantments on her own, nor did she know how to make them…” (Chuchiak, 2012). She also admitted to visiting several Native diviners and confessed to having had sexual relations with two brothers. The Inquisition sentenced María to take part in an auto de fe — stripped partially naked to highlight her shameful deeds.

Evidently, María was not entirely repentant. In June 1537, the Inquisition brought her in for questioning again. She had learned the core prayers of the Catholic Church, as ordered, but this wasn’t enough for the inquisitors. They perceived her delay in coming to them as an act of defiance.

In September, the Inquisition issued an order banishing María from all of New Spain “under the penalty of excommunication.” The order stated, “No one is to help, aid, shelter, or feed the said María de Armenta, now or in the future” (Chuchiak, 2012). María de Armenta fades from the record after this point.

According to historian John F. Chuchiak IV, it was not uncommon for Inquisition trials of supposed heretics to drag on for several years. The case against a woman named Thomasa González illustrates this point.

The Mexican Inquisition’s investigation into González lasted for three years, from 1692 until 1695. González was a middle-aged Christian mystic who dressed as a folk saint; those who testified against her accused her of experiencing fraudulent revelations. The case started after the Archdeacon of Guadalajara received word from a man named Juan de Soto regarding González’s activity in Cuquio village (Chuchiak, 2012). Juan de Soto and his family thought González was a fraud and a vagabond and felt compelled to report her to the Inquisition.

The inquisitors scoured for information about Thomasa González for the next three years. They corresponded with local priests to track down Juan de Soto and his wife and verify that the allegations against González fully amounted to heresy. As a result of their investigation, the documentation that survives is especially detailed, describing the folk saint’s physical appearance and ethnicity.

In April 1695, Juan de Soto finally gave his testimony to the Inquisition. When told of González’s name, he recognized having seen her as a beggar. A month after de Soto’s declaration, the inquisitors brought in the merchant Juan de Ordóñez and his wife, Juana. Juana de Ordóñez, in particular, described González’s warnings of impending doom to the townspeople. However, she did deny that González had personally warned her of her own coming death.

One unfortunate reality of life in colonial Mexico was the existence of racialized slavery. Spain may not have participated in the trans-Atlantic slave trade as much as other countries like Portugal or England, but it did still take part. By the time our next case took place, racial slavery was well established in Mexico.

Our journey takes us to a sugar plantation near the town of Tlacomulco, in April 1710. On April 20, workers on the plantation informed the Inquisition of an enslaved woman named Pascuala. Pascuala stood accused of blasphemy, specifically “[renouncing] the Holy Virgin and her precious son [Jesus Christ]” (Chuchiak, 2012). Two enslaved men from the sugar plantation also provided their own testimony backing up the allegation.

We don’t know anything more about Pascuala’s life, but the primary sources indicate her blasphemous statements were part of a larger pattern of resistance. According to the testimony of one of the other slaves, Juan de Dios, Pascuala doubled down on her renunciation of the Catholic faith, “even if they whip me” (Chuchiak, 2012). She was apparently unmoved by the threat of physical punishment, preferring instead to uphold her own dignity.

If blasphemous statements can be seen as a mark of slave resistance, why did the two enslaved witnesses testify against Pascuala? Quite possibly, Juan de Dios and Francisco de la Cruz may have just been afraid for their own safety. In every part of the Americas, slavery was grueling and dehumanizing. The two men may have only wanted to survive.

The Mexican Inquisition’s investigation into Joshua Morton is our shortest case by far. It wasn’t much of a case at all, actually. As far as the documentation indicates, the investigation was over within days.

Joshua Morton testified to the Inquisition in Mexico City on October 8, 1720. He was a young English sailor who had arrived in Mexico the previous year. He had traveled widely in Europe and supposedly had learned of the “errors” of his native Church of England while away from home. In Mexico, he sought out the Inquisition’s forgiveness and requested to be brought into the Catholic Church. Inquisitor Francisco de Garzarón authorized Morton’s reconciliation.

Morton was not the only foreign sailor to end up in the Mexican Inquisition’s archives. Another man, Jacob Fors of Sweden, was examined the same day. But how sincere were these men in their repentance? Did they genuinely want to become Catholic? Unfortunately, there is no sure way for us to know.

6. William Lamport (1642-59)

Our journey today through the Mexican Inquisition’s archives may be nearing its end, but surprises still await! This last case is lengthy and outlandish, even by Inquisition standards. It involves an Irish globetrotter, claims of secret royalty, and incitement to uprising. Our protagonist’s name? William Lamport.

Lamport was born in Wexford, Ireland, and received an excellent education. Thanks to this educational background, he left behind significant documentation of his beliefs and escapades. He traveled to Spain and integrated himself with Spanish court culture and the military in the 1630s. Among the conflicts to his name was a failed attempt to arm a Catholic revolt in Ireland in 1639.

Lamport left for North America in 1640, arriving later that year. He became acquainted with the Mexican viceroy, but their relationship would prove to be mutually antagonistic. Within a year of his arrival in Mexico, Lamport devised a seemingly hair-brained scheme: rally the dispossessed Natives and Afro-Mexicans alongside resentful Spaniards and take control of Mexico. He also claimed to be the secret half-brother of King Philip IV. However, his confidant sold him out to the Inquisition, and he was charged with sedition.

For seventeen years, the Mexican Inquisition held Lamport in its custody. He briefly escaped on Christmas of 1650, but the authorities quickly caught up with him. But why did the inquisitors deal with him in the first place? Sedition wasn’t a crime that they usually had jurisdiction over. Perhaps both the Inquisition and the civil authorities were afraid of the Lamport scandal becoming a public spectacle.

At any rate, in 1659, Lamport’s day of judgment finally came. He was forced to take part in an auto de fe. After being turned over to the Crown authorities, he faced his execution.

Further Reading

Chuchiak IV, John F., ed. The Inquisition in New Spain, 1536-1820: A Documentary History. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2012.

Racine, Karen, and Beatriz G. Mamigonian, eds. The Human Tradition in the Atlantic World, 1500-1850. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2010.