Franciscan Spirituality and Mission in New Spain, 1524-1599: Conflict Beneath the Sycamore Tree (Luke 19:1-10) 1409454215, 9781409454212, 9781409454229

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Franciscan Spirituality and Mission in New Spain, 1524–1599

For Ruth, Alejandro, and Gabriel

Franciscan Spirituality and Mission in New Spain, 1524–1599

Conflict Beneath the Sycamore Tree (Luke 19:1–10)

Steven E. Turley Rice University, USA

© Steven E. Turley 2014 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher. Steven E. Turley has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work. Published by Ashgate Publishing Limited Ashgate Publishing Company Wey Court East 110 Cherry Street Union Road Suite 3-1 Farnham Burlington, VT 05401-3818 Surrey, GU9 7PT USA England www.ashgate.com British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library The Library of Congress has cataloged the printed edition as follows: Turley, Steven E. Franciscan Spirituality and Mission in New Spain, 1524–1599: Conflict Beneath the Sycamore Tree (Luke 19:1–10) / by Steven E. Turley. pages cm.—(Catholic Christendom, 1300–1700) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-4094-5421-2 (hardcover: alk. paper)—ISBN 978-1-4094-5422-9 (ebook)—ISBN 978-1-4724-0067-3 (epub) 1. Franciscans—Missions—New Spain—History. 2. Franciscans—Spiritual life. I. Title. BV2835.3.T87 2013 271’.3072—dc23 2013011290 ISBN 9781409454212 (hbk) ISBN 9781409454229 (ebk – PDF) ISBN 9781472400673 (ebk – ePUB)

V

Contents Series Editor’s Preface   Acknowledgements   Abbreviations  

vii ix xi

Introduction 1 1

Medieval Precedents of Missionary Spirituality, 1209–1523  11

2

The Eremitic Ideal of the Mission Pioneers, 1524–1548  

29

3

The Difficult Reality of the Mission Practitioners, 1524–1548  

57

4

Flight and Fight in the Missionary Church, 1549–1574  

83

5

Eremitic Retreat and a New Missiology in the Church, 1549–1574  

107

6

Crisis and Renewal in the Maturing Church, 1574–1599   127

7

Peninsular Repercussions of the Mission Enterprise  

163

Conclusion  

183

Bibliography   Index  

191 199

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Series Editor’s Preface Catholic Christendom, 1300–1700 counter-balances the traditional, still-influential understanding of medieval (or Catholic) and reformation (or Protestant) religious history that has long resulted in neglect of the middle ground, both chronological and ideological. Continuities between the middle ages and early modern Europe remain overlooked or underestimated, in contrast to the radical discontinuities, and in studies of the later period especially, the identification of ‘reformation’ with various kinds of Protestantism too often leaves evidence of the vitality and creativity of the Catholic church, whether in its Roman or local manifestations, out of account. The series therefore covers all varieties of religious behavior, broadly interpreted, not just (or even mainly) traditional institutional and doctrinal church history, and is to the maximum degree possible interdisciplinary, comparative and global, as well as non-confessional. The goal is to understand religion, primarily of the ‘Catholic’ variety, as a broadly human phenomenon, rather than as a privileged mode of access to superhuman realms, even implicitly. The period covered, 1300–1700, embraces the moment which saw an almost complete transformation of the place of religion in the life of Europeans, whether considered as a system of beliefs, as an institution, or as a set of social and cultural practices. In 1300, vast numbers of Europeans, from the pope down, fully expected Jesus’s return and the beginning of His reign on earth. By 1700, very few Europeans, of whatever level of education, would have subscribed to such chiliastic beliefs. Pierre Bayle’s notorious sarcasms about signs and portents are not idiosyncratic. Likewise, in 1300 the vast majority of Europeans probably regarded the pope as their spiritual head; the institution he headed was probably the most tightly integrated and effective bureaucracy in Europe. Most Europeans were at least nominally Christian, and the pope had at least nominal knowledge of that fact. The papacy, as an institution, played a central role in high politics, and the clergy in general formed an integral part of most governments, whether central or local. By 1700, Europe was divided into a myriad of different religious allegiances, and even those areas officially subordinate to the pope were both more nominally Catholic in belief (despite colossal efforts at imposing uniformity) and also in allegiance than they had been four hundred years earlier. The pope had

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become only one political factor, and not one of the first rank. The clergy, for its part, had virtually disappeared from secular governments as well as losing much of its local authority. The stage was set for the Enlightenment. Thomas F. Mayer, Founding Series Editor

Acknowledgements I wish to thank the staffs of the many collections upon which this study draws: Memorial Library at the University of Wisconsin–Madison; Fondren Library at Rice University; the Nettie Lee Benson Latin American Collection at the University of Texas–Austin; the Biblioteca Nacional de España; the Archivo Histórico Nacional; the Real Academia de Historia; the Archivo General de Indias; the Biblioteca Nacional de México; the Biblioteca Nacional de Antropología e Historia; the Archivo General de la Nación; and the Archivo Histórico de la Provincia del Santo Evangelio de México. Especially crucial to my progress was the staff of the Interlibrary Loan office at Memorial Library, the University of Wisconsin–Madison, who tracked down innumerable obscure references for me. I am also deeply grateful to the institutions and organizations who provided financial support for my research. At the University of Wisconsin, these include the Graduate School; the Department of History; the Latin American, Caribbean and Iberian Studies Program; and the Center for German and European Studies. In addition, the American Catholic Historical Association and the Program for Cultural Cooperation between Spain’s Ministry of Culture and United States Universities provided funds for summer research travel. I am especially grateful to the Doris G. Quinn Foundation, which provided a living stipend for my final year of writing. Adam Beaver, Verónica Gutiérrez, and Jonathan Truitt gave me practical orientation to various collections. In Madrid, James Amelang, Hipólito Barriguín, Pilar Ryan, Antolín Abad Pérez, and María del Mar Graña Cid all made time to discuss my project. Jodi Bilinkoff and John Schwaller have provided wise guidance at several stages of this project, and Francisco Morales gave me the warmest of welcomes in Cholula, together with important insights at a crucial stage in the writing process. Finally, in Madison, I am grateful to Jim Schlender and Camarin Porter, who both supported my work in so many ways. I wish especially to thank my mentors at the University of Wisconsin– Madison. Mustafa Emirbayer and Matthew Desmond alerted me to the importance of habitus for my analysis. Johann Sommerville and William Courtenay played an important guiding role throughout my career there. Stanley Payne and Robert Frykenberg agreed to take time from their retirement to read this book, and I greatly value their long perspective on Spanish history and missions history. Lee Palmer Wandel encouraged me

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not to be constrained by any notion of what a European historian ought to study, and then stretched my thinking and sharpened my analysis as I pursued my own path. Her wisdom and friendship remain invaluable to me. Finally, I owe a tremendous debt to my family. I got my first taste of research when, in middle school, my mother enlisted my help in typing my father’s dissertation from a handwritten manuscript. My sons, Alejandro and Gabriel, have forced me to work in a more disciplined manner than I would have imagined possible. They have also given me a perspective that allowed me to shut down my laptop regularly for evenings of silliness. My life is infinitely richer for their existence. Their mother, my wife now of eighteen years, Ruth López Turley, has supported me financially, intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually. This project would have bogged down permanently without the encouragement, enthusiasm, and wisdom of my soul mate. Steven Turley Houston, Texas December 2013

Abbreviations AIA

Archivo Ibero-americano

CDAO

Colección de documentos inéditos, relativos al descubrimiento, conquista y organización de las antiguas posesiones españoles de América y Oceanía, sacados de los archivos del reino, y muy especialmente del de Indias, ed. Joaquín Pacheco (42 vols, Madrid, 1864–1884)

CDHE

Colección de documentos inéditos para la historia de España (113 vols, Madrid, 1842–1895)

DIHM

Documentos inéditos del siglo XVI para la historia de México, ed. Mariano Cuevas (Mexico City: Porrúa, 1975)

NCDHM

Nueva colección de documentos para la historia de México, ed. Joaquín García Icazbalceta (5 vols, Nendeln/Liechtenstein: Kraus reprint, 1971)

NRSV

New Revised Standard Version of the Bible

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Introduction In 1532, Juan Bernal Díaz de Luco wrote a letter to the Franciscan general chapter meeting at Toulouse, exhorting the assembled fathers to send as many missionaries as possible to aid in the evangelization of New Spain. To underscore his case, he wrote that “before such a glorious enterprise, no one could refuse.”1 He was not the only contemporary Spanish observer to describe the evangelization in such glowing terms. The Franciscan minister general, Francisco de los Angeles Quiñones, upon commissioning the first twelve missionaries to embark for New Spain, drew close parallels between them and Jesus’s original twelve apostles, and further between the pioneering work of spreading Christianity across the Roman Empire, and their new mission of spreading it across the Spanish Empire.2 Later writers made such parallels explicit by dubbing the missionaries “apostles” and writing of their work as a truly great chapter in Spanish history. Yet Fray Juan de Zumárraga, the first archbishop of Mexico and a dedicated supporter of the evangelization, prayed to God and begged his king to find someone else to do his job so that he could go home. In his last years, he mourned his calling to the mission field, speculating that he had only been summoned from his monastery to the episcopal throne as punishment for his many sins.3 He wrote: I shall have to mourn greatly my unhappiness, because for my sins I was deprived of the holy house of El Abrojo, where I found and tasted something of this. And I did not know the treasure that I had there, until I tasted and understood the danger that I have now. I am not without hope in God and in our Catholic King that he might ease my sorrow and provide these people with the leader that this church needs in order to be well established.

1 “Ante una empresa tan gloriosa, nadie podía negarse.” Pedro Borges, El envío de misioneros a América durante la época española (Salamanca, 1977), p. 179. 2 Melquiades Andrés Martín, “Obediencia e Instrucción a los Doce Apóstoles de Méjico según el Ms. 1.600 de Viena,” in Congreso Franciscanos Extremeños en el Nuevo Mundo (Guadalupe, 1986), pp. 403–34. 3 “Friary” is a more technically accurate English term than “monastery” for the Franciscans, but I use the latter throughout the book to reflect the near-universal usage of the Spanish primary sources.

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[Y harto terne yo que llorar mi infelicidad porque por mis pecados fui priuado de la sancta casa del abrojo; donde halle y guste algo desto; y no conoci el bien que alli tenia, hasta que guste y entendi el peligro que tengo, no sin esperança en dios y en nuestro catholico rey que remediara a mi y a estas gentes proueera de la cabeça que a esta yglesia conuiene para yr bien fundada.]4

Similarly, Juan de Ribas, one of the original twelve and a founding pillar of the church in New Spain, later fled with eleven other friars into the wilderness to escape the demands of building that church. Further, Jerónimo de Mendieta, having returned from an important missionary tour in New Spain, wrote to his superior that he did not want to enlist again, and that the only way he would return to the mission field was if God dragged him by the hair: Since I am here now and content, blessed God, I do not want to make a voluntary move, but rather if I have to go, may God take me as if by the hair, under obligation. [mas ya que estoy acá y hallo contento, bendito Dios, no quiero hacer mudanza voluntaria, sino que si hubiere de ir me lleve Dios como de los cabellos, y lo tenga yo obligado.]5

The discontent of these three friars was not the exception among missionaries. It was widespread and it grew stronger as the years passed, and it carried important consequences for the friars’ interactions with their indigenous charges, their Catholic co-laborers, and colonial society at large. This book examines that discontent and seeks to explain why the exhilaration of joining such a “glorious” enterprise so often gave way to grinding discontent or worse. Was it simply the physical difficulty of the work, or the cultural difficulty of interacting with the indigenous peoples? Was it the intellectual and emotional exhaustion of working in new languages, or the administrative and political nightmare of establishing a new church in a colony full of vigorously competing interests? Was it perhaps even a simple longing for the patria, for the familiar rhythms and routines of life at home? All of these factors played a part in their discontent, but a more important factor underlay them. In his sociological writings, Pierre Bourdieu speaks often of the habitus, of “embodied history, internalized as second nature and so forgotten as history—[which] is the active presence 4 Juan de Zumárraga, Regla cristiana breve para ordenar la vida y tiempo del cristiano que se quiere salvar y tener su alma dispuesta (Mexico City, 1951), p. 368. 5 “Mendieta to Miguel Navarro, 6 January 1573,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, p. 168.

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of the whole past of which it is the product.”6 Habitus is “the way society becomes deposited in persons in the form of lasting dispositions, or trained capacities and structured propensities to think, feel, and act in determinate ways, which then guide them in their creative responses to the constraints and solicitations of their extant milieu.”7 In the case of the evangelization of New Spain, despite Francis’s own longing to do mission work, his followers found that effective evangelization in that milieu was ultimately irreconcilable with their Franciscan spirituality as it had developed in the three centuries since Francis had lived. Their corporate history as Franciscans had formed in them an eremitic habitus, and the sudden change they faced upon arriving in New Spain fractured that habitus, creating contradiction and internal division, which in turn generated wrenching suffering and erratic behavior in them as they attempted to adapt to a world that made little sense. They were, simply put, attempting to live two very different lives—that of the frontier evangelist and of the contemplative recluse— that ultimately could not coexist peacefully. This book is the story of the friars’ struggle to find that peace—whether by adapting their spirituality, adjusting their evangelistic goals, or abandoning the work altogether. Terminology Though the geographical focus of this book is colonial New Spain, it is nevertheless a study of European spirituality. Several terms recur throughout the book, and thus require formal definition. First, what is “spirituality”? For Franciscans in the sixteenth century, who placed tremendous importance on cloistered meditation and quiet contemplation, the condition of one’s spirit was nevertheless inseparable from the actions of one’s body. For example, the Franciscan mystic Francisco de Osuna counseled that “meditation must give rise to action and that your body must follow Jesus.” The common saying operibus credite “does not state that we are to believe in thought but in action.”8 Though Osuna uses dualistic language, separating body from soul, the message of that language calls for integration and equal standing between the two. The daily choices 6

Pierre Bourdieu, The Logic of Practice, trans. Richard Nice (Cambridge, 1990), p. 56. Pierre Bourdieu, Pascalian Meditations, trans. Richard Nice (Stanford, 2000), p. 160. 7 Loïc Wacquant, “Habitus,” in Jens Beckert and Milan Zafirovski (eds), International Encyclopedia of Economic Sociology (London, 2005), p. 316. 8 “a la meditación suceda la operación, haciendo que siga tu cuerpo a Jesús ... Operibus credite [n]o dice que creamos a los pensamientos, sino a las obras.” Francisco de Osuna, Tercer abecedario espiritual, ed. Saturnino López Santidrián, (Madrid, 1998), p. 469. Translation from The Third Spiritual Alphabet, ed. Richard J. Payne, trans. Mary E. Giles (New York, 1981), p. 463.

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and activities of a friar, then, were not to be considered distractions from true spirituality, nor were they simply necessary means to an end, or pious afterthoughts, but were rather at the very center of spirituality, a core part of the struggle to reach perfection. For this reason, I define “spirituality” broadly in this study, as faith lived by Christians, body and soul integrated into a whole life of following Jesus and seeking to know God. In the Franciscan context, the primary sources for this broad spirituality are the writings of Francis himself (especially his rules and testament) and the constitutions of specific Spanish provinces, which proliferated during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. The authors of these documents did not organize their material according to any specific formula, but several categories of discussion do recur regularly, and these common categories give a sense of how medieval Franciscans defined their own spirituality.9 For example, obedience was a Franciscan virtue from the earliest moments of the order, but the question of whom they should obey was open through the fifteenth century. Study was a similar category, shared by virtually all Franciscans, but with significant disagreement about precisely what they should study, to what extent, and toward what end. Prayer was a central component of spirituality, but friars had to decide how long to pray, and what proportion of that prayer would be dedicated to the public vocal recitation of the divine office and what proportion to the increasingly popular practice of mental prayer. How often were the friars to confess? How vigorously were they to separate themselves from the world outside the monastery? How important was silence to be in their houses? How much time would they commit to manual labor? How harshly would they discipline themselves? Finally, how were they to define and practice poverty, which most scholars of the order would define as the central feature of their spirituality? These common categories demonstrate the broad and integrated nature of Franciscan spirituality. This spirituality was not simply to be one portion of their lives among many, but rather ideally was their lives, as every detail was imbued with spiritual meaning, from their manual labor and clothing to their hours spent in private prayer. Ascetic, Contemplative, Eremitic The first two terms, while largely absent from primary sources, appear regularly in scholarly work on spirituality. When I use “ascetic,” I refer to the set of practices by which the friars strove to master their senses and carnal desires. These practices varied, but generally included corporal discipline (self-flagellation) and poverty in the areas of diet (quantity and quality of 9 Angel Uribe, “Espiritualidad de la descalcez franciscana,” AIA, 22 (1962): pp. 133–61.

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food), clothing, sleep, and dwelling. I use the term “contemplative” to refer to the set of practices by which the friars attempted to quiet their souls and ultimately to ascend spiritually into the very presence of God. These practices include prayer (especially mental prayer), enclosure, silence, and meditation on scripture and especially on the life and passion of Christ. The most common term for this contemplation in Spanish primary sources is “recollection,” which I will presently define in greater detail. A third term of great importance is “eremitic,” which does appear regularly in the primary sources. The word in this period did not refer to the solitary cave dwellings of the desert fathers, but rather to a scenario in which small groups of friars occupied often crude dwellings in the wilderness, thus separating themselves to varying degrees from “the world,” and placed heavy emphasis on both ascetic rigor and contemplative prayer.10 Those who practiced this type of spirituality were by no means the only friars to value asceticism and contemplation, but they exceeded their brethren in the frequency and intensity of their practices, and that intense spirituality was foundational for the reforms of the fifteenth century and the evangelization of New Spain in the sixteenth. For the sixteenth century, I also employ the term “eremitic” to refer to friars who valued the intensely ascetic rigor and contemplation of their predecessors, regardless of whether they had physically removed themselves to the wilderness, for the evolution of the eremitic movement ultimately led to numerous urban and mission foundations as well. Recollection A definition of this term is crucial for understanding the difficulty the missionaries faced as their eremitic habitus collided with their new calling, as they tried to maintain the spirituality they had professed while carrying out their evangelistic ministry in New Spain. The Third Spiritual Alphabet provides such a definition, as Francisco de Osuna sought to codify the recollection that Franciscan reformers had been practicing for decades, to systematize it in a way that would make it more broadly accessible not only to reform-minded Franciscans such as the original missionaries, but even to lay people.11 The system of recollection that resulted profoundly 10 José Esteban Sádaba, “Tendencias eremíticas entre los franciscanos españoles hasta finales del siglo XVI,” in Tomás Moral (ed.), España eremítica. Actas de la VI Semana de estudios monásticos. Abadía de San Salvador de Leyre, 15–20 de septiembre de 1963 (Pamplona, 1970), pp. 571–2. 11 The following discussion is adapted from Steven E. Turley, “The Common Language of Prayer: Unexpected Affinities between Erasmus and Francisco de Osuna,” MA Thesis, (University of Wisconsin–Madison, 2004), pp. 33–40.

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influenced Spanish spirituality throughout the sixteenth century, as Osuna himself was among the most widely read authors in Spain until 1559, and was an important source for Teresa of Avila. It was also prominent among the missionaries in New Spain, as it appears repeatedly in their writings, both in descriptions of the spirituality they were trying to retain and in expressions of longing for that which they had left behind. What was recollection, then? While the Third Spiritual Alphabet is certainly not a simple “how-to” manual for the spiritual life, it is still possible to derive a picture of the ideal. Osuna wrote about both general and special recollection. The first was a continual exercise, in which a person journeyed through all of life constantly alert to spiritual danger, yet cultivating a quiet soul and a detachment from the concerns of the world.12 His description fits strikingly with the spirituality we shall see among the eremitic friars of the early sixteenth century. Osuna recommended physical asceticism as a means to accomplish this quietness, for example by avoiding the pleasures of food, aroma, or music, which only whetted the sensual appetites and sowed discontent.13 Humility was also central to recollection, whose adherents should strive to turn all their attention away from themselves, and instead to direct it toward exalting God, so that all thoughts of self—whether of pride, desire, or anything else—might fade away, leaving only the calm of God’s presence behind and freeing the person to encounter God in the deepest part of the soul.14 In the same way, recogidos—adherents of recollection—should cultivate gratitude in their hearts, realizing that every good thing comes from God, and allowing them thus to see God in everything and constantly to remember and praise him.15 As a result of these efforts—which Osuna and other mystics described as “annihilation” [aniquilación] and the “prayer of selfknowledge” [propio conocimiento]—the person’s soul was reduced to its very center, with all distractions and temptations cast aside, thus allowing them to rest completely in God’s care as they went through life.16 This quietness and vigilance was the nature of Osuna’s general recollection. If this general recollection was the cultivation of a godly way of life, special recollection was what we would most properly call “prayer.” In 12

Osuna, Third Spiritual Alphabet (TSA), p. 387, Tercer abecedario espiritual (TAE), p. 399. 13 Osuna, TSA, pp. 392–3, TAE, pp. 402–5. 14 Osuna, TSA, p. 495, TAE, pp. 498–9. Angelo J. DiSalvo, The Spiritual Literature of Recollection in Spain (1500–1620): The Reform of the Inner Person (Lewiston, 1999), p. 178. 15 Osuna, TSA, pp. 74–5, 298–9, TAE, pp. 119–20, 322–3. 16 Melquiades Andrés Martín, Los recogidos: Nueva visión de la mística española (1500–1700) (Madrid, 1976), p. 102.

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special recollection, people retired by themselves to pray, leaving aside all other occupations. While a person could theoretically practice general recollection while washing dishes or working a field or evangelizing a continent, special recollection required that all other activity stop—a requirement that proved difficult for the missionaries. Osuna divided this special recollection into three forms, which corresponded to three spiritual levels of Christians—beginners, proficients, and the perfect.17 The first form was vocal prayer, which included the divine office and other spoken prayers such as the Pater Noster. This vocal prayer, though it would usually follow liturgical prescriptions, was not simply to be rote repetition of words. Rather, it was to multiply love and desire for God, it was to come from the heart. For example, as part of the Pater Noster, people should not just cursorily state “forgive us our debts,” but should itemize their sins, mourning and begging forgiveness for each one. In addition to observing the divine office throughout each day, Osuna advised his readers to pray in their own words at least fifteen minutes before bed and immediately again upon awaking, though much more vocal prayer was ideal.18 Osuna’s second form of special recollection was silent, within the heart, and it brought greater divine favors than mere vocal prayer.19 In this form of prayer, people were to file away in the mind all the good things which they heard or read, whether biblical stories, divine mysteries, or wisdom from other Christians. Then, when they took time for prayer, they meditated in their hearts, not speaking many words, but allowing God to call these holy thoughts to their minds and thus to minister to their souls. As a spiritual son of Francis, Osuna especially emphasized meditation on the person and life of Christ, for he was the truest model of the Christian life.20 This form of recollection required that the one praying depart from all distracting concerns, whether sinful or just superfluous. The concentration was to be complete, so that God could work uninterrupted in the person’s heart. Osuna warned his readers that it could take a very long time to achieve this kind of concentration. Indeed, some people could go an entire year at first without feeling God’s presence during this form of prayer. With perseverance, however, he assured his readers that God would reward the effort, increase the powers of concentration, and speak to their souls. While it was difficult enough for the missionaries in New Spain always to recite the divine office and Pater Noster with full attention to the meaning of the words, this second form of recollection was even more problematic, 17

The following discussion draws on Osuna, TSA, pp. 337–59, TAE, pp. 356–75. Osuna, TSA, p. 353, TAE, p. 370. 19 Osuna, TSA, p. 345, TAE, p. 362. 20 Melquiades Andrés Martín, Historia de la mística de la Edad de Oro en España y America (Madrid, 1994), p. 241. 18

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as we shall see, because of the tremendous requirements of their active ministry among the indigenous peoples. The final form of prayer was spiritual prayer, in which the highest part of the soul was lifted into the presence of God. It was also called the prayer of union. Osuna gave very little concrete information about this form of prayer, feeling it was too sublime for words. For example, he said people engaged in spiritual prayer “give themselves so completely to him that they forget themselves as totally as if they did not exist.”21 This is very evocative language, but it does little to describe exactly what spiritual prayer is or how to do it. Somewhat more helpful is a series of metaphors by which Osuna compared this third form of prayer to its predecessors. “The first prayer is like a letter we send a friend by messenger; the second, as if we sent a friend who is very close to us; the third, as if we went in person.” Similarly, “The first is the kiss on the feet. The second is the kiss on the hands. The third kiss is on the mouth.”22 This level of recollection was like the child in his mother’s arms. There were no words, no meditation, just silent love between mother and child.23 Recollection, then, was to be both a general life of self-denial and meditation and also an intensive mystical exercise that required great amounts of time and total concentration in order to produce its fruit. Observant Franciscan missionaries in sixteenth-century New Spain were nearly all members of the Observant branch of the order, yet this term reveals more about their politics than about their spirituality. It first entered common use, in the fifteenth century, as a badge of fidelity to the literal rule of Francis and a symbol of a more rigorous way of life, in contrast to the perceived moral laxity of the dominant Conventual friars. From the start, however, the term also carried a political conceit, suggesting as it did that the Observant friars were the only ones who truly observed the rule. By the time the mission to New Spain began in 1524, a century of bitter conflict, in which the Observants fought to absorb or suppress all other reform movements and to abolish the Conventuals by force, had demonstrated that the political conceit of the Observants carried with it a formidable juridical ambition. The papal bull Ite vos in 1517 partially fulfilled this ambition, subsuming almost all reform movements under the Observant umbrella and replacing Conventuals with Observants in the hierarchy of 21 “por el mucho acordarse y darse a Dios están de sí tan olvidados como si no fuesen.” Osuna, TSA, p. 350, TAE, p. 367. 22 Osuna, TSA, p. 351, TAE, pp. 367–8. 23 Osuna, TSA, p. 558, TAE, p. 553.

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the order, setting the former on a path toward irrelevance that culminated with their official suppression in Spain by order of Philip II. Thus, at the start of the New Spain mission, “Observant” primarily denoted a legal unity that tolerated a range of spiritualities. With these preliminaries in place, we turn to the body of this study. The first chapter provides background for this examination of missionary spirituality. It traces the development of medieval Franciscan spirituality from the saint himself through the immediate predecessors of the earliest missionaries to New Spain. As such, it provides a portrait of the Spanish Franciscans at the start of the mission, helping us to understand the habitus that animated their work and the frustrations they experienced as it came under pressure in their new mission field. Chapters two through six examine the missionaries themselves over the course of the sixteenth century, with special emphasis on the eremitic spirituality that dominated the earliest years, then faded into the background, and finally gained new life in the latter decades. Last, after this discussion about the effects of the work on missionary spirituality, chapter seven examines its effects on peninsular spirituality, as friars transitioned back and forth between the mission and their home provinces, and as many of the same pressures that affected spirituality in New Spain also crossed the ocean.

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Chapter 1

Medieval Precedents of Missionary Spirituality, 1209–1523 The Spirituality of Francis At each stage of the development of Franciscan spirituality, the writings of Francis himself were central. Whether struggling to define poverty, to establish rightful authority, to find the appropriate extent and content of study, or to determine the correct level of ascetic rigor, Franciscans turned to the words of their founder, especially as found in his rules and testament. Above all, his spirituality focused intensely on the humanity of Jesus. While his spiritual forebears may have put more emphasis on Christ the king or Christ the conqueror, Francis preached Christ crucified, humiliated, forsaken, and poor. The broken humanity of Christ was no distraction from the contemplation of the divine but was instead the precise point of contact between humanity and God, the very means by which humans could encounter the divine.1 Moreover, Francis intended not just to meditate on the humanity of Christ, but to imitate it as closely as possible. The first sentence of the first chapter of Francis’s first rule says: The rule and life of these brothers is this, namely: to live in obedience, in chastity, and without anything of their own, and to follow the teaching and footprints of our Lord Jesus Christ, Who says: ‘If you wish to be perfect, go, sell everything you have and give it to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.’ And: ‘If anyone wishes to come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.’2

Antonio Blasucci, “Frères Mineurs: Spiritualité Franciscaine: 1226–1517,” in Marcel Viller et al. (eds), Dictionnaire de spiritualité ascétique et mystique doctrine et histoire (Paris, 1937–1994), vol. 5, pp. 1315–16. John R.H. Moorman, A History of the Franciscan Order from its Origins to the Year 1517 (Oxford, 1968), pp. 256–7. 2 Francis, “Regula non bullata,” in Enrico Menesto, Stefano Brufani, and Giuseppe Cremascoli (eds), Fontes franciscani (Assisi, 1995). English translation from Regis J. Armstrong, J.A. Wayne Hellmann, and William J. Short (eds), Francis of Assisi: Early Documents (New York, 1999–2001), vol. 1, pp. 63–4. 1

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Whatever Jesus said or did in the gospel accounts, Francis intended to imitate him and to lead his friars in doing the same. By following the footprints of Jesus, Francis believed that he would encounter God, and therefore his imitation of Christ was the central feature of his spirituality. As Francis began to attract disciples, he also attempted to imitate Jesus’ public ministry. They wandered the countryside, supporting themselves through whatever honorable work they could find and depending on alms for the rest of their needs. He sent out his friars two by two to preach a simple message of repentance and to suffer the same kind of hardship and persecution as Jesus’ original apostles.3 They had no need of study, for Jesus himself had not been highly educated, and their message was one of simple adherence to the life of Jesus. They had no need of buildings or possessions, because they wandered and begged, with no place to lay their heads. They had no need of churches or vestments, since they did not seek the honor of ordination but instead submitted to the clergy around them. Francis intended that their lives should demonstrate in these ways the same humility, poverty, and obedience that Jesus had shown. In addition to this active spirituality of wandering, poverty, and preaching, Francis cultivated a quieter life of retreat and contemplation. Jacques de Vitry, in a letter from 1216, described the rhythm of this earliest Franciscan life: During the day, they go into cities and villages to gain some people by giving themselves over to activity; but at night they go back to a remote place or solitary places, devoting themselves to contemplation. [De die intrant civitates et villas, ut aliquos lucrifaciant operam dantes actione; nocte vero revertuntur ad heremum vel loca solitaria vacantes contemplationi.]4

Thus, they sought not only a place in the wilderness (eremus) to lay their heads but also a suitable location for prayer, contemplation, and communal fellowship, in which exercises they spent a large portion of each night. Moreover, from time to time the friars desired to pause from the daily rhythm of their lives, for which purpose Francis composed guidelines for longer stays in the wilderness.5 Initially, these longer retreats were not tied to any specific place, but very soon Francis and his followers established Moorman, History of the Franciscan Order, pp. 13–17. Jean François Godet–Calogeras, “Illi qui volunt religiose stare in eremis: Eremitical

3 4

Practice in the Life of the Early Franciscans,” in Timothy J. Johnson (ed.), Franciscans at Prayer (Leiden–Boston, 2007), p. 319. 5 Francis, “Regula pro eremitoriis data,” in Menesto, Brufani, and Cremascoli (eds), Fontes franciscani.

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fixed locations, such as the foundational hermitage at Saint Mary of the Angels, commonly known as the Portiuncula.6 Francis intended his whole life to be one of continual prayer and meditation, but these periodic retreats allowed for more intensive solitude, silence, and contemplation of the crucified Christ. No friar was to retreat alone, but rather must go to the hermitage with two or three others. According to Francis’s guidelines, two were to be as sons and two as mothers, two as Mary and two as Martha. The latter were to care for the physical needs, so that the former could devote themselves absolutely and completely to contemplation. The “sons” were to live these periods in total isolation from each other and everyone else, and the “mothers” were to protect them from any intrusions or distractions. Finally, after an unspecified period, the “sons” and “mothers” were to switch places so that all the friars could be similarly refreshed. The richness of this eremitic exercise tempted the friars to give up active ministry altogether. After returning from their successful first journey to Rome in search of papal support, Francis and his disciples settled in a remote ravine for one of these retreats. Their time together and with God was so profound that they lingered for fifteen days, sorely tempted to stay there forever with the joys of the eremitic life. Ultimately, though, they recommitted themselves to their preaching ministry, limiting their time in the wilderness to the night time and to periodic longer retreats for rest and rejuvenation that would sustain their active ministry.7 Thus, Francis taught both the importance of active ministry and of eremitic solitude, he insisted on the practice of both, and he composed rules for both types of life. In effect, he set in motion the development of two parallel streams of spirituality, the eremitical and the active, complementary yet in tension, neither mutually exclusive nor easily compatible. The interaction between these parallel streams, the search for balance between them, is a foundational concept for the remainder of this study, for it was not a simple matter to imitate the twofold spirituality through which Francis sought to imitate Christ. Instead, his followers tended to privilege one stream or the other. The interaction between these two streams also explains much of the subsequent conflict within the order, for it complicated the processes of reform that began within a few years of Francis’s death. No party of reformers could simply call for a return to the original vision of their founder but instead had to decide to which vision they would return. Thus, in fifteenth- and sixteenth-century Spain, many different parties

Godet–Calogeras, “Illi qui volunt,” p. 320. Fidel de Lejarza and Angel Uribe, “Introducción a los orígenes de la observancia en

6 7

España, las reformas en los siglos XIV y XV,” AIA (1957): p. 19.

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claimed, with strong traditional and textual support, that they were the true heirs of Francis’s legacy. Development of Franciscan Spirituality after Francis By the middle of the thirteenth century, only thirty years after Francis’s passing, the order was deeply divided between those who sought to pursue his original ideals as rigorously as possible and those who sought space within their developing tradition to adapt their practices for the greater good of the church. Bonaventure, who became minister general in 1257, strongly favored the latter approach. While he tried to please the rigorists by emphasizing anew the fundamental importance of poverty to the Franciscan movement, he had little patience for their literal readings. Instead, he created a new vision for the order, a vision to combine the best principles of Francis, such as poverty and humility, with the best of intellectual study, all in service to the greater good of the church. His new breed of friars became scholars, university masters, and dogmatic preachers, living in quiet, comfortable monasteries with large libraries. Moreover, Bonaventure vigorously defended the rights of the friars with respect to the secular clergy, rights that would become central to the Franciscan work in the mission field. Where Francis insisted that his friars had no rights at all and that they should always joyfully submit to and support the secular clergy, Bonaventure felt that the deficiencies of the seculars were too great, the spiritual needs of the lay people too enormous, the divine calling of the friars too obvious, to submit to the territorial concerns of the secular clergy.8 In short, his generalate made the “typical” friar into a well-educated preacher and spiritual director, such a large departure from the model of Francis that some have called him the “second founder” of the order.9 A large majority of medieval Franciscans (the Conventuals) came to accept Bonaventure’s vision, while a small but vocal minority insisted upon privileging poverty above all else, even above obedience and fraternal unity. The majority felt that their work for the church, even if apparently counter to the simple principles of Francis, should determine the shape of their practice of the virtues of poverty, humility, and simplicity, while the minority (including Francis himself) felt that those virtues should instead determine the shape of the work on behalf of the church.10 This minority, after almost two hundred years of bitter resistance, gained legal standing Moorman, History of the Franciscan Order, p. 144. Ibid., pp. 153–4. 10 Lejarza and Uribe, “Introducción,” p. 27. 8 9

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as the Observant wing of the order and ultimately eclipsed the Conventuals in Spain. Moreover, this ascendant Observant wing (eventually called the Regular Observance) was the source of virtually all the missionaries who worked in New Spain, a venue which forced even them, the apparent purists, to face an intense contradiction between what was good for the church and her mission on one hand, and what was good for them as Franciscans on the other. Even a partial survey of the bitter conflicts between Franciscan Conventuals and the numerous eremitic reform movements in late medieval Spain is beyond the scope of this book, but those conflicts directly forged the reform movements of early sixteenth-century Spain to which we now turn. These reform movements in turn directly and profoundly affected the course of the evangelization of New Spain.11 Fray Juan de la Puebla The earliest of these actually predated the turn of the sixteenth century by a few years and centered on Juan de la Puebla, a direct spiritual predecessor of the earliest missionaries in New Spain. He began his religious life in the order of Saint Jerome but transferred to the Franciscans after perceiving a series of visions calling him to seek perfect poverty among them.12 After this conversion, he journeyed to Italy in 1480, where he embraced a rigorous Observant life in the hermitage of Le Carceri in Assisi and sought upon his return to establish a new custody in Andalucía in which to continue that way of life. While his reform project was controversial because of its implicit assertion that the Spanish Observants were not reformed enough, Puebla received a boost in 1487 when his noble admirer Martín Alfonso de Villaseca gained permission from Pope Innocent VIII to build two monasteries and to entrust them to Puebla as the Custodia de los Angeles. Finally, in 1490, Puebla himself traveled to the Franciscan general chapter in France to gain the blessing of the ultramontane vicar of the Observance,

11 Several books examine these medieval conflicts in great detail. For example: David Burr, The Spiritual Franciscans: From Protest to Persecution in the Century after Saint Francis (University Park, 2001); Malcolm Lambert, Franciscan Poverty: The Doctrine of the Absolute Poverty of Christ and the Apostles in the Franciscan Order, 1210–1323, edn 2 (St. Bonaventure, NY, 1998); Patrick Nold, Pope John XXII and his Franciscan Cardinal: Bertrand de la Tour and the Apostolic Poverty Controversy (New York, 2003). 12 Yolanda Santiago Reyes, “Fray Juan de la Puebla y las fundaciones conventuales de la provincia de los Ángeles,” in Manuel Peláez del Rosal (ed.), III Curso de Verano: El Franciscanismo en Andalucía (Córdoba, 1999), p. 549.

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after which he officially founded the first monastery—Nuestra Señora de los Angeles.13 Two documents outline the eremitic spirituality of this new Custodia de los Angeles, which would become so influential for the missionary enterprise. Both appear in the Historia de la Santa Provincia de los Angeles, compiled in 1662 by Andrés de Guadalupe.14 The first is a set of laws that Puebla drew up in 1490, upon the opening of the first monastery. It is very brief, prescribing only a handful of rules, none of which is particularly surprising. Puebla’s friars were to recite the divine office in low tones whenever at least four friars were present. In addition to these multiple hours of vocal corporate prayer, they were also to spend two hours per day in mental prayer and one hour in manual labor. They were to discipline themselves physically throughout the year, except on Sundays and major festivals. In order to preserve poverty, which was the principal foundation of their order and without which would fall the rest of the rule, they were to go entirely barefoot. Those who had need could wear sandals, but the feet had to remain uncovered. Their clothing was to be of the coarsest wool. Healthy friars could not request donations of eggs, meat, wine, or fish, but they could accept them if offered unsolicited. They must not, however, accept any more provision than they needed for a few days. Their beds were to be harsh, with only one blanket, plus an extra one in the winter. Their churches were to be humble, without adornments of silk, gold, or silver, and they were not to say any masses for compensation.15 The second Pueblan document is a further development of these laws, composed later in the 1490s as the number of friars and houses increased. It is much more detailed and rigorous. For example, Puebla clarified his teaching on footwear, making specific the requirement that his friars be entirely barefoot [descalços los pies por el suelo], since other friars claimed to be discalced while in truth wearing at least some minimal protection. Moreover, even those who by necessity wore some foot protection, such as the elderly or the sick, were required to be discalced at communion, in order to show appropriate respect to the host.16 Puebla also required in this document that each monastery have several oratories or hermitages José García Oro, Cisneros y la reforma del clero español en tiempo de los Reyes Católicos (Madrid: 1971), p. 231. Fidel de Lejarza, “Orígenes de la descalcez franciscana,” AIA, 22 (1962): p. 22. 14 Andrés de Guadalupe, Historia de la Santa Provincia de Los Angeles, Hermenegildo Zamora Jambrina (ed.) (Madrid, 1994). The first document runs from pp. 44–5, while the second document runs from pp. 141–4. In addition to this facsimile edition, an original from 1662 resides in BNE 2/10645. 15 Guadalupe, Historia de la Santa Provincia de Los Angeles, pp. 44–6. 16 “Iten, que los mesmos hermanos anduuiessen descalços los pies por el suelo, especialmente en tiempo de aduiento, y quaresma; y que si por necessidad traxesse alguno 13

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on the grounds, so that the religious might recollect themselves in greater isolation.17 This provision especially indicated the rigorous eremitism of Puebla’s movement, for the Regular Observance at that point had moved away from its eremitic origins. Puebla instead called his friars back to Francis’s original teaching on hermitages, in which a few friars at a time retired from the main body of brothers for a more intense period of recollection.18 Puebla’s second set of laws also included a heavy emphasis not just on the standard Franciscan virtue of humility but also on humiliation. When a prelate needed to correct some friar, that friar had to prostrate himself to hear his punishment, even if he was in public. The friar then had to remain prostrate until his superior granted permission to move, even if the latter should leave without granting it. When he did finally get up, he first had to kiss the feet of the prelate and thank him for the correction. In another item, Puebla ordered that all subordinate friars kneel to the ground when addressing their superiors. At the thrice-weekly capítulo de culpas, in which each friar confessed his sins to the whole monastery, each friar had to do so from a prostrate position. All friars who had been professed fewer than seven years must discipline themselves (for example, by flagellation or eating in the dirt) publicly in the refectory every Friday, and during Advent and Lent they had to eat in the dirt three days a week. Whenever a friar dropped something, he had to kneel down to pick it up and then wait for the prelate’s signal before rising again. Finally, lest the reader assume that Puebla’s constitutions were strictly hierarchical in their humiliation, he also required that the prelates and elders of the monasteries during Advent and Lent also eat in the dirt on Fridays and that, after eating, they make a round through the refectory kissing the feet of each subordinate friar.19 By describing these acts of humiliation, I do not mean to say that other Observants did not practice similar acts; their legislation says nothing about it, but that does not mean the practices were absent. On the other hand, Puebla’s heavy emphasis on such humiliation, far beyond that described in similar sources, together with Guadalupe’s accounts of Puebla’s self-humiliation of heroic proportions, indicates a more rigorous and unique practice of this virtue within his custody.

sandalias, ò esparteñas, se las quitasse para llegar à comulgar, desuerte, que fuessen todos descalços, para recebir à tan alto Señor.” Ibid., p. 141. 17 “Iten, cerca de cada conuento se funden algunos oratorios, ò hermitas en parte, que se puedan conseruar, para que à imitacion de las que estan en santa Maria de los Angeles, se puedan recoger los Religiosos à mayor retiro.” Ibid., p. 144. 18 Uribe, “Espiritualidad,” p. 145. 19 Guadalupe, Historia de la Santa Provincia de Los Angeles, pp. 142–3.

18

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The rest of Puebla’s second set of laws were not significantly different from other Franciscan legislation. We see in them, for example, similar emphases on the divine office, isolation of novices, frequency of confession and communion, and perpetual silence. Pueblan spirituality, then, was a rigorous eremitism, prominently featuring hermitages and a general intensification of traditional Franciscan practices such as fasting or discipline, yet without the separatist agitation that had led to persecution against earlier reform movements. Puebla did not desire to create conflict or schism within the order; he was more interested in simply creating space for himself and his followers to imitate Francis the way they felt called to do. Nevertheless, his work ignited for a new generation the very conflict he had tried to avoid, as powerful Observants rushed to suppress his movement, and his successors, who expanded the reform beyond its limited roots in Andalucía and Extremadura, ultimately fled the Observant family. The Royal Reform of Ferdinand and Isabel Contemporary to Puebla’s rigorist reform was a movement, associated with the Catholic monarchs Ferdinand and Isabel, which vigorously opposed Puebla and which decisively established the juridical form and the spiritual trajectory of the order during the first century of the New Spanish mission. Much Spanish historiography fondly remembers Ferdinand and Isabel as the Catholic Monarchs, los Reyes Católicos. From the start of their reign—Isabel in Castile in 1474 and Ferdinand in Aragón in 1479— they took a very active role in the affairs of the church. They did much to build the church in their territories and around the globe—for example, imposing Catholicism in the kingdom of Granada and spurring the first missionary efforts in their new Caribbean territories. Moreover, they took a very special interest in the Franciscan order, even a marked preference for their work over that of other orders.20 As such, they naturally also took an interest in the flourishing reform movements within the order and the widely perceived spiritual and moral decay that those movements sought to reverse. Thus, by the time Juan de la Puebla launched his movement in the Custodia de los Angeles, Ferdinand and Isabel had also started their own push for reform, aimed specifically at forcing the Conventual Franciscans into submission to the Observant wing of the order. Their primary agent in this push was Francisco Jiménez de Cisneros, whom they rapidly promoted from simple Observant Franciscan to 20 Juan Meseguer Fernández, “Franciscanismo de Isabel la Católica,” AIA, 191 (1959): pp. 153–95. García Oro, Cisneros y la reforma, p. 172.

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confessor to Isabel (1492), Observant vicar for the province of Castile (1494), and archbishop of Toledo (1495)—the highest ecclesiastical position in Spain.21 From this strong position, Cisneros worked to raise the intellectual and spiritual quality of the regular and secular clergy, to improve their pastoral care for the lay people, and to foster a deeper, more personal, and more interior or pietistic spirituality throughout the Spanish church. With regard to the reform of his own order, he actively promoted the rigorous eremitic spirituality that he had learned during his spiritual formation.22 He even maintained his rigorous way of life while occupying the episcopal palace of Toledo, essentially converting it into an austere monastery in which only other Observant Franciscans could tolerate living and working. Indeed, he was so austere that Pope Alexander VI had to order him to enjoy more luxuries in order to preserve the prestige of his position.23 Cisneros was, then, a natural and passionate partner for the monarchs in their desire to move all Spanish Franciscans toward a more observant way of life. The ultimate goal of this royal reform was to draw every Franciscan monastery into the Observant family. While its leaders probably also genuinely desired to draw each individual friar toward a more rigorous spirituality, their actions speak much more clearly to their interest in Franciscan unity and uniformity, which is why the even more rigorous reforms of men like Puebla ran afoul of the royal effort. Early on, the royal reformers simply converted Conventual monasteries by force, disregarding papal decrees to the contrary. For example, when they desired to reform the monastery at Atienza in 1493, they sent a band of Observant friars to seize the house by force, demanding that the resident friars either submit or leave. They then appealed immediately and successfully to Pope Alexander to confirm their action, even though it was unambiguously illegal.24 By 1494, however, the monarchs adopted a slightly more subtle approach, acquiring a papal brief that allowed Conventual houses to submit to the Observants if a majority of their friars voluntarily desired to do so.25 Conveniently, the brief contained no guidelines for evaluating how truly “voluntary” the conversions were, so the monarchs and García Oro, Cisneros y la reforma, p. 185. Very little literature in English deals with Cisneros, but one biography offers access to much of the Spanish–language scholarship. Erika Rummel, Jiménez De Cisneros: On the Threshold of Spain’s Golden Age (Tempe, 1999). 22 Lejarza and Uribe, “Introducción,” pp. 159–64, 313–18. 23 Antonio Rubial García, La Hermana Pobreza: El franciscanismo: de la edad media a la evangelización novohispana (Mexico City, 1996), p. 41. 24 García Oro, Cisneros y la reforma, p. 174. 25 Dudum certis iudicibus, transcribed in ibid., p. 369. 21

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Cisneros were able to supplement any genuine conversions that might have occurred by “encouraging” the remaining Conventual monasteries to join the Observants voluntarily. Some of this “encouragement” took very coercive forms, as Cisneros pressured the Conventual hierarchy to push the reform on their subordinates, and the monarchs directly ordered some monastery superiors to submit with all their friars.26 This process was not always smooth and certainly did not escape vigorous opposition from the offended Conventuals, but it did result before long in the conversion of many Conventual houses. Upon such conversions, many friars who did not consent to the transfer fled their monasteries, seeking refuge in sympathetic houses, transferring their vows to less stringent orders, or even fleeing the religious state altogether.27 Many others, however, stayed behind, cooperating with the Observant reform at least formally. In this sense, then, the Cisnerian reform encouraged a spiritual stratification within the juridically united Observant family, as the reformed Franciscan elite (like Cisneros or Puebla) coexisted with other friars—perhaps a majority—who either had no ability or no intention to follow the rule of Saint Francis in its full rigor.28 This stratification reappeared prominently when the Franciscans began to debate which friars were qualified to serve as missionaries in New Spain, how they would exercise and preserve their spirituality as missionaries, and what would happen to the monasteries left behind, which tended to lose their most energetic and devout members to the mission field. Fray Juan de Guadalupe Concurrent with the royal reform was that of Juan de Guadalupe, one of Puebla’s immediate successors in the rigorist movement and probably the most important spiritual forebear of the New Spanish missionaries. Guadalupe felt a more active, evangelistic vocation than most of his medieval predecessors and, acting on this vocation, in 1496 he sought and gained permission in Rome to establish a missionary custody in the newly conquered kingdom of Granada. After returning from Rome, he gathered a small band of followers, and they set off barefoot for Granada. Upon their arrival, they drew great attention to themselves by wandering homeless, preaching in the plazas, begging door to door, and sleeping in the churches—perhaps the truest return to Franciscan roots that had occurred since the founder’s own lifetime. In addition to Ibid., pp. 176–9. Ibid., p. 189. 28 Rubial García, La Hermana Pobreza, p. 73. 26 27

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the spectacle they raised, they also encountered stiff opposition from the Observant Franciscans already present, because they planned to found a new monastery dedicated to the strictest observance of the rule, under the jurisdiction of the Conventuals.29 In keeping with the royal preference for the Observants and for juridical unity and uniformity, this opposition convinced the archbishop of Granada—Hernando de Talavera—to forbid Guadalupe to found a house in that kingdom, despite his papal license, unless he first switched his allegiance to the Observant family. Rather than submitting, Guadalupe abandoned his active missionary vocation in Granada and retreated with his followers to Extremadura, where one of his companions—Pedro de Melgar, a lay friar of noble birth and a war hero from the conquest of Granada—had an extensive network of noble friends. With their support, Guadalupe and Melgar successfully founded five new hermitages within two new custodies—Santo Evangelio under the leadership of Guadalupe and Nuestra Señora de la Luz under Melgar. They had no legal basis for these foundations, since the original license only permitted them to found one house in Granada for the purpose of evangelizing its Muslim inhabitants. The eager support, however, of the Conventual hierarchy and Melgar’s allies overcame the inevitable opposition from local Observant Franciscans, who saw many of their most devout friars transfer into the new houses. Thus, by 1499 they had gained retroactive license for their foundations from Pope Alexander VI. Three points of Guadalupe’s story are particularly relevant for this study of the New Spanish mission. First, several of the friars who transferred from the Observant province of Santiago into the new Guadalupan houses became important leaders in the mission field. The most prominent of these was Martín de Valencia, who later led the first official expedition to New Spain and who consequently played a role of enormous importance in building Mexican Catholicism. Second, we see the great importance of the Guadalupan reform on the New Spanish mission field in the fact that the first Franciscan province in New Spain also carried the name Santo Evangelio. Those first missionaries predominantly came from Guadalupe’s Santo Evangelio houses, and they intended to recreate its spiritual rigor in the new world, meaning that their form of eremitic spirituality became the baseline for subsequent New Spanish spirituality.30 Third, once Guadalupe abandoned Granada, he also seems to have abandoned his active missionary vocation, retreating instead into the internally focused rigor 29 Antolín Abad Pérez and Cayetano Sánchez Fuertes, “La descalcez franciscana en España, Hispanoamérica, y Extremo Oriente,” AIA, 59 (1999): pp. 465–7. García Oro, Cisneros y la reforma, pp. 231–2. 30 José García Oro, “Los frailes del Santo Evangelio. El eremitorismo franciscano en Extremadura,” Edad de Oro, 8 (1989): p. 91.

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of his predecessors. Thus, Guadalupe and his capuchos—as they came to be called, because of their distinctive pointed hoods—were no exception to the powerful trend toward eremitic life during the fifteenth century but instead testified to the difficulty of going against that trend to seek a more active life of ministry, an early example of the crises that would face the missionaries in New Spain. The Custody of San Gabriel On May 29, 1517, Pope Leo X issued Ite vos in vineam meam. He declared that the Franciscan Order would henceforth have one minister general to whom all friars must profess obedience and that the minister general must be drawn from the Observant family of friars. All the smaller groups of reformed friars across Europe, including the Guadalupans, would form the united order of Friars Minor. Any friars who refused to submit to the new minister general would form a new and separate order outside the Franciscan family, but all were vigorously exhorted to unite to the official order.31 The effect of this “bull of union,” then, was to strip the Conventuals of all their standing and privilege and, in Spain at least, to ensure their gradual suppression. Thus, the royal reform begun by Ferdinand and Isabel and spearheaded by Cisneros won a major victory with this bull. Ite vos had an important effect on the Guadalupan reform. Guadalupe had founded his movement within the Conventual branch of the order, because the Observants understandably took offense at his implicit accusation that they were not rigorous enough. Most of his capuchos had remained stubbornly loyal to the Conventual superiors who sheltered them from Observant persecution, and they did so on the grounds that the rule of Francis required them to submit to the minister general of the order, his only true successor, who until Ite vos had almost always come from the Conventual family. Pope Leo X, however, eliminated that objection by permanently entrusting the generalate to the Observant family. This effectively forced the capuchos into the Observant jurisdiction, but the bull also explicitly confirmed their right to practice their rigorous spirituality, despite Observant offense. It did this by bringing together all their remaining houses into the Custody of San Gabriel, which was subsequently elevated

Moorman, History of the Franciscan Order, pp. 583–5. Juan Meseguer Fernández, “La bula ‘Ite vos’ (29 de mayo de 1517) a la reforma cisneriana,” AIA, 18 (1958), appendix 7. 31

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to provincial status in 1519 and from which proceeded almost all of the earliest missionaries to New Spain.32 The constitutions of San Gabriel demonstrate that, while Ite vos constrained the Guadalupans to submit to the Observants, it did not suppress their rigorous way of life—a marked change from the earlier polemics in which the capuchos felt it was impossible to obey their calling under the jurisdiction of the Observants.33 Drawing from these constitutions, Rubial summarizes their new custody: The Observants certainly observed the rule of Saint Francis in every last detail, but the new houses of San Gabriel followed it to the extreme. Faithful to the ideals of Juan de Guadalupe, the recently created province continued its rigorous asceticism and poverty as much in its habitations as in its clothing and food; their monasteries were extremely poor and were sustained by alms, but not monetary alms, they dressed in the coarsest wool, they walked barefoot, and they slept on boards. [Los observantes llevaban ciertamente la regla de San Francisco bastante al pie de la letra, pero las nuevas casas de San Gabriel la seguían hasta el extremo. Fiel a los ideales de Fray Juan de Guadalupe, la recién creada provincia continuó con su riguroso ascetismo y pobreza tanto en sus viviendas como en sus vestidos y comidas; sus conventos eran paupérrimos y se sustentaban de limosnas, pero no pecuniarias, se vestían de sayal, andaban descalzos y dormían sobre tablas.]34

At the time of Ite vos, then, the Spanish Regular Observance had grown powerful enough to set the Conventuals on a course of extinction yet broad enough to offer an olive branch to their most rigorist reformers. Many details of the spiritual lives of these reformers were still more rigorous than the practices of their Observant brethren, but they had tempered the extremes that had caused such trouble for their medieval forebears. At the same time, the Observant mainstream had moved in their direction as well, as they offered not only acceptance to the Guadalupans in 1517 but a genuine prestige that resulted in the election of an eremitic minister general just a few years later. Thus, the Regular Observance had forged a kind of “big tent” spirituality, creating generous space for former adversaries and providing yet more evidence that the Observant reform—especially that 32 33

Lejarza, “Orígenes,” p. 131. The San Gabriel constitutions are published in Juan Bautista Moles, Memorial de la

provincia de San Gabriel, de la orden de los frayles menores de obseruancia (Madrid, 1984), ff. 26r–28v. 34 Rubial García, La Hermana Pobreza, p. 66.

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initiated in Spain by the Catholic Monarchs—was more concerned with juridical unity and uniformity than with any specific details of spirituality. Fray Francisco de los Angeles Quiñones One final document provides a valuable portrait of the state of Franciscan spirituality at the inception of the mission to New Spain. It resulted from the work of Francisco de los Angeles Quiñones, a disciple of Juan de la Puebla, devotee of the eremitic spirituality of Guadalupe, initiator of the first official missionary expedition, and minister general of the Franciscan order from 1523.35 Significantly, he had begun his ecclesiastical career twenty-five years earlier, serving in the archiepiscopal palace of Cisneros, where the austere and even monastic environment that we have already discussed left a profound imprint on his spirituality.36 As a result, Quiñones worked to make Franciscan spirituality in general—as it was actually practiced—resemble more closely and uniformly the eremitic ideals that he preferred. This preference is evident in his Admoniciones o avisos a las provincias españolas—a collection of exhortations and warnings to the Spanish provinces, probably composed in preparation for his first provincial inspections as minister general.37 As such, they reflected his understanding of the state of Spanish Franciscan spirituality near the beginning of his generalate, and they prescribed the changes that he expected to implement during his time in office. This document is especially valuable, for it was not constitutional legislation prescribing the details of Franciscan life, but rather it warned the friars to resolve very specific shortcomings in their spirituality and thus provides a portrait of the actual state of the order in 1523. Though this portrait was inevitably skewed toward the negative— since Quiñones naturally would not warn the friars to change what they were doing well—for precisely this reason, it also provides an important check on the temptation to imagine that the order of Friars Minor, united juridically by papal order in 1517, was now a monolithic powerhouse of 35 Gaspar Calvo Moralejo, “Espiritualidad franciscana en Andalucía. Siglos XV y XVI,” in Manuel Peláez del Rosal (ed.), I Curso de Verano: El Franciscanismo en Andalucía (Córdoba, 1997), p. 319. 36 Juan Meseguer Fernández, “Contenido misional de la Obediencia e Instrucción de fray Francisco de los Ángeles a los doce apóstoles de México,” The Americas, 11 (1955): p. 474. 37 A discussion of the date and occasion of this document appears in Juan Meseguer Fernández, “Programa de gobierno del P. Francisco de Quiñones, Ministro General, OFM (1523–1528),” AIA, 21 (1961): pp. 8–10. The text itself is transcribed in appendix 2 of this article, pp. 35–51.

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Observant spirituality. There were surely Franciscans in 1523 who burned with a desire for the profound eremitic spirituality of the reformers, who sought nothing more than to imitate Christ as perfectly as possible, but there were just as surely Franciscans who chafed under the requirements of their profession and sought to adapt them wherever possible. Quiñones began his Avisos by extolling the value of discipline and bemoaning the gradual collapse of the order. He wrote that, because of the languishing fervor of the friars and the sloth of their superiors, their perfect religion was collapsing into ruin.38 Then the warnings began. The careless selection of novices, the reception of idiots and illiterate men, threatened to ruin the order, so Quiñones ordered that henceforth the superiors should accept no candidate who could not read Latin effectively and who could not clearly recite the liturgy of the divine office without any assistance.39 Quiñones also restricted transfers between monasteries and travel outside of them. He especially limited the travel of young friars for the purpose of study, forbidding the provinces to send any more men to Paris until Quiñones himself had had a chance to visit the house of study there to inspect the level of discipline. He saw no reason to send young friars into the decadence of that city when there were sufficient houses of study within the Spanish monasteries to accommodate them.40 Moreover, Quiñones reiterated the traditional Franciscan warnings against traveling alone outside the monastery and receiving visitors inside but added a curious and colorful twist when he specifically banned barbers from plying 38 §Prologus 3 “Ob subditorum iam languentium fervorem vel potius propter ipsorum presidentium sive oblivionem torpentem sive dormitantem segnitiem antique illius relligionis perfectionisque vite nitor ac decor, per nostrorum antecessorum manus plantatus iam decidit atque paulatim in dies magis magisque collabitur.” Ibid., pp. 11, 36. 39 §1.1 “Relligionis igitur nostre, in his Hispanie partibus et provinciis, notabili considerata ruina, qua, ob novitiorum indifferentem receptionem, ordo ipse in dies magis magisque decumbit, necnon et manifesto abusu perspecto, qui in recipiendis idiotis atque ad literas inhabilibus eundem ordinem est secutus, ex quorum multiplicatione inutili non quidem virtutum sed relaxationis tocius successit argumentum.” Ibid., pp. 11, 37–8. Also, “illam competentem esse dicimus literaturam qua et sermonem latinum expedite legere valere et grammatice facultatis studium, saltem annum, eum, qui recipiendus sit, impendisse constiterit.” Regarding the divine office, §1.4 “ideoque et fratres in clericorum ad professionem receptione diligenter invigilent ut nemini prorsus suffragium ferant preter eum, qui ipsum officium distincte atque expedite exsolvere possit.” 40 §2.1 “Fratrum e conventibus mutationes omnino vitentur, preterquam vel in capitulari celebritate vel cum prelati iudicio necessitas ipsa ad id impulerit faciendum.” §2.3 “Nunc itaque tum propter causam memoratam, tum etiam quoniam Hispania nostra literarum collegiis est abunde referta, sub omni districtione volo, ne quis provincialium ministrorum tocius Hispanie fratri vel fratribus eiuscemodi facultatem studii parrisiensis impendat; per me autem vel per eosdem ministros impensas revoco per presentes, donec, predicto conventu visitato, quid super hoc me facere oporteat, plenius videro.” Ibid., pp. 11–12, 38–9.

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their trade in the monasteries, ordering instead that several novices in each house learn that trade. Apparently, barbers were particularly corrupt influences on the young friars.41 The longest chapter of the Avisos treated the foundational practice of poverty and outlined an apparent epidemic of weakening standards. Those friars who did travel outside the monasteries were warned to stop carrying so much clothing with them. One habit, two tunics, one cloak or cape, and a pair of sandals should suffice, and he specifically condemned the common use of the luxurious colobia manicata—a long-sleeved outer garment of wool or leather—which not even the friars in the colder northern climates found necessary.42 Quiñones reminded the friars of the requirement of vile clothing, naming a specific price above which the fabric could not go and ordering the superiors to stop granting exemptions to friars from wealthy families, who commonly received nicer clothing as a result of special donations.43 He condemned the common practice of begging acceptable goods and then trading them for illicit goods and further condemned the use of agents who requested and managed monetary gifts on behalf of the friars.44 They also were warned to rid their monasteries of all items of crystal, silver, and gold, except for a very limited number of items for use in the liturgy. Another practice Quiñones condemned was the trade of masses and other services for alms, as when a friar might say “This book cost me

41 §2.5 “Preterea, ut distractionis atque perturbationis rumorumque apportationes, quas ingredentium secularium tonsorum frequentia consuet afferre, omnifaria precidatur occasio, provincialibus ipsis precipio ut fratres aliquos iuvenes tonstrine officium addiscere faciant, ita ut secularibus huiusmodi tonsoribus provincia nulla indigeat.” Ibid., pp. 12, 39. 42 §4.1 “Nullus frater a conventu in conventum … deferre amplius secum possit ad usum sui quam habitum, duas tunicas, palliolum, quem dicunt mantellum, ac soleas.” §4.3 “Colobia manicata sive lanea sive pellicea, tegumenta in ordine non minus monstruosa quam peregrina ... que multo frigidiores regiones prorsus ignorant, a conventibus intra octo mensium spacium aboleantur omnino.” Ibid., p. 40. 43 §4.4 “declaro firmiterque prohibeo, ne quis fratrum panno illo ad vestitum utatur, cuius valor trium argentorum precium in ulnam valeat superare. Verumtamen, ubi extimatione premissa, obtineri non posset, ad quatuor argenteos ascendat ad summum; super quo, ut diligenter advertant, gardianorum conscientias oneratas decerno.” “Frater autem qui prefinitum panni valorem se vestiendo excesserit, indumento huiusmodi, quodcunque tandem id fuerit, omnino privetur, etiamsi a propinquis vel amicis donatum acceperit.” Ibid., p. 41. 44 §4.5 “Ministri in conventibus visitandis prospiciant diligenter ut tritici, hordei ac vini aliarumque rerum mendicationes regule potius eiusdemque declarationum paupertati quam pravis consuetudinibus sint conformes … ubi presertim petuntur in res alterius speciei commutandas.” §4.6 “nunc denuo iterumque iniungendo confirmo, hoc est, ut vivos truncos, quos in templis ipsis fratris vel fratrum absentia non permittat, e plateis, viis, angulisque presentia fratrum adiuncta amoveantur omnino, eiusmodi pecuniario questu abolito per omnem modum.” Ibid., p. 41.

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a certain number of masses.”45 As in previous Franciscan legislation, all ministerial services were to be offered free of any compensation. Finally, Quiñones exhorted the Spanish friars to spend less energy acquiring beautiful or rare books and more energy actually studying them, hoping thereby to improve the intellectual quality of the order.46 The final sections of the Avisos suggested a long list of further abuses in Franciscan life. For example, educated friars were no longer to use their academic titles, for such practice brought dishonor on the order, and they were to ensure that the contagious pride it engendered did not cross into Spain from neighboring territories (probably referring to Paris).47 All friars were to seek to improve relations with the secular clergy and the other religious orders. They were to put an end to the monstrous laziness that led so many of them to practice neither the useful labor of Martha nor the quiet contemplation of Mary.48 They were to take good care of the sick friars, rather than abandoning them in their suffering.49 The list could continue, but these examples suffice to demonstrate that there was a broad range of spiritual practice among the Spanish friars and that the many reform movements that had been joined together in 1517 were still at best works in progress. As Meseguer describes, then, this document outlined a major goal of Quiñones’s ministry. He sought to end the abuses that were damaging the order and to reverse the declines that had taken the friars away from the §4.14 “tot vel tot missis librum vel rem hanc michi tradite vel tanto argenteorum vel pecuniarum numero, adiectis insuper tribus vel quatuor missis; nec inter se fratres ipsi hoc modo loquendi utantur dicentes: accipe librum hunc tot missas celebraturus.” Ibid., p. 44. 46 §4.16 “Ad curiositatem illam abolendam, que non paucos fratres in emendis codicibus potius quam aut evolvendis aut intelligendis tenet astrictos, ipsis provincialibus ministris precipio ut libris, quibus utuntur fratres, diligenter perspectis ipsorumque fratrum ingeniis atque exercitiis pensatis, iis necessariis dumtaxat retentis, ceteros omnes in bibliotheca conventus ad communem utilitatem reponi faciant.” Ibid., p. 44. 47 §5.1 “presenti admonitione precipio, ne quis frater in relligione nostra magistri, doctoris sive licentiati titulis nominetur, etiam si gradum talem in seculo sit assecutus; cuiusmodi labes, etsi hucusque in Hispania nostra non obrepserit, providendum est tamen futuro contagio, quod ex aliarum vicinitate nationum, cautione posthabita, contrahi posset.” Ibid., p. 44. 48 Quiñones’s description of this laziness is striking: §2 “Cum igitur intra me diligentius contemplarem, obtulit se monstrosa quorumdam ociositas, viciorum omnium notissima ianua, in quibus videlicet, cum neque Marthe sit labor utilis ministrandi neque Marie ad pedes Domini contemplatio quieta, horrenda quedam solummodo carnificia vigescit ad proximorum sanguinem spiritualiter absorbendum. Quapropter vos omnifariam invigilare oportebit ut lectione, oratione manualique labore subditi vestri utiliter occupentur.” Ibid., p. 49. 49 §6 “Occurrit et negligentia multiplex vel potius crudelitas in curandis infirmis, propter quod et ipsi egrotantes afflictiones [et] miserias patiuntur et eorum multi ad sibi aliunde providendum non satis religiose, urgente necessitate, declinant.” Ibid., p. 50. 45

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purity of their rule. Further, because of Quiñones’s own eremitic background as a disciple of Juan de la Puebla, the purity of the rule he sought for all Spanish friars went beyond the austerity of previous Observant legislation. In this sense, the Avisos represented a step toward the stricter life that Quiñones so favored, an attempt to move all Franciscans toward those eremitic ideals.50 At the start of the mission to New Spain, then, there was one juridically united Franciscan order that privileged a rigorous interpretation of Franciscan spirituality, but it was far from unified. Its bull of union in 1517 was the culmination of twenty-five years of chaos, in which Franciscans could not agree on whether there should be reform at all, to what extent that reform should go, or whether such reform was best pursued by pressure from above or by gradual persuasion from house to house. The solution imposed by Ite vos favored Cisneros’s coercive approach, as his Observant party forcefully absorbed all other parties without fully resolving the tensions that had created the divisions in the first place. Indeed, while Ite vos officially recognized the minority Guadalupan spirituality by granting them autonomy as the Province of San Gabriel, within just a few decades, as we shall see, these Guadalupans launched yet another splinter group under the leadership of Pedro de Alcántara, aiming for greater rigor than they had been permitted within the official order. Moreover, Quiñones’s Avisos demonstrated that even the Observant party that prevailed in the 1517 settlement displayed significant variety, as the spiritual quality of its friars ranged from the most rigorous of recollects to the laziest of vagabonds. Thus, within the “united” Franciscan order at the start of the mission, many different kinds of friars existed: Guadalupan descalzos in the provinces of San Gabriel and La Concepción, recollects spread out across various provinces and living under different statutes, Observants governed by still other statutes, and even “crypto-Conventuals” who had had the misfortune of living in houses reformed by force before Ite vos. Within each of these “parties,” moreover, the spiritual rigor of the friars varied significantly. We might conclude, then, with the observation that the reform movement that began under Ferdinand and Isabel, progressed under the agency of Cisneros, and ultimately prevailed with Ite vos in 1517, was more quantitative in nature than qualitative, creating primarily the legal conditions that allowed the imposition of reform from above and merely laying the foundation for the more substantial qualitative flourishing of that reform during Spain’s long siglo de oro.51

50 51

Meseguer Fernández, “Programa de gobierno,” p. 28. García Oro, Cisneros y la reforma, p. 355.

Chapter 2

The Eremitic Ideal of the Mission Pioneers, 1524–1548 The Eremitic Foundation of the Mission to New Spain While Quiñones was a crucial figure for the rise of eremitic spirituality to prominence among the Franciscans, he was no less important for the launch of the mission enterprise in New Spain. Though he labored for the spiritual reform of his brethren in Europe, his greater passion was to be a missionary. Indeed, when word arrived of Cortes’s conquest of Tenochtitlán, Quiñones was one of the first to seek permission to embark for the new territory.1 Despite his success in gaining that permission, the contrary will of his brethren prevented him from embarking. In 1523, the very year he planned to leave, he was elected minister general, and his vow of obedience thus compelled him to abandon his dream.2 Later he wrote his thoughts about this new appointment: Even though I, very beloved brothers in Jesus Christ, desired and endeavored long ago, and I desire to go live and die in those parts, demonstrating to my subjects fidelity to the Gospel by deed more than by word, imprisoned and shackled in the prison of obedience to that same rule, I do not do what I want but rather what I hate. [Y avnque yo muy amados hermanos en iessu cristo, aya deseado y procurado muchos tiempos há, y deseo yr a biuir y morir en aquellas partes, mostrando a mis subdictos por obra mas que por palabra la guarda del Evangelio, preso y aherrojado en la carçel de la obediencia de esa mesma regla, no hago lo que quiero sino lo que aborrezco.]3 Jerónimo de Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana (Mexico City, 1971), pp. 187–8. Ibid., p. 197. 3 Andrés Martín, “Obediencia e Instrucción,” p. 429. Andrés provides a photographic 1 2

reproduction and transcription of these two documents from a codex that was probably compiled within five years of their original issuance. They represent a much older text than Mendieta’s more prominent edition. Subsequent citations, then, will use Andrés, while commenting on any relevant divergence in Mendieta’s text.

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After submitting to the will of the order and taking office as minister general, Quiñones promptly selected his replacement, Martín de Valencia, provincial minister of San Gabriel, and ordered him under obedience to select a team of twelve friars to accompany him as soon as possible to New Spain.4 After Valencia recruited his team of missionaries, Quiñones met with them to bless their work. The date and location of the meeting were pregnant with symbolic meaning: October 4, 1523, the feast of Saint Francis, in the monastery of Santa María de los Ángeles, significant as a leading house of the Franciscan reform and even more so because it was modeled after its namesake house in Assisi, from which Francis himself often sent his companions out to preach the gospel to the world.5 The result of this month-long meeting was the production of two documents—the Instrucción and the Obediencia—that established the missiology of the first generation of friars in New Spain. Quiñones issued the Instrucción on that first day, the feast of Saint Francis. It is written in Spanish and contains the practical modus operandi for the mission, while the later Obediencia is written in Latin and contains the formal canonical commission.6 The Instrucción begins with an exhortatory prologue addressed personally to Valencia, followed by seven specific guidelines and a brief conclusion. That prologue offers several reasons for the mission. First, because in this said land of New Spain, which is being harvested by the demon and the flesh, Christ is not enjoying the souls that he bought with his blood, it seemed to me that as Christ suffers reproaches there, so also should I feel them, thus as much reason and more do I have to feel and say with the prophet David: ‘It is zeal for your house that has consumed me; the insults of those who insult you have fallen on me’ [Psalm 69:9 NRSV; Psalm 68:10 Vulgate]. [Y porque esta tierra de la Nueva Espagña ya dicha, siendo por el demonio y carne vendimiada, Christo no goza de las ánimas que por su sangre conpró, parecióme que, pues a Christo allí no le faltan injurias, no hera razón que a my me faltase sentimiento dellas, pues tanta razón y más tengo yo que el propheta Dauid para sentir y dezir con él: zelus domus tue commedit me et opprobia exprobantium tibi ceciderunt super me.]7

6 7 4 5

Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, pp. 197–8. Ibid., pp. 199–200. Andrés Martín, “Obediencia e Instrucción,” p. 403. Ibid., p. 427.

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Thus, Quiñones’s deep personal offense at the reign of the devil in New Spain and its insult to Christ’s redeeming sacrifice led him to send Valencia and his companions into spiritual battle. Next, Quiñones drew parallels between the work of Francis and Jesus on one hand, and that of Valencia’s missionaries to New Spain on the other: And feeling this [offense], and following the footsteps of our glorious father Saint Francis, who used to send friars to the lands of the infidels, I resolved to send you, father, to those said lands with twelve distinguished companions, ordering by virtue of holy obedience that you and they accept this difficult pilgrimage, which Christ the Son of God also took for us; reminding yourselves that God so loved the world that to redeem it he sent his only begotten Son from heaven to earth, who walked and lived among men thirty-three years, seeking honor for God his Father and salvation for the lost souls, and for these two things he lived in much difficulty and poverty, humbling himself unto death, and death on a cross. [Y sintiendo esto y siguiendo las pisadas de nuestro glorioso padre Sant Francisco, el qual enbiaua frailes a las partes de los ynfieles, acordé enbiaros, padre, auos a aquellas partes ya dichas con doze conpañeros por muy señalados, mandando en virtud de sancta obediencia a vos y a ellos acepteys este trabajoso peregrinaje por el que Christo, Hijo de Dios, tomó por nosotros; acordandos que ansí amó Dios al mundo que para redimille enbió a su Vnigénito Hijo del cielo a la tierra, el qual anduuo y conuersó entre los honbres treynta y tres años, buscando la honrra de Dios su Padre y la salud de las ánimas perdidas, y por estas dos cosas biuió en muchos trabajos y pobreza, humillándose hasta la muerte y muerte de la cruz.]8

This not only places Valencia and his missionary companions in the company of Francis and Jesus (in that order), but also binds their new vocation tightly to their spiritual emphasis on austerity, poverty, and humility. Just as Christ emptied himself of heavenly splendor in order to walk among men in difficulty, poverty, and humility, so also should the Franciscan work in New Spain be characterized. Their poverty was to be the centerpiece of their mission strategy. Quiñones similarly compared Valencia’s missionary vocation with that of Christ’s original apostles and their successors. He described the apostles going through the world preaching the faith with much poverty and difficulty, lifting the banner of the cross in foreign lands, giving their lives happily for love Ibid., pp. 427–8.

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of God and neighbor, knowing that in these two commandments is summarized the whole faith and the prophets. And the saints who came afterward always sought to maintain this style and, inflamed with these two loves of God and neighbor, as if with two feet they ran through this world seeking not their own honor but that of God, not their own rest but that of the neighbor. And just as Saint Francis learned this from Christ and the apostles, so also he showed it to us, going to preach in one area and sending his friars to another, in order to show us how we should keep the apostolic and evangelical rule that we promised. [andando por el mundo predicando la fe con mucha pobreza y trabajos, leuantando la vandera de la cruz en partes estrañas, en cuya demanda perdieron la vida con mucha alegría, por amor de Dios y del próximo, sabiendo que en estos dos mandamientos se encierra toda la fe y prophetas. Y los sanctos que después vinieron siempre procuraron guardar este estilo (Mendieta: este título) y, inflamados con estos dos amores de Dios y del próximo, como con dos pies corrían por este mundo no su honrra mas la de Dios, no su descanso mas el de su próximo procurando. Y ansí como Sant Francisco aprendió esto de Christo y de los apóstoles, ansí nos lo mostró yendo él a predicar por vna parte y enbiando sus frailes por otra, porque nos vezase (Mendieta: enseñase) cómo avíamos de guardar la regla apostólica y euangélica que prometimos.]9

Not only, then, did Quiñones again place Valencia and his companions in exalted historical company, but in the process he also added two more crucial characteristics to their humility and poverty—a burning love for God and for their neighbors. These were to be the two feet on which they traveled the world seeking lost souls. Moreover, in light of the heavy Guadalupan emphasis on contemplation, prayer, isolation, and discipline, it is startling to see Quiñones essentially equate missionary preaching with the rule to which the friars had sworn obedience. Francis and his companions preached far and wide, in order to demonstrate how to keep the rule. This must have been similarly startling to the departing missionaries, who had all dedicated themselves for years to an overwhelmingly contemplative interpretation of Francis’s rule that yielded space for virtually no active ministry. Next in this prologue follows Quiñones’s expression of despair, quoted above, over not being able to go personally to New Spain, and then one final, highly significant passage: And since my sins do not allow me to undertake this work, I resolved to send you, trusting that by virtue of the obedience through which you will Ibid., pp. 428–9.

9

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go walking with these two feet that I have described, which are the love of God and neighbor, you will be able to run in such a way that you can say with the apostle: ‘So I do not run aimlessly;’ since you run by means of the commandments of God; ‘nor do I box as though beating the air,’ since your concern must not be observing ceremonies or ordinances, but rather in the keeping of the Gospel and rule that you promised. [Y pues mis pecados no me dan lugar para que yo en esto me pueda enplear, acordé enbiaros a vosotros, confiando que por virtud de la obediençia por la qual vays andando con estos dos pies que tengo dichos, que son del amor de Dios y del próximo, podreys correr de manera que digays con el apóstol: sic curro, non quasi in incertum; pues correys por los mandamientos de Dios; sic pugno non quasi aerem verberens, pues vuestro cuydado no ha de ser en guardar cirimonias ny ordenaçiones, sino en la guarda del Euangelio y regla que prometistes.]10

The most significant point of this passage is the final one, in which Quiñones compared the observance of ceremonies or ordinances with beating the air, the apostle Paul’s image of futility in this quote from 1 Corinthians 9:26 (NRSV). These Guadalupan friars adhered strictly to multiple sets of ceremonies and ordinances. They sought to keep Francis’s original rule and testament to the letter, and they observed their own provincial constitutions in great detail. They spent long hours of every day reciting the divine office and observing rituals of penitence and discipline. Even though most friars would probably argue that these observances were not an end in themselves but rather the means by which they approached God, such ceremonies and ordinances were certainly a central part of their collective lives. Yet, in this remarkable passage, their minister general separated these observances from the keeping of the gospel and rule they had promised and, moreover, suggested their futility in comparison with the higher purposes to which they had now been called. By doing so, Quiñones introduced a flexibility into the Franciscan vocation that was critically important to their missiology throughout the sixteenth century, for they were pressed to do many things in the mission field that they would never have considered appropriate in their old monasteries. Meseguer comments: Faced with the constitutions and praiseworthy customs of their religion, human ordinances that they are, [Quiñones] instead adopts an attitude of prudent flexibility. Their observance must subordinate itself to the needs of the mission

Ibid., p. 429.

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work … With this principle of the primacy of the evangelistic work established, he remits to the discretion of the prelate its application to concrete cases. [Frente a las constituciones y loables costumbres de la religión, como ordenaciones humanas que son, adopta en cambio Fray Francisco de los Angeles una actitud de prudente flexibilidad. Su observancia ha de supeditarse a las necesidades de la labor misional. Sentado este principio en que se admite la primacía de la obra evangelizadora, remite a la discreción del prelado la aplicación en los casos concretos.]11

This flexibility should not be understood as a license to relax their observance of the rule, since the next verse from the apostle, which would have been on the minds of both Quiñones and the recipients of this document, calls for exactly the kind of physical discipline to which the friars were so accustomed. Yet, Quiñones nevertheless introduced a new element into their tool chest, one that both smoothed their way vocationally and greatly complicated their spirituality.12 After the missiological prologue, in keeping with this prudent flexibility, Quiñones offered his seven specific suggestions, which were to guide the missionaries at first, “until experience teaches them otherwise.”13 Of these seven guidelines, three are of particular relevance. The second reads: since you are going to plant the Gospel in the hearts of those infidels, be careful that your life and conversation do not depart from it. And this you will do if you are studiously vigilant in the keeping of your rule, which is founded on the Holy Gospel, keeping it purely and simply, without gloss or dispensation, as it is kept in the provinces of Los Angeles, San Gabriel and La Piedad and how our glorious father Saint Francis with his companions kept it. [Lo segundo, pues vays a plantar el Euangelio en los coraçones de aquellos ynfieles, mirad que vuestra vida y conuersaçión no se aparte del. Y esto hareys si velardes estudiosamente en la guarda de vuestra regla, la qual está fundada en el Sancto Euangelio, guardándola pura y sinplemente, sin glosa ny dispensaçión, como se guarda en las prouinçias de Los Angeles, Sant Gabriel

Meseguer Fernández, “Contenido misional,” p. 484. 1 Corinthians 9:26–7 (NRSV) read together: “So I do not run aimlessly, nor do I box

11 12

as though beating the air; but I punish my body and enslave it, so that after proclaiming to others I myself should not be disqualified.” 13 “Y notad bien los punto siguientes para los principios hasta que la experiençia otra cosa os dé a sentir.” Andrés Martín, “Obediencia e Instrucción,” p. 430.

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y La Piedad y nuestro glorioso padre Sant Francisco con sus conpañeros la guardaron.]14

Following on this provision, Quiñones placed the missionaries under the strict authority of their custodian, Martín de Valencia, and his successors in that office and then stated that it is not my will that any friar dwell in those parts who does not want to conform with you in keeping the form of life that I have described. And if there are some now or should be in the future who do not wish to conform, I order under obedience that they be remitted to the Province of Santa Cruz. [Y no es my voluntad que algún fraile en aquellas partes more si no quisiere conformarse con vosotros y guardar la forma de biuir que tengo dicha. Y si algunos ay al presente o fueren después y no se quisieren conformar, mando por obediençia sean remitidos a la prouinçia de Santa Cruz.]15

As Mendieta clarifies on page 202, the Franciscan Province of Santa Cruz was centered on the island of Hispaniola and covered all the Caribbean territories conquered before New Spain. The spiritual rigor of Santa Cruz was considered to be far inferior to that of the Guadalupan provinces, and the evangelization of the Caribbean indigenous was considered all but a lost cause, owing to the precipitous demographic collapse in the first decades after contact. Were there any suspicion that Quiñones intended to permit relaxation of the rule of Francis when introducing his prudent flexibility, these guidelines dispelled it. The phrase “without gloss or dispensation” specifically forbade the countless interpretive and legislative maneuvers through which many Franciscans had sought for three hundred years to mitigate the austere life of their founder. Regardless of the difficulties to be faced in New Spain, the friars were to hold themselves to the most rigorous interpretations of Franciscan spirituality, and any who failed in this were to be exiled from the colony. The “official” spirituality of the New Spanish mission, then, was to be the discalced Guadalupan variety, for according to Quiñones, it was the very spirituality practiced by Saint Francis himself. The seventh of Quiñones’s guidelines struck a similar note: Take care that, for the benefit of the others, you do not neglect your own. For this reason, it would be best if you are able to be together in a city, so that the 14 15

Ibid., p. 431. Ibid., pp. 431–2.

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harmony and good example that they see in your life and conversation would be as important to help in the conversion as your words and preaching. And if this is not possible, at least divide yourselves and go two by two or four by four, and this within such a distance that in more or less fifteen days you can come together with your prelate to confer about whatever is necessary. [Lo séptimo es que tengays aviso que por el prouecho de los otros no os descuidés del vuestro. Y para esto sy juntos pudierdes estar en vna çibdad terníalo por mejor, porque el conçierto y buen exenplo que viesen en vuestra vida y conuersaçión sería tanta parte para ayudar a la conuersión como las palabras y predicaçiones. Y si esto no oviere lugar, a lo menor diuidiros e ys de dos en dos o de quatro en quatro y esto en tal distançia que en quinze días poco más o menos os podays juntar vna vez con vuestro perlado a conferir vnos con otros las cosas neccessarias.]16

Though the friars were to uphold the most rigorous standards in their spirituality, Quiñones foresaw that this would be difficult. They would be in a completely new environment, facing an evangelistic task of perhaps unprecedented scale that would press them to neglect their own spiritual well-being. In order to combat the forces that would attack their rigorous spirituality, he ordered the missionaries to live in close proximity to one another, all together in one house if possible. Moreover, if they should follow this principle, their model of Christian life together would be an evangelistic tool at least as powerful as any sermons or teaching they might offer. The Instrucción, therefore, provided inspiration for the mission and practical guidance for its execution. Their work was in line with the great evangelistic journeys of Paul, Francis, and indeed Jesus himself. They were to teach the gospel as much by their example of living it as by their words. They were to maintain the most rigorous standards of Guadalupan spirituality, both for their own benefit and also for the powerful example it would give of the Christian life. Yet they were also to be flexible in the application of that spirituality to the mission work. There was an inherent tension between these latter two principles—they were not to relax their spiritual observance in any way, yet they could only observe those spiritual traditions to the extent that they did not hinder the mission work. Despite this tension, which will figure prominently in the remainder of this study, the friars officially sought to uphold both principles. Quiñones issued the second document, the Obediencia, on October 30, 1523, after almost a month of fellowship with his missionaries. This was principally a legal document, the canonical mission. It established lines of 16

Ibid., p. 433.

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authority and the necessary papal privileges for the work; it also expanded on the Instrucción by formally applying the document not just to the original missionaries (who were mentioned by name) but to any future friars who were sent. More interesting than these legal details, however, is the prologue, in which Quiñones again expressed his personal desire to go, again evoked the examples of Francis and Paul, and then constructed from a gospel text a most fascinating metaphor to describe the spirituality of the missionaries. First, then, he wrote: Among the incessant concerns that occupy my mind in the daily urgency of my business, the one that especially worries and distresses me is how, with the apostolic man and our seraphic father Francis, I might endeavor, by the total agitation of my gut and the incessant sobbing of my heart, to snatch from the jaws of the dragon the souls that have been redeemed by the most precious blood of Christ but deceived by the eagerness of Satan, that abide in the shadow of death and are imprisoned by the vanity of idols, and to make them wage war under the banner of the cross and to submit their neck to the yoke of Christ. Lord willing it will be through you, my dearest brothers, because otherwise I will be unable to flee the thirsty zeal of Francis for the salvation of souls, which incessantly jabs at the door of my heart by day and night. And that which I have desired through the course of many days, namely, to be of your number, and which I did not deserve to gain from my superiors (thus, Father, because it was pleasing to you), by the surpassing one himself, I confidently hope to obtain in your persons. [Inter assiduas curas que in quotidiana emergentium mihi negotiorum instantia mentem meam occupant, ea precipue me solicitat et angit vt cum apostolico viro ac seraphico patre nostro Francisco animas Christi preciosissimo sanguine redemptas, a sathanica caliditate deceptas, in vnbra mortis degentes et vanitate idolorum detentas, tota viscerum commottione assiduisque cordis singultibus a faucibus draconis excerpere cogner (sic) et sub crucis vexillo militare et jugo Christi collum submittere faciam (prestante Altissimo) per vos charissimos fratres meos quia aliter sitibundi Francisci de salute animarum zellum ad portam cordis mei incessabili ictu die noctuque pungentem fugere nequibo; et quod per multorum dierum curricula optaui de vestrum videlicet numero fieri et consequi a superioribus non merui (ita, Pater, quoniam sic fuit placitum ante te) ipso prestante in vestris personis confidenter obtinere spero.]17

Quiñones’s vivid language again reveals the depth of his desire to embark as a missionary, his disappointment at being denied, and his remorse over whatever inadequacies had made him unworthy of the calling. Ibid., p. 418.

17

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Significantly, he also again evokes the example of Saint Francis—but the thirsty, evangelistic, soul-winning Francis rather than the eremitic contemplative to which these missionaries had grown accustomed. Thus, Quiñones continued in the Obediencia the project he had begun in the Instrucción—reintroducing his eremitic subjects to the missionary Francis. Continuing this theme, Quiñones described the heroic nature of Francis and his original followers: Contemplating the life and merits of blessed Paul, they gloried only in the cross of the Lord, scorning the comforts of the world in favor of the delights of paradise … Certainly they dedicated themselves willingly to being outcasts, driving out heresies and extirpating other deadly plagues. Desiring to spill their own blood, inflamed by the fire of the love of Christ, thirsting for the palm of martyrdom in the lands of infidels, the father with some of his sons traveled through different parts of the world. [vitam et merita beatissimi Pauli contemplantes gloriantur in sola cruce Domini, spernendo mundi solatia pro deliciis paradisi ... Certe profugando hereses et contra alias pestes mortiferas extirpandas voluntarie abiectioni se dedicarunt et sanguinem proprium anhelantes euertere, Christi amoris incendio inflammati, ad partes infidelium martirii palmam sitientes, pater prefatus cum aliquibus filiis per diversas mundi partes se contulerunt.]18

Valencia and his companions had now received the same calling. Just as Francis desired and thus obtained to be least among men, so he desired that you and the rest of his true sons should be least, spurning the glory of the world, dismayed by vileness, possessors of the height of poverty and being such that the world should hold you in scorn and in the likeness of reproach and that they should judge your life to be insanity and your purpose without honor, so that thus made foolish to the world, you might convert the world through the foolishness of your preaching. [sicut apetiit nouissimun, sic et obtinuit fieri virorum; vos ceterosque eius veros filios nouissimos esse voluit mundi gloriam calcantes, vilitate deiectos, celsitudinis paupertatis possesores et tales quos mundus habuisset in derisum et in similitudinem improperii et vitam vestram existimarent insaniam et finem sine honore vt sic stulti mundo facti, per stultitiam predicationis mundum conuerteretis.]19 Ibid., p. 419. Ibid., pp. 419–20.

18 19

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Again, then, Quiñones incorporated the mission to New Spain directly into the heart of Franciscan spirituality. Valencia and his companions were to follow the quixotic missionary Francis into battle, the one who joyfully wandered across enemy lines in Africa to preach to the sultan, the one who was judged foolish if not insane by family, friends, townspeople, and even by many of his later followers. Their poverty, their foolishness, and their vileness (vilitate) were to be the core of their mission strategy. The final piece of Quiñones’s prologue, before moving into the canonical commissioning of the missionaries, is a highly significant adaptation of the biblical story of Zacchaeus. The story appears in the nineteenth chapter of the Gospel according to Luke: He [Jesus] entered Jericho and was passing through it. A man was there named Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax collector and was rich. He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to see him, because he was going to pass that way. When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, ‘Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.’ So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him. All who saw it began to grumble and said, ‘He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.’ Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, ‘Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.’ Then Jesus said to him, ‘Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.’ (Luke 19:1–10 NRSV)

The story is relatively straightforward. Zacchaeus took an extraordinary measure in order to see Jesus and was then brought to repentance, restitution, and salvation when Jesus reciprocated his attention. In the hands of Quiñones, however, the story became a meditation on the spirituality that the missionaries would have to adopt: And if thus far you have sought with Zacchaeus to see who Jesus is, imbibing the sap of the cross in the sycamore, now descend with haste to the active life. And if you have defrauded any of the enemies of man by contemplating the deeds of the cross, return fourfold to your neighbors through the active and contemplative lives together, shedding your own blood for the name of Christ and their salvation (which weighs four times more than contemplation alone). And then you will see much more who Jesus is when, distrustful of yourselves to complete this, you receive him joyfully in your hearts, because he will make you, though insignificant in stature, seize victory from the enemy.

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[Et si hucusque quesistis cum Zacheo in sicomoro crucis sucum sugentes, videre Ihesum quis esset, nunc festinantes descendite ad actiuam vitam et si quem ex inimicis hominis in crucis gestis contemplando defraudastis redditte per actiuam simul et contemplatiuam quadruplum proximis pro Christi nomine et eorum salute sanguinem proprium (quod in quadruplum ponderat soli contemplationi) fundentes et videbitis per amplius tunc quis Iessus sit, cum ad id peragendum de vobis ipsis diffidentes receperitis eum gaudentes in cordibus vestris, quoniam faciet vos statura pussillos de hoste captare triumphum.]20

Quiñones began his meditation by acknowledging the eremitic Guadalupan spirituality that these missionaries had practiced and by acknowledging that he had asked them to step down from those spiritual heights. These missionaries believed that the eremitic life of their province of San Gabriel was superior to active ministry, and thus they had been in the tree with Zacchaeus, trying to get an ever better view of Jesus, savoring the sweetness of the cross through their recollected lives. Now, however, Jesus was standing beneath the tree, calling them to come down, and Quiñones had to remind them of the value of the active life that they had neglected. Perhaps the missionaries were mourning their departure, or perhaps they were apprehensive about the physical and spiritual dangers that lay ahead. For whatever reason, Quiñones exhorted them not to mourn what they were leaving behind, but to embrace eagerly the opportunity ahead.21 For any sins of omission they had committed in the sycamore tree, their new mixed life of contemplation and active ministry together would provide an opportunity for restitution, just as Zacchaeus repaid fourfold those from whom he had stolen. By pouring out their blood for Jesus and the lost indigenous souls, whether figuratively or literally, they would perform a service worth four times as much as their contemplation alone. Moreover, just as Zacchaeus found salvation in that day, so also would the missionaries finish even better off than they had been. They had dedicated their eremitic lives to seeing Jesus, but they would ironically see him even more clearly by leaving that life behind and instead trusting in Jesus alone to bring victory through men of such humble stature as they. Perhaps this rousing exhortation put to rest any doubts the missionaries may have had about their new calling, but it also highlighted the radical change they were being asked to make and foreshadowed many of the frustrations that permeate their writings. Moreover, it raises the question of whether Quiñones directed his exhortation against Guadalupan spirituality in general. Was he making a general statement that the mixed life of contemplation and active ministry was far more valuable than 20 21

Ibid., p. 420. Meseguer Fernández, “Contenido misional,” p. 482.

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contemplation alone? His interpretive language appears to say just this, but it is hard to accept that this was his intention. Quiñones himself was a devotee of Guadalupan spirituality, and created houses where friars could dedicate themselves to the contemplative life of recollection, while at the same time he was trying to push the entire Observant movement in this direction. The legislation he created for these houses, and the critiques he hurled against the broader Observant movement, were not as radical as the writings of Guadalupe before him, yet there was still no emphasis on active ministry that would in any way presage the active nature of his Zacchaeus interpretation. The key to understanding this paradox may be in a parenthetical note within that interpretation: Return fourfold to your neighbors through the active and contemplative lives together, shedding your own blood for the name of Christ and their salvation (which weighs four times more than contemplation alone). [redditte per actiuam simul et contemplatiuam quadruplum proximis pro Christi nomine et eorum salute sanguinem proprium (quod in quadruplum ponderat soli contemplationi) fundentes…]

What is the antecedent of “which” (quod)? The structure of the sentence suggests that that which weighs four times more than contemplation alone is the shedding of blood, for the relevant parenthetical is embedded within the phrase “sanguinem proprium fundentes.” To describe this shedding of blood, we might of course also use the term martyrdom, and that term suggests in turn that Quiñones was addressing not Guadalupan spirituality in general but rather the appropriate posture for a Franciscan in extraordinary circumstances, such as the need to evangelize an entirely new land. Time and again, Franciscans and others expressed their longing for martyrdom, and the opportunity to pursue martyrdom in a new and hostile land would be considered an extraordinary circumstance and opportunity that would change the normal calculus of spiritual thought. Thus, this Zacchaeus story did not denigrate the dominant Guadalupan spirituality at all, but rather called for a temporary modification of the appropriate norm during extraordinary times. In such times, it was far more valuable to risk life and limb, to pour out your blood in martyrdom for the sake of Christ and his lost children, than to remain separated from the world in contemplation. Finally, Quiñones gave no direct comment on what should happen once the extraordinary times had passed, but his contemporary writings and actions as minister general suggest that he expected contemplation and recollection to return to the fore. The ultimate problem with this model

42

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was that the extraordinary circumstances lasted longer than the friars expected, that the indigenous peoples of New Spain did not immediately and wholeheartedly give themselves to Christ, despite the early perceptions of the friars to the contrary. As the extraordinary circumstances of the evangelization work stretched from months to years to decades, as the temporary modifications of missionary spirituality threatened to become permanent shifts, a great drama played out, as some missionaries pushed on with the mission project and others began to pull back. These two documents from the hands of Francisco de los Angeles Quiñones, then, fulfilled many functions. They established the canonical authority for the mission. They exhorted the friars to undertake it humbly. They challenged them to create a mission characterized by love, poverty, austerity, fellowship, flexibility, and a large dose of insanity, a mission in which their exemplary lives would speak more powerfully than any words they might utter. They warned the missionaries against the many spiritual dangers that awaited them and finally prescribed a vigorous program of spiritual discipline to combat those dangers, a program that should not be neglected at any cost, yet which also should not distract from the evangelistic task at hand. Martín de Valencia and the Twelve “Apostles” of Mexico Who were these first missionaries, who came down from the sycamore tree, who undertook the mission despite the physical and spiritual difficulties they knew they would face? The Obediencia invested them by name with the responsibilities of the expedition, and several other sources provide biographical details. Prominent among these sources are the Vida de Fray Martín de Valencia, written in 1536 by one of his missionary colleagues, Francisco Jiménez;22 the Historia de los indios de la Nueva España, written around 1541 by another of those colleagues, Toribio de Benavente (better known to history as Motolinía);23 and the Historia eclesiástica indiana, completed in 1596 by Jerónimo de Mendieta—a work so harshly critical of royal policy that it was not allowed to be published until 1861.24 None 22 Francisco Jiménez, “Vida de Fray Martín de Valencia,” in Rubial, La hermana pobreza, pp. 211–61. 23 Several modern editions exist. Notes for this study come from Toribio de Benavente Motolinía, Historia de los indios de la Nueva España (Madrid, 1988). English translation: Motolinía’s history of the Indians of New Spain, trans. Francis Borgia Steck (Washington, 1951). 24 Joaquín García Icazbalceta, “Vida de Fr. Jerónimo de Mendieta,” in NCDHM, vol. 1, pp. xi–xxix.

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of these works follows modern historiographical standards, but at the same time they are too early and too prominent to ignore. The motives of all three authors naturally included the goal of promoting the Franciscan work, so they spoke very positively (though not exclusively so) about these missionaries. As such, it seems likely that some of the details of their work and their spirituality are exaggerated. The purpose of this discussion, however, is not to establish detailed biographies of these men but rather to get a sense of their work and their spiritual practices, to demonstrate their debt to Guadalupan spirituality. For this purpose, these sources perform admirably. Because of Jiménez’s early biography, more details about the life of Martín de Valencia, the leader of the expedition, are available than for any of his colleagues. This detail, in turn, reveals the great extent to which he was devoted to eremitic spirituality. His formal relationship with Juan de Guadalupe began when he fled his monastery and traveled as a fugitive to join Guadalupe’s reform in the Portuguese Province of La Piedad.25 After his mentor’s death, Valencia continued that reform until it culminated in the creation of the Province of San Gabriel, from which he soon launched the missionary effort.26 Of particular interest for this study is Valencia’s distaste for the responsibilities and fame that resulted from his reform work. His concern about their negative impact on his own spirituality led him to seek refuge among the Carthusian monks, with whom he would have fewer responsibilities, less interaction with people outside the monastery, and thus more opportunity to dedicate himself entirely to contemplative prayer. Valencia did not ultimately join the Carthusians, but he did transfer into a more eremitic Franciscan house where he was finally able to find some solitude.27 He did not, however, withdraw entirely from administration even there, and the difficulty he faced in trying to combine his life of rigorous eremitic spirituality with the leadership demands of the reform only increased upon embarking for New Spain. In that mission field, he was personally responsible for the active ministry and spiritual well-being of his companions. He found it impossible to learn the indigenous languages, blaming his advanced age and his desire not to diminish his time for spiritual exercises, so he did very little direct evangelization.28 This of course suggests a necessary trade-off between Guadalupan spirituality and active mission work; Valencia could not do both adequately, so he sacrificed evangelization. He did, however, serve repeatedly in administrative offices, and he was drawn into many areas 27 28 25 26

Jiménez, “Vida,” p. 226. Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, pp. 572–3. Jiménez, “Vida,” pp. 226–7. Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, pp. 574–5. Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, p. 584.

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of service that would never have occurred to him in Spain, such as civil administration and childhood education. Despite these active ministry burdens, Valencia yet strove to nurture his eremitic spirituality. For example, he maintained a cave in the mountains outside Amecameca, and as often as he could get away, he spent extended periods there in prayer and self-discipline, much like the eremitic retreats that Francis himself had enjoyed.29 For another example, when the Franciscan Juan de Zumárraga left the eremitic monastery of El Abrojo in 1528 to assume the episcopal see of Mexico, he sought out Valencia to be his assistant and spiritual companion.30 Valencia agreed to pray about the offer and later reported that God had sent him a vision: He saw himself on the sea in a boat without oars, and there were great waves, and the boat was about to be swamped, which frightened him greatly. And seeing himself thus in agony, it was told to him in spirit that the sea is the world, and to leave from the cloister and enter into it is to launch oneself in a boat without oars into the dangerous sea, where the boat is easily swamped. [Dize que así adormecido se vido en la mar en una barca sin rremos, y que hazía grandes olas, y que andava la barca casi para se anegar, de que uvo mucho temor, y viéndose en agonía, fuele dicho en espíritu que la mar es el siglo, y salir de la clausura y entrar en él es andar en la barca sin rremos en peligroso mar, donde fácilmente la barca se anegaría.]31

He thus declined Zumárraga’s invitation, recognizing that entry into that world would be lethal to his spirituality. Eremitic spirituality, then, was truly a central part of Valencia’s character, and he fought vigorously to protect it from the encroachments of active ministry. Most of Valencia’s missionary colleagues faced similar pressure, as they were drawn into the active ministry of administrative office while seeking to establish the Franciscan presence in New Spain. The provincial minister, for example, was the administrative and spiritual head of the entire province, usually charged with inspecting each house in the province at least once during his term. Those who carried the title of custodian Ernesto de la Torre Villar, “Sobre los orígenes del eremitismo en la Nueva España,” in Evangelización y Teología en América (S. XVI). X Simposio Internacional de Teología de la Universidad de Navarra (Pamplona: 1990), p. 1385. Also Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, pp. 602–3. 30 Fidel de Lejarza, “Notas para la historia misionera de la provincia de la Concepción,” AIA, 8 (1948): pp. 23–6. 31 Jiménez, “Vida,” p. 258. 29

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fulfilled this same role until the Custody of Santo Evangelio in New Spain was made a Province in 1535. A difinidor was part of the council that assisted the provincial minister in managing the most important issues of government, and a guardian was the local head of a monastery, the man responsible for its operation and spiritual well-being.32 Almost all of the earliest missionaries served in one or more of these roles. Francisco de Soto, then, after arriving in New Spain with Valencia, served as guardian of several houses, difinidor on several occasions, and provincial minister of Santo Evangelio. Mendieta described Soto as a most excellent preacher to both Spaniards and indigenous peoples, though he, like Valencia, was unable to learn the Mexican language and was thus limited to working through interpreters.33 The chronicler also related a story in which a friar wrote to Soto as provincial minister asking that he appoint him guardian of a monastery in an indigenous village, due to his proficiency in the local language. Soto responded to the ambitious friar with a simple citation from the fifth chapter of Hebrews: “And one does not presume to take this honor, but takes it only when called by God, just as Aaron was.”34 Through this gentle reproach, Soto reminded the friar that the very act of seeking a prelacy disqualified one from receiving it, for a Franciscan must flee such honors and accept them only as burdens. Though most of these earliest missionaries served in official positions, then, they were to do so only hesitantly, and only if there were no other choice. Thus, Soto and several others later refused appointment as bishops, finding the honor of the throne too incongruent with their spirituality.35 Others of course reached a different conclusion, since many subsequent Mexican bishops were Franciscans. It is still relevant, however, to mention humility as an ideal characteristic of these first Mexican friars, a humble eremitic habitus that conflicted with their prominence as the great founders of the mission and thus contributed to the frustration that is prevalent in their writings. Antonio de Ciudad Rodrigo embodied the rigorous austerity and poverty that characterized these first missionaries. He always went discalced and in the poorest of robes. He slept on the ground, with just a board or rock for his head.36 He only ate the humble food of the indigenous peoples, and he only drank water. In positions of authority, he pushed his friars to ever Arcángel Barrado Manzano, San Pedro de Alcántara (1499–1562). Estudio documentado y crítico de su vida, edn 2 (Cáceres, 1995), p. 36. 33 Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, p. 611. 34 “Nec quisquam sumit sibi honorem, sed qui vocatur a Deo tamquam Aaron.” Ibid., p. 612. 35 Ibid., p. 613. 36 Ibid., p. 617. 32

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higher levels of austerity. For example, when Zumárraga sent a gift of wine to the house where Rodrigo was guardian, he sent it right back, shouting out “Hair shirts, hair shirts, not wine, not wine!”37 Though his friars had begged him not to send it back and thus insult the bishop, Rodrigo did so anyway, thanking Zumárraga for his kind gift but explaining that he would not permit the slightest relaxation in his house’s observance, a sign of the continuing importance of Guadalupan rigor among these earliest missionaries. An episode from the life of Toribio de Benavente further underscores the importance of radical poverty to the first missionaries.38 When he and his companions first arrived in New Spain and were making the long march up from the coast to Mexico City, he noticed that the indigenous peoples who were watching them kept repeating the Náhuatl word motolinia. In his zeal to learn the language, Benavente found someone who could translate and asked what the word meant. He learned then that the word meant “poor,” and that the people were amazed by the spectacle of these emaciated Spaniards marching up the mountains with bare feet and rags for clothing, such a sharp contrast to the soldiers they had seen earlier. Benavente responded, “This is the first word that I know in this language, and so I do not forget it, this will be my name from here forward.”39 Thenceforth, all references to Toribio carry the surname Motolinía. The life of Valencia’s companion Luis de Fuensalida is particularly important for the present study, because Mendieta reported that he only applied himself moderately to the conversion of the indigenous peoples, concerned as he was about the effect it would have on his prayer and devotion.40 A later chronicle added that he limited his work among the people because he had to consider that it matters little to win souls for God if the soul of the one winning them suffers … and in order not to fall into this harm, he split his time, giving to God what is of God and to Caesar what is of Caesar. So he gave his spirit to God at times in prayer and at other times he went to interact with his neighbor, teaching him the Holy Doctrine and Gospel. “Cilicios, cilicios, no vino, no vino.” Ibid., p. 618. For a very rigorous biographical study of Motolinía, most of the details of which fall

37 38

outside the scope of this study of spirituality, see Javier O. Aragón and Lino Gómez Canedo, “Estudio preliminar,” in Epistolario de Motolinía (1526–1555) (Mexico City, 1986). This is an introduction to a collection of all of Motolinía’s extant correspondence and draws on Mendieta and on multiple chronicle sources and references in other primary sources. It overlaps significantly with Mendieta’s report, but includes much more detail. 39 “Este es el primer vocablo que sé en esta lengua, y porque no se me olvide, este será de aquí adelante mi nombre.” Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, p. 619. 40 Ibid., p. 622.

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[En la conversión de los yndios entendió moderadamente por no perder sus exercicios de oración y devoción porque debía considerar que importa poco ganar almas para Dios si la propia del que las gana padece ... y por no incurrir en este daño, partía el tiempo, dando a Dios lo que es de Dios y al César lo que es del César. Daba a Dios, digo, su espíritu a ratos en la oración y a ratos salía a conversar con el próximo enseñándole su Santa Doctrina y Evangelio.]41

This grave concern of Fuensalida, that his work of evangelization would hinder his own spiritual health, shows the ambivalence that was so common among the friars, between their zeal for souls and their zeal for spiritual exercises. It further implies that at least some of his colleagues had already applied themselves to mission work to such an extent that their spirituality did indeed suffer, thus leading him to pull back from the work. On the other hand, Francisco de Jiménez found a successful balance between these competing concerns. Rather than pulling back from evangelization work, he was an active preacher, linguistic scholar, and itinerant missionary, visiting indigenous villages regularly to offer the sacraments. Yet Mendieta also reported an especially intense contemplative spirituality in Jiménez: He used to live so immersed and absorbed in God, that he needed a companion to make him eat and change his clothes. Many times they would ask him if he had eaten, but he could not remember. And this was not because of a lack of memory or understanding (which he had), but because he was always in continual mental prayer with God, ecstatic and beside himself. [Andaba tan embebido y absorto en Dios, que tenia necesidad de compañero que le hiciese comer y mudar la ropa. Muchas veces le preguntaban si habia comido, y no se acordaba de ello. Y esto no por falta de memoria y buen entendimiento (que tal lo tenia), mas por andar siempre en continua oracion mental tratando con Dios, extático y fuera de sí.]42

Jiménez, then, apparently was able to nurture his soul while simultaneously working prolifically as a missionary. Of the rest of Valencia’s original companions, the chronicles either do not provide information specific to their spirituality or merely repeat information already described for their colleagues. As a group, these men 41 Cristina Manso Martínez de Bedoya, “Misioneros franciscanos en Nueva España. Entre la hagiografía y la historia. La vida de ‘Los Doce’ en el manuscrito Borbón–Lorenzana,” AIA, 255 (2006): p. 681. Mendieta was the major source for this document, so it is difficult to know from where this expansion derived and thus how reliable it is. 42 Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, p. 625.

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were the foundation of the church in New Spain, influencing more than any others the character of the mission work, at least in the first period of this study.43 Of the ten provincials or custodians who governed the Province of Santo Evangelio between 1524 and 1551, eight were from this original group.44 They were also prominent in lower offices and were regular appointees to episcopal sees, whether they ultimately accepted or not. Though they were not a homogeneous group, the spirituality they implanted from these positions of prominence clearly fit with the rigorous observance of their predecessors, from the eremitic Francis himself through the Guadalupan reformers. These biographies show that they placed great emphasis on their poverty and humility—on the physically ascetic features of their spirituality. Mendieta also argued that they maintained the contemplative portions of their spirituality intact, despite the obstacles present in their work. In one particularly hagiographic passage, he wrote: These servants of God were so accomplished in the active and contemplative life, that concerning the care they took in the exercises of the one life and the other, one can say with Job, ‘When I lie down, I say “When shall I rise?” and another time I will await the evening.’ Which is to say, that when they were in the sleep and stillness of divine contemplation, they thought about when they should get up to go work in the exercises of the active life and love of neighbor, such as baptizing, preaching, teaching Christian doctrine, confessing, marrying, and doing other similar exercises. And when they were occupied in those, they were again looking forward to the evening to recollect themselves in the exercises of the contemplative life. [Fueron estos siervos de Dios tan consumados en la vida activa y contemplativa, que del cuidado que tenian de los ejercicios de la una vida y de la otra, se puede decir aquello de Job: ‘Si durmiere, diré, ¿cuándo me levantaré? y otra vez esperaré la tarde.’ Que es decir, que cuando estaban en el sueño y quietud de la contemplacion divina, estaban con cuidado cuándo se levantarian de ella para ir á se ocupar en los ejercicios de la vida activa y caridad del prójimo, como es baptizar, predicar, enseñar la doctrina cristiana, confesar, casar y hacer otros ejercicios semejantes. Y estando ocupados en ellos, estaban otra

Missionaries of other orders were present in New Spain, Dominicans arriving in 1526 and Augustinians in 1533. The Franciscans were especially foundational, however, because they arrived first, they enjoyed great favor with Cortés and Charles V, they provided the first bishop of Mexico, and their strongest base of operations was in the cultural and geographical center of New Spain. Jesuits did not arrive until 1572. 44 Francisco Morales, “La Nueva España, centro de expansión y ensayos misioneros,” in Francisco Morales (ed.), Franciscanos en América: Quinientos años de presencia evangelizadora (Mexico City, 1993), p. 225. 43

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vez con cuidado que llegase la tarde para recogerse á los ejercicios de la vida contemplativa.]45

These pioneers, then, established their eremitic spirituality as the baseline for the church in New Spain. Yet embedded within this praise lies the very question that drives this study: was it really possible that these men could maintain their rigorous spirituality, when their circumstances required that they also immerse themselves in an active ministry that was simply overwhelming in its scope? The “Apostles” as Ideal Missionaries A common feature of historical writing about these earliest missionaries is the assertion that they were exceptionally qualified for the mission work to which they were called. Contemporary chroniclers such as Motolinía and Mendieta framed the friars’ work in providential terms, and such praise has survived in modern historiography as well. Phelan, for example, argued that the Spanish reforms of the regular clergy in the years leading up to the New Spanish mission especially prepared the friars to meet the challenges of the mission field.46 Rubial similarly argued that the renewal of primitive Franciscan life in the fifteenth century resulted in a religious order uniquely capable of undertaking the mission work in America.47 Specifically, he pointed to Motolinía’s description of New Spain as another Egypt, particularly suitable for hermits and contemplatives such as those Guadalupans who pioneered the work. He wrote of the long periods that Valencia spent at his isolated retreat at Amecameca, subjecting himself to the most violent of ascetic practices, and he described the long periods of solitude enjoyed by the itinerant missionaries as they traveled the countryside from village to village.48 These interpretations bear some truth. After all, who could be more appropriate for such a dangerous and physically demanding mission than these friars who had spent years subjecting their bodies to the harshest conditions they could create? They made deprivation in sleep, food, and clothing a way of life. They sought to live in the poorest houses and to strip themselves of virtually all earthly possessions. They had intentionally

Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, p. 568. John Leddy Phelan, The Millennial Kingdom of the Franciscans in the New World:

45 46

A Study of the Writings of Geronimo de Mendieta (1525–1604) (Berkeley, 1956), p. 43. 47 Rubial García, La Hermana Pobreza, p. 7. 48 Ibid., p. 115.

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made their lives more difficult, so they were especially well suited to the physical hardship of pioneer mission work. Moreover, a letter from Cortés himself points to another way in which these Franciscans were ideal for mission work. In a letter to the emperor, Cortés requested that he send and fund clergy to effect the evangelization of this new territory. He did not, however, request just any clergy, but specifically asked for Franciscans, because if there are [non-Franciscan] bishops and other prelates they will not stop following the custom that because of our sins they have today, of spending the wealth of the church on pomp and other vices and leaving estates to their children or relatives. And it would be even worse here, because the natives of these parts had in their times religious people who officiated in their rites and ceremonies, and these people were so recollected in honesty and chastity that … if now they were to see the things of the church and the service of God in the hands of canons and other dignitaries, they would know that they were ministers of God, and if they were to see them using the vices and profanities that they use now in Spain, they would scorn our faith and consider it a mockery, and it would cause such great harm that I do not believe any amount of preaching would do any good. [porque hauiendo obispos y otros prelados no dexarian de seguir la costumbre que por nuestros pecados oy tienen en disponer delos bienes dela yglesia que es gastarlos en pompa y en otros vicios y en dexar mayorazgos a sus hijos o parientes y aun seria otro maior mal que como los naturales destas partes tenian en sus tiempos personas religiosas que entendian en sus ritos y cerimonias y estos eran tan recogidos assi en honestidad como en castidad que si alguna cosa fuera de esto a alguno se le sentia era punido con pena de muerte y si aora viesen las cosas dela yglesia y seruicio de dios en poder de canonigos o otras dignidades supiesen que aquellos eran ministros de dios y los viesen usar delos vicios y profanidades que aora en nuestros tiempos en esos reinos usan seria menospreciar nuestra fee y tenerla por cosa de burla y seria a tan gran daño que no creo aprouecharia alguna otra predicacion que se les hiziese.]49

In Cortés’s biting opinion, even the non-Christian indigenous priests of Mexico were more godly than the secular clergy of Spain. He employs the term “recollection” to describe them, which illustrates the broad use of this word. It could refer specifically to the recollection that Osuna was in the process of systematizing, but it also carried a broader meaning as an attribute, “as an internal, moral quality, and as external, corporal, and

“Cortés to Charles V, 15 October 1524,” AGI Patronato 16, n. 1, r. 3.

49

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behavioral control.”50 However it was defined, Cortés felt that even the indigenous priests had more of it than the secular clergy, and thus only the Franciscans, who also were steeped in such virtues as chastity and recollection, would have any credibility among them. Motolinía and Mendieta both made similar arguments, not just about how well suited the Franciscans were to mission work in general, but about how suitable the indigenous peoples were to receive the particular type of austere Christianity that the Guadalupan friars brought to them. Motolinía wrote that one of the good things about the friars in this land is their humility, because many of the Spaniards humiliate them with insults and gossip. But compared to the Indians they have no cause for boasting, because they exceed them in penitence and self-contempt. [Una de las buenas cosas que los frailes tienen en esta tierra es la humildad, porque muchos de los españoles los humillan con injurias y murmuraciones, pues de parte de los indios no tienen de qué tomar vanagloria, porque ellos les exceden en penitencia y en menosprecio.]51

Similarly, both Motolinía and Mendieta described the simple and humble way of life of the indigenous peoples as another point of entry for the friars, for it made them naturally receptive to the poverty that the friars attempted to live. Sylvest points to a word from Motolinía: There is hardly anything to hinder the Indians from reaching heaven … The Indians live in contentment, though what they possess is so little that they have hardly enough to clothe and nourish themselves … They lose no sleep over acquiring and guarding riches, nor do they kill themselves trying to obtain ranks and dignities. They go to bed in their poor blanket and on awakening are immediately ready to serve God. [Estos indios en sí no tienen estorbo que les impida para ganar el cielo ... porque su vida se contenta con muy poco, y tan poco, que apenas tienen con qué se vestir ni alimentar ... No se desvelan en adquirir ni guardar riquezas, ni se matan por alcanzar estados ni dignidades. Con su pobre manta se acuestan, y en despertando están aparejados para servir a Dios.]52 50 Nancy Van Deusen, Between the Sacred and the Worldly: The Institutional and Cultural Practice of Recogimiento in Colonial Lima (Stanford, 2001), p. 21. 51 Motolinía, Historia de los indios de la Nueva España, p. 222. 52 Edwin E. Sylvest, Motifs of Franciscan Mission Theory in Sixteenth Century New Spain Province of the Holy Gospel (Washington, 1975), p. 50. The original citation in Motolinía, Historia de los indios de la Nueva España, pp. 118–19.

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According to these sources, the friars enjoyed a symbiotic affinity with the indigenous peoples, which served both to open their hearts to the Franciscan message and also to spur the friars on to greater virtue. From this perspective, there was no need to convince the indigenous peoples of the virtues of recollection, poverty, simplicity, and humility, because they already practiced them before the friars arrived. To the extent that these European perceptions were accurate, the Franciscans were indeed well qualified for evangelistic ministry in New Spain. Such analysis, of course, gives no attention whatever to the numerous other religious orders that were also working in New Spain, and indeed one may plausibly argue that these other orders were at least as well qualified to plant the Catholic faith in New Spain. The Dominicans arrived in New Spain only two years after Valencia and the other apostles, and their historic emphasis on teaching and preaching shielded them from some of the worst spiritual anxieties of the Franciscans. They had simply never valued contemplation and enclosure quite as highly as their eremitic Franciscan counterparts did. For example, the Dominican friar Juan Hurtado de Mendoza called in the early sixteenth century for reforms much like those of the eremitic Franciscans: greater austerity, poverty, rejection of rents, contemplation, and more rigorous discipline. However, even this rigorist Dominican continued to place heavy emphasis on study and preaching in a way that was repugnant to most Franciscans in New Spain.53 This more restrained spirituality, together with a fundamental commitment to preaching and teaching, at least raises doubt about the assertion—by Charles V and Cortés and subsequent Franciscan hagiographers—that the Franciscans were the most exceptionally qualified for this work. The case of the Jesuits—though they arrived in New Spain only in 1572—also casts doubt on just how “ideal” the eremitic Franciscans were as missionaries. They seem to have had a better time of their mission in New Spain than the Franciscans, suggesting that the difficulties of the missionary orders did not result inherently from the mission work itself but rather from the specific methods and spirituality by which each order attempted to carry out that mission. To be sure, Jesuits in New Spain did face difficulties. At the very least, mission leaders struggled to recruit enough men to carry out the work, which created for them many of the same problems their mendicant brethren had faced earlier.54 53

Vicente Beltrán de Heredia, Las corrientes de espiritualidad entre los dominicos de Castilla durante la primera mitad del siglo xvi (Salamanca, 1941), p. 24. “Los discípulos de Hurtado mantuvieron con el mayor cariño lo que habían aprendido de su venerado maestro: el rigor en la pobreza, la asiduidad en la oración, el estudio y el celo en la predicación.” 54 Luke Clossey, Salvation and Globalization in the Early Jesuit Missions (New York, 2008), p. 143.

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Yet two characteristics of their methodology and spirituality were particularly important for their success and, in turn, raise doubts about the Franciscans as “ideal” missionaries. First, the primary Jesuit focus in New Spain was on re-creating European institutions in the cities rather than on evangelizing the frontier, or much less on the Franciscan dream of creating a uniquely indigenous church free from the stains of Spanish Catholic society. The first Jesuits arrived in September 1572, and already by 1573 they had organized the Colegio de San Pedro y San Pablo so effectively that they were ready to begin offering classes.55 That same year, a letter from the Provincial in New Spain to the General in Rome expressed well this institutional emphasis: We are already as settled in this college as if we were in Rome or Spain, because we are proceeding in the observance of our Constitutions … as if we had been here for many years. [stiamo già tanto accomodati in questo colleggio, come se stessimo in Roma o Spagna, perchè procediamo nel’osservanza delle nostre Constitucioni, regole et uso di nostra orazione et esame, esortacione et conferenze et ordine di vivere, nelle confessioni et communioni, nella dotrina christiana allí negri et negre et allí putti nelle piazze, nella visita delli carceri et hospital, in far le paci et agiutare a moriré, come se fossimo stati qua molti anni.]56

Their first concern had been to establish a college for the continuation of their signature ministries from Europe rather than to establish frontier outposts for evangelization. Indeed, though they were authorized for frontier missions by 1572, they did not actually embark on such missions until almost twenty years later. Their constitutions called for “universal” ministry, or a concentration on those tasks that would reach the greatest number of people. This universal ministry took on different forms in different mission fields, as in China, where it meant aggressively currying favor and influence with the Confucian elites and literati.57 In New Spain, on the other hand, the Jesuits felt the best strategy was to found European colleges in order to create a native, educated clergy, familiar with Spanish colonial society and skilled in the ministries of the church, which the indigenous clergy would then take to the people on the frontier.58 Stafford Poole, Pedro Moya de Contreras: Catholic Reform and Royal Power in New Spain, 1571–1591, edn 2 (Norman, OK, 2011), pp. 94–5. 56 Felix Zubillaga (ed.), Monumenta Mexicana (Rome, 1956), vol. 1, pp. 70–71. 57 Mary Laven, Mission to China: Matteo Ricci and the Jesuit Encounter with the East (London, 2011), pp. 42–3, 82, 199. 58 Clossey, Salvation and Globalization, p. 38. 55

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This methodological difference was crucial, for it was the isolation and burden of the frontier work that overwhelmed the Franciscans, while the European-style urban collegiate life sustained the Jesuits. Indeed, those Friars Minor who, like the Jesuits, dwelt in their order’s urban houses, whether for novitiate, teaching, or administrative responsibilities, were quite content compared to their brethren laboring on the frontier. Second, unlike the Franciscans of sixteenth-century Spain, the Jesuits were committed to active ministry from the earliest days of their novitiate. As John O’Malley writes, the mendicant and monastic orders trained their novices in choir and other ceremonies and admitted members to profession before they were tried in ministry. This is where the Society differed from them, for even its novices did ministry, and its members were not admitted to solemn profession until after many years of experience in the ministries of the Society.59

This indicates that the wrenching metaphorical descent from the sycamore tree was never an issue for the Jesuits, while it was a nearly constant struggle for the Franciscans in New Spain, each of whom had either been trained for cloistered contemplation or at least labored within a brotherhood that lifted it up as the highest spiritual ideal. When Jesuit missionaries around the world grew frustrated in their work, it was more often because of physical hardship or violence or because they were not getting the results they wanted—failure to harvest converts of sufficient prestige or the slow pace of building friendship and patronage networks— than because of their personal spiritual struggles.60 When their frustration turned to disillusionment, they were far more likely simply to move on to a new adventure in active ministry than to flee the field entirely, as we shall see many Franciscans did.61 The core Jesuit emphasis on training novices for active ministry did not, of course, mean that these men were perfectly suited for the rigors they were to face in the mission field. They had much to learn, and the voyage itself often served as a training crucible, as they tried to minister to the carousing mass of sailors aboard ship and in port.62 Yet, despite the difficulties, they remained constitutionally committed to active ministry. John W. O’Malley, The First Jesuits (Cambridge, 1993), p. 67. Laven, Mission to China, pp. 208–9. 61 Alida C. Metcalf, “Disillusioned Go-Betweens: The Politics of Mediation and the 59 60

Transformation of the Jesuit Missionary Enterprise in Sixteenth-Century Brazil,” Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu, 77 (2008): pp. 294–8. 62 Liam Matthew Brockey, Journey to the East: The Jesuit Mission to China, 1579–1724 (Cambridge, MA, 2007), pp. 209–11.

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Thus, when they finally did begin frontier missionary work, undertaking preaching journeys that were just as intense, dangerous, and isolating as those of the Franciscans, they did so with a different demeanor. Jesuits were formed for this work from day one of their training. Franciscans more often did it with hesitation, as a temporary pause in the contemplative work for which they were trained. Despite the hagiographical assertions of writers like Mendieta and Motolinía, these comparisons point to the central argument of this book. Ultimately, the eremitic habitus of so many Franciscan missionaries was starkly incompatible with the intensive mission in New Spain, and the resulting mismatch explains much of the pervasive discontent that we shall see in their writings. Specifically, the contemplative—as opposed to the ascetic—portion of their spirituality caused them great problems, for the demands of mission work made it virtually impossible to maintain the contemplative practices that had sustained them in Spain. For at least a hundred years, the eremitic stream of spirituality within which these men received their formation had almost completely neglected the pastoral care, linguistic study, and other aspects of the active ministry that proved so demanding in New Spain. Reformers like Juan de la Puebla officially valued preaching, but their legislation, reports, and biographies make scarcely a token mention of any such active ministry, instead revealing a predominant emphasis on ascetic rigor and contemplative brilliance. Indeed, rather than actively engaging the lay people as Francis had tried to do, their emphasis was on fleeing from them so they would not be distracted from their communion with God. Moreover, even the more moderate Observant friars, who formed an increasing proportion of the missionaries over time, were no better prepared for ministry in New Spain. Their monasteries did tend to be in more populated areas, so they did more preaching and heard more confessions, but their legislation still placed a much higher emphasis on their own spiritual well-being, and their leaders were actively trying to promote an even more internally focused recollect spirituality. Thus, a large majority of the early Franciscan missionaries in New Spain was nurtured in a tradition of very rigorous eremitic spirituality and very weak active ministry. To practice this eremitic spirituality in the mission field was extremely difficult, as demonstrated by the actual daily routine of mission work, the controversies the friars faced, and the writings that express their perspectives about them. To this practice of eremitic spirituality we now turn.

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Chapter 3

The Difficult Reality of the Mission Practitioners, 1524–1548 The Daily Work of the Missionaries When Valencia and his company arrived in New Spain, they discovered that several Franciscans had beaten them to the field. Two had come with the first conquerors as chaplains, and a company of three Flemish friars had arrived the year before Valencia. This company included Fray Juan de Tecto, guardian of the main Franciscan monastery in Ghent and confessor to Charles V himself, who gave Tecto his personal permission to embark for New Spain with two of his friars as soon as the conquest was completed. Spared the necessity of gaining papal approval for their mission, the three Flemish friars arrived so quickly after the conquest that devastation still reigned in México/Tenochtitlán, leading them to avoid those ruins and instead to take up residence in the nearby city of Texcoco.1 In July 1524, Valencia summoned all the friars (seventeen in total) to Mexico City for a fifteen-day period of prayer, contemplation, fasting, and discipline, in order to ask God’s favor and grace for the launch of their mission. At the close of this period, they decided to distribute themselves into four separate houses in the principal cities of the region. This was the first test of how they would apply the guidelines that Quiñones had given them. The minister general had told them that, if at all possible, they should live together, so that the indigenous peoples would see their harmonious example of religious life and be drawn to the message they would preach. He also said, however, that if this were not possible, they should at least divide themselves two by two or four by four and not separate themselves by so much distance that they could not come together regularly for fellowship and consultation. Faced with this dilemma, and recognizing the vastness of the territory they had been charged to evangelize, they decided for the latter option, sending four friars each to the cities of México, Tlaxcala, Huejotzingo, and Texcoco.2

Manso Martínez de Bedoya, “Misioneros franciscanos en Nueva España,” p. 662. Aragón and Canedo, “Estudio preliminar,” p. 13.

1 2

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Once they had established their four residences, the missionaries began their work. Valencia described their initial strategy in a letter to Charles V eight years later: Because the most certain and durable fruit was expected, as we see now, in the children, and in order to uproot completely the bad memory [of their indigenous religion], we took all the children from them, mostly children of caciques and elites, as many as we could, to raise them and train them in our monasteries, and we worked hard with them, teaching them to read and to write and to sing plain chant and with the organ, and to sing the hours and to officiate at masses and to teach them all our good Christian and religious customs. [porque el fruto más çierto y durable se esperava, como se vee, en los niños, y por quitar de rayz tan mala memoria, les tomamos todos los niños, hijos de caçiques y prinçipales por la mayor parte, quantos pudimos, para los criar é yndustriar en nuestros monesterios, y con ellos no poco trabajamos, enseñandoles á leer y escrivir y cantar canto llano y de organo, y deçir las oras cantadas y ofiçiar las misas é ynponerlos en todas buenas costunbres christianas y religiosas.]3

The latter goals, dealing with liturgy, illustrate that the purpose of this education was not simply to indoctrinate these youths. More strategically, the friars also intended to send the brightest of them back to their villages as evangelists: After they were well taught in doctrine, they sent them to their homelands, so they might teach there what they had learned of the law of God, and teach it to their parents, relatives, and vassals, ordering them to gather together on certain days to be taught, just as was done in the villages where there were monasteries. [despues de bien doctrinados aquellos, enviábanlos á sus tierras, para que allá diesen noticia de lo que habian aprendido de la ley de Dios, y lo enseñasen á sus padres, parientes y vasallos, dando órden como se juntasen ciertos dias para ser enseñados, como se hacia en los pueblos donde habia monesterios.]4

The friars also worked with the adults living near their houses, but this was tedious labor. Mendieta reported that the friars made the indigenous 3 “Valencia to Charles V, 17 November 1532,” in Cartas de Indias (Madrid, 1974), vol. 1, p. 56. 4 Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, p. 258.

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leaders gather their adult subjects together for instruction. Most complied out of fear of upsetting Cortés, and they dutifully learned to repeat the prayers in Latin. Unfortunately for the friars, this teaching produced very little fruit, because the Indians neither understood what was being said in Latin, nor abandoned their idolatries, and the friars could neither reprove those idolatries nor take the appropriate actions to remove them, because they did not know the language. [Era esta doctrina de muy poco fructo, pues ni los indios entendian lo que se decia en latin, ni cesaban sus idolatrías, ni podian los frailes reprendérselas, ni poner los medios que convenia para quitárselas, por no saber su lengua.]5

Thus, most of the friars also undertook intensive efforts to learn the indigenous languages. The three Flemish friars had spent the year before Valencia’s arrival trying to piece together one of the languages, so the friars did not have to start completely from scratch. Nevertheless, progress was slow, even more so because none of the adults would speak with them. Mendieta attributed this reticence to the reverence in which the indigenous peoples held the friars, though we might well imagine that other factors contributed, such as the fear the friars used to gather them for catechism or even a principled refusal to speak as a form of resistance. According to Mendieta, after much prayer and fasting, God showed the friars that they must learn from the children: The Lord put it on their hearts that with the children they had as disciples they too should become children again in order to share in their language … Thus, leaving behind for a time their gravity, they would begin to play with them … And they always carried paper and ink in their hands, and when they heard a word from an Indian, they would write it down with the purpose for which he said it. And in the evening the religious would gather together and share their notes, and the best they could they would translate those words into the Spanish words that seemed most appropriate. And what they thought they understood today, tomorrow they would find they were wrong. [Y púsoles el Señor en corazon que con los niños que tenian por discípulos se volviesen tambien niños como ellos para participar de su lengua ... Y así fue, que dejando á ratos la gravedad de sus personas se ponian á jugar con ellos con pajuelas ó pedrezuelas el rato que les daban de huelga ... Y traian siempre papel y tinta en las manos, y en oyendo el vocablo al indio, escribíanlo, y al propósito que lo dijo. Y á la tarde juntábanse los religiosos y comunicaban los unos á los Ibid., p. 219.

5

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otros sus escriptos, y lo mejor que podian conformaban á aquellos vocablos el romance que les parecia mas convenir. Y acontecíales que lo que hoy les parecia habian entendido, mañana les parecia no ser así.]6

Their frustration finally began to abate after the older indigenous children started to understand Spanish and to help them learn Náhuatl, the lingua franca of central New Spain. They also had a great stroke of luck when Cortés sent them a young Spanish boy (Alonso Molina) who had grown up with an indigenous group and who had learned its language fluently. He himself became a friar later and perhaps the most prolific of all the Franciscans writing in Náhuatl, composing grammars, confessional manuals, devotional works, and catechisms during his long career in New Spain.7 This preliminary work occupied almost all of the friars’ time for the first two years. They only rarely left the towns where they were living in order to learn the language first, and because they had so much to do right there, such that even if they were ten in each village there would not have been enough. [por aprender primero alguna lengua, y porque en ellos tenian tanto que hacer, que aunque fueran diez tantos no bastaran.]8

After this initial period of intensive learning, however, the missionaries began traveling more extensively around the region. Mendieta described, for example, one trip by Valencia and a companion to the eight villages that surrounded the lake that once filled the valley of Mexico, a trip which he described as typical of the missionary efforts in that time.9 Upon their arrival at Xuchimilco, Mendieta reported, the people of the town gathered to give them a dignitary’s welcome, after which Valencia greeted the people and then knelt to pray while his companion preached to them in their own language. After this message, the people were so struck that the leaders of the town brought their idols and broke them, erecting crosses in their place and selecting a site on which to build a church. Afterward, the friars baptized each of the nobles and their families, and the townspeople presumably followed their leaders in this rite. Mendieta then reported that Valencia found similar success in each of the villages he visited on that trip.

8 9 6 7

Ibid., pp. 219–20. Ibid., p. 220. Ibid., pp. 257–8. Ibid., pp. 260–62.

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Whether or not every detail of Mendieta’s accounts is factually precise, they nevertheless provide a sense of the work on these mission trips. Given the strong support of Cortés for their work, it is entirely plausible that the missionaries attracted huge crowds wherever they went, that they then preached to those crowds, and that they received very favorable responses. Whether those responses were “genuine” is beside the point in this context, since the concern of this study is only the work the friars undertook, rather than its ultimate “success.” On these increasingly frequent missionary visits, then, the friars occupied themselves in preaching, saying mass, catechizing, and baptizing. They paid particular attention to the nobility of each town, following the assumption that as the nobles went, so would go the common people. They also selected locations in each town for a church building and charged their new noble converts with the task of erecting it. Finally, as in this example of Valencia, the friars dedicated much effort in these earliest years—both in their towns of residence and on their mission journeys—to the destruction of indigenous “idols” and temples, believing that such resort to violence was necessary to expedite the day when the secret religious observances of the indigenous peoples would more closely correspond to their external Christian observance.10 In the earliest years of this mission work, then, these friars learned indigenous languages, enrolled the youth of the nobility in their schools, and trained them to evangelize their families. After an initial period of adjustment, they preached widely in their towns of residence and throughout their region, enlisting noble support for their work, baptizing, catechizing, building churches, smashing idols, and burning temples. This early work of the missionaries resulted in an unprecedented ecclesiastical structure, as their ministry evolved into a fully formed system of doctrinas. The friars located their earliest monasteries in the principal towns, and this practice continued as they spread their reach into new territories. In effect, the Franciscans superimposed their new infrastructure onto that of the preconquest political system. After establishing a monastery in the main town (cabecera) and enlisting the support of the indigenous leaders, they established relationships with the surrounding villages, for those villages already had a dependent relationship with the cabecera and its nobility. To do so, the friars traveled to those villages, preached, baptized, and established church buildings (often just a chapel at first, or even an open-air patio). Afterward, the people of those villages were expected to travel to the cabecera regularly for mass and catechism, but the friars also kept a travel schedule (directorio de convento) by which they visited each of their dependent villages for more intensive ministry, including preaching and administration of the sacraments. These regular Ibid., pp. 228–30.

10

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visits, in turn, were supplemented by the youths whom the friars sent out to preach and catechize. These villages, then, usually had no resident clergy. The monastery and its visitas (as the villages came to be called) thus formed a doctrina, which was the core institution of the Franciscan mission in New Spain.11 Perhaps a surprising characteristic of these doctrinas, and certainly one that contributed to the spiritual difficulties of the missionaries, was the size of the monasteries. The original four houses had only four friars each, and most of the houses founded later were of a similar size, often as small as two friars, each with responsibility for the conversion, education, and pastoral care of thousands of indigenous people. Moreover, the seeds of the dominant conflict of the mid-century—that between the Franciscans and the bishops—were sown in the development of this system. Though the doctrinas loosely resembled indigenous parishes, they were free from episcopal authority. Bishops could not collect tithes or exercise pastoral oversight over the spiritual training of the indigenous parishioners. They could not even visit indigenous territory without exceeding their jurisdiction. The Franciscans had essentially created a parallel ecclesiastical system, an indigenous church governed by friars, who inevitably resisted when the crown attempted to impose the more traditional episcopal parish system on them. As these doctrinas developed, pastoral care rather than evangelization of the indigenous population came to dominate the work of the friars. They preached, taught catechism, and administered the sacraments, while also teaching Latin grammar and ministry skills to many of the youth. These tasks occupied a great majority if not all of their time.12 Not all friars participated equally in this work, however. Some, such as Valencia, never learned the indigenous languages, and thus had to limit their work with the people to whatever they could accomplish through interpreters. Cristóbal Ruiz did not even do that limited indigenous work, but instead served as a sort of pastor to the friars. After he arrived in 1538, he never learned an indigenous language but instead taught the other friars how to pray.13 He was appointed guardian of the house at Tlalmanalco and was so renowned for his contemplative depth that other friars sought him out as a mentor. As part of this role, he also wrote a devotional prayer guide for

Antolín Abad Pérez, “La organización de las provincias americanas,” in Francisco Morales (ed.), Franciscanos en América: Quinientos años de presencia evangelizadora (Mexico City, 1993), p. 127. 12 Morales, “La Nueva España,” p. 18. 13 Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, p. 692. 11

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distribution among the friars.14 Zumárraga also never worked directly in the evangelization of the indigenous peoples, but instead served as bishop and archbishop during his entire time in New Spain. Countless other friars were similarly drawn into administrative roles, whether governing the church as bishop or the order as provincial minister, whether managing the temporal affairs of an indigenous village or those of a monastery, whether advocating for the people against the abuse of Spanish settlers or defending themselves from similar charges of abuse. All of these administrative roles, necessary as they were, distracted their attention and energy away from the primary work of evangelization and pastoral care, not to mention from their eremitic spirituality. Other friars had yet different callings. For example, Andrés de Olmos was one of a long line of friars working as a scholar, sometimes in addition to pastoral work and sometimes instead of it. He produced a catechism and confessional manual in Náhuatl, plus a grammar of that language and a treatise on indigenous sorcery. In addition to his work as companion to Zumárraga and Náhuatl scholar, Olmos finished his career as a frontier missionary—a very different calling from the pastoral work of the doctrinas. Such frontier workers volunteered to continue the pioneering work of Valencia and companions—learning languages, building churches from nothing—in new lands and among new people groups. In Olmos’s case, Mendieta reported that he went to the most dangerous places he could find, the places other friars were too afraid to explore.15 To close this discussion of the daily work of the friars, a few words of comparison between this work and that which they had done previously further highlight how much their lives had changed. In Spain, the eremitic monasteries were separated from society both in distance and in practice. They were places of spiritual rest and austere life. In New Spain, however, the friars built their houses right in the center of the principal towns. They abandoned their isolation and instead made their houses central to virtually all aspects of indigenous life.16 Similarly, while friars in Spain may have been respected or even beloved in their towns—especially those who participated more frequently in active ministry—the lay people did not depend on them in any way, for secular clergy were ubiquitous in Spain. In New Spain, however, the friars were not merely the only religious presence in town for many years, but often also the only manifestation of Spanish 14 Several chronicles mention this treatise, Tratado de oración, composed in 1540. Unfortunately, I have been unable to locate any extant exemplar. 15 Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, p. 646. 16 Francisco Morales, “Franciscanos y mundo religioso en el México virreinal. Algunas consideraciones generales,” in Elsa Cecilia Frost (ed.), Franciscanos y mundo religioso en México (Mexico City, 1993), p. 20.

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civil authority. They organized the foundation of towns and construction of churches. They intervened in labor “agreements” between indigenous peoples and Spaniards and in the election of indigenous civil authorities. They often defended the indigenous peoples from exploitation and then punished them for religious infractions. They played an important role, then, not only in the religious but also the political and economic life of these towns. In this sense, Morales compares these houses more to the Benedictine monasteries that often held medieval rural society together than to any prior Franciscan institutions.17 Finally, Mendieta sharply contrasted the work of a preacher in Spain with that of his missionary counterpart, perhaps employing some literary hyperbole for greater effect: In Spain we know it is common for preachers, when they give a sermon, to finish so sweaty and tired that it is necessary to change their clothes, and warm up towels for them, and give them other treats. And if they were to tell a preacher (having just finished) to sing a mass, or go to confess a sick person, or to bury someone, he would think that they might as well open up the grave to him. But it is certain that the norm in this land was for just one friar to count the people in the morning, and later to preach to them, and afterward to sing the mass, and after this to baptize the children and confess the sick (even if there were many) and bury any who had died. And this lasted more than thirty or almost forty years; and it still is this way today in some places. There were some friars (whom I knew) who would preach three sermons one after the other in different languages, and would sing the mass and do everything else that was requested, before even eating … There was even one friar who learned the Christian doctrine in ten different languages, and preached the holy Catholic faith in each of them, passing through different regions and teaching there.

[En España sabemos ser cosa comun á los predicadores, cuando predican un sermon, quedar tan sudados y cansados, que han menester mudar luego la ropa, y calentarles paños, y hacerles otros regalos. Y si á un predicador (acabado de predicar) le dijesen que cantase una misa, ó fuese á confesar un enfermo, ó á enterrar un difunto, pensaria que luego le podian abrir á él la sepultura. Pues es cierto que el comun ordinario de esta tierra era un mismo fraile contar la gente por la mañana, y luego predicarles, y despues cantar la misa, y tras esto baptizar los niños, y confesar los enfermos (aunque fuesen muchos), Francisco Morales, “Los Franciscanos en la Nueva España. La época de oro, siglo XVI,” in Francisco Morales (ed.), Franciscan Presence in the Americas: Essays on the Activities of the Franciscan Friars in the Americas, 1492–1900 (Potomac, 1983), p. 50. 17

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y enterrar si habia algun difunto. Y esto duró por mas de treinta ó cuasi cuarenta años; y el dia de hoy en algunas partes se hace. Algunos hubo (y yo los conocí) que predicaban tres sermones uno tras otro en diversas lenguas, y cantaban la misa, y hacian todo lo demas que se ofrecia, antes de comer ... Fraile hubo que sacó en mas de diez distintas lenguas la doctrina cristiana, y en ellas predicaba la santa fe católica, discurriendo y enseñando por diversas partes.]18 Eremitic Spirituality in Practice These sharp differences between the friars’ lives in Spain and New Spain lay at the root of the spiritual difficulties they faced. Historian Pedro Borges perhaps did not exaggerate much when he wrote: The spiritual tortures, which the total novelty of the American missions caused the friars of the sixteenth century, appear floating on every page of their writings, even if not openly confessed. [Las torturas de tipo espiritual que a los del siglo XVI les acarreó la total novedad de las misiones americanas aparecen flotando, si ya no paladinamente confesadas, en cada página de sus escritos.]19

In order to analyze these “tortures,” it is helpful to separate the work of the friars into two categories—their evangelization and pastoral work itself, and the civil and ecclesiastical obligations that pulled them away from it. In the former category, the friars faced what might best be called problems of geography and demography. They were expected to evangelize New Spain, but it was a vast land whose boundaries kept expanding. Thus, many friars spent long periods traveling the paths of the colony on foot, with inadequate provisions and in rough and often dangerous territory. Even after they had gathered many of the people into the more centralized villages that then became visitas, the friars still had to travel great distances between them. In addition, as they expanded the frontiers of their mission network into lower, coastal elevations, they suffered tremendously from the tropical heat and disease.20 Finally, these wilderness-loving eremitic friars also suffered from living in the city. Mendieta reported that one of Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, p. 249. Pedro Borges, Los conquistadores espirituales de América. Análisis del conquistador

18 19

espiritual de América (Sevilla, 1961), p. 27. 20 Pedro Borges, Historia de la Iglesia en Hispanoamerica y Filipinas, s. XV–XIX (Madrid, 1992), p. 458.

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the earliest trips of the original missionaries was inspired not so much by their desire to win souls but by their desperation to get out of the city. Speaking of two of their star pupils, who had requested that the friars visit their home villages, he wrote: And since the friars were fed up with the noise that existed at that time in Mexico City, and since they wanted to take a trip to some area where they could do some good, those boys asked them to go to their nearby villages. [Y como los frailes estaban enfadados del mucho ruido que por entonces habia en México, y deseaban hacer alguna salida en parte do aprovechasen, aquellos niños solicitarian que fuesen á sus pueblos, que no estaban lejos.]21

While eremitic friars may have been better suited than anyone else to work under such taxing physical conditions, nothing in this description of their work at all resembles the stillness, repose, or isolation of their former monasteries. In addition to these geographic or environmental difficulties, the friars faced an overwhelming demographic difficulty: there were far too few friars and far too many indigenous people. Motolinía reported that after twelve years of evangelization, there were still only sixty friars in New Spain.22 The simple mathematics of their mission made frustration if not failure almost inevitable. The average Franciscan monastery in this period housed between two and five friars, responsible together for the evangelization not only of their cabecera town but of all the dependent villages nearby. What this meant practically was that there was virtually no common life in these houses. At any given time, one or more friars were out traveling to the visitas, usually alone or with an indigenous assistant, while one friar stayed behind to manage the ministry in the cabecera.23 How were these friars to maintain their central spiritual exercises— communal recitation of the divine office, public confession and discipline, mental prayer together in the choir—when they were a tiny number to begin with and then rarely spent much time together? Moreover, when reinforcements arrived, they usually did not settle into established houses to help the beleaguered missionaries, but instead founded new houses in order to expand the boundaries of the mission field.24 A letter from Zumárraga in 1537 shows that desperate frustration was the result of extended work with such a shortage of personnel. One 23 24 21 22

Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, p. 259. Motolinía, Historia de los indios de la Nueva España, pp. 155–6. Rubial García, La Hermana Pobreza, p. 91. Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, p. 248.

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of his central concerns in this letter was the grave toll the situation was taking on the friars in his area, and he begged the king to send as many friars as possible and offered to pay their passage himself, if that should be necessary to make them come. He mentioned that one friar would travel with the ship that carried his letter, in order to recruit more missionaries personally: The guardian father of Mexico City says that he is going with the intention, if they do not give him more friars, of not returning here; and I know of many that are ready to leave because they cannot tolerate the work, and many others have worked themselves to death. Thus died last year Fray Martín de Valencia, of pure penance, and Fray García de Cisneros, provincial minister; and Fray Antonio de Ciudad Rodrigo, who has been provincial now for a year, is in the same situation; and this Sunday when I took him to preach, he returned so frail from his sickness that he falls down and cannot even eat. And believe me, Your Mercy, that just taking the confessions of the Indians and learning their language, together with going everywhere on foot and eating tortillas and water, cause the friars to falter in spirit and body; and if those who are here die and no more come from there, all of us together will lose heart. [El padre guardián de México dice que va con propósito que si no le dan fraires, no volver acá; e yo digo que sé hartos que están por se ir, por no poder sufrir el trabajo, y así se nos mueren hartos de puro trabajo. Así se nos murió Fr. Martín de Valencia, de pura penitencia, y Fr. García de Cisneros, provincial el año pasado; y Fr. Antonio de Ciudad Rodrigo, que es agora provincial de un año acá, está en eso; y este domingo que yo le llevé a predicar, volvió tal, que de pura flaqueza se cae de su estado, ni puede comer. Y crea V.Mrd., que solas las confesiones de los indios y aprender su lengua, con andar a pie y comer tortillas y agua, desmayan en el espíritu y cuerpos; y si los de acá se nos mueren y de allá no vienen, yo y todos desmayaremos.]25

The second half of this difficult equation was the overwhelming number of indigenous people in this early period. Mendieta described a mission journey that the Cuernavaca friars took to the coastal lowlands soon after their foundation. So many people sought baptism when they arrived that the friars could no longer even lift their arms to perform the ceremony, out of sheer exhaustion. He reported that it was common for one friar in one day to baptize up to six thousand adults and children. The perceived need was so great that the friars visited three or four villages in a single day, “Zumárraga to Juan de Sámano, 20 December 1537,” in Joaquín García Icazbalceta, Don Fray Juan de Zumárraga, primer obispo y arzobispo de México (Mexico City, 1947), vol. 3, pp. 137–8. 25

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performing the rite of baptism in each of them several times.26 Motolinía reported on a later time when he was hearing confessions in the city of Cholula. It was the season of Lent, and there were so many people seeking confession that he could not satisfy them all. Seeing that there was just not enough time, he decided to limit the confessions he would hear only to those who brought their sins written down in figures. He hoped that they would therefore come better prepared so that the lines could move more quickly, but this measure also demonstrates that there were simply not enough hours in the day for him to carry out this ministry.27 Another example comes from the contentious debate over the form of the baptism ritual to be used in New Spain. The Franciscans had been using an abbreviated rite (often dramatically so) because of the huge numbers of people they were baptizing, but when the Dominicans and Augustinians arrived a few years later, they took exception to those abbreviations, arguing that they had eviscerated the ritual of its sacramental meaning. The Franciscans, armed with the flexibility that Quiñones had written into their commission, argued that the full rite was preferable but not necessary, and that in fact its application would dramatically hinder the progress of their work and endanger indigenous souls, for they were converting them faster than they could baptize them otherwise. Mendieta wrote: How is it possible (as the blessed evangelizers of this new church used to say) that one poor priest in one day could do all of this, say mass, recite the divine office, preach, marry and bury, catechize, learn the language, compose sermons in it, teach the children to read and write, examine marriages, mediate disagreements, defend those who could not defend themselves, and baptize three or four thousand (if not to say eight or ten thousand), all while keeping the full ceremony and solemnity of baptism? [¿Cómo es posible (decian los benditos evangelizadores de esta nueva Iglesia) que un pobre sacerdote en un dia pueda con tanto, como es decir misa, pagar el oficio divino, predicar, desposar y velar, y enterrar, catequizar los catecúmenos, deprender la lengua, ordenar y componer sermones en ella, enseñar á los niños á leer y escribir, examinar matrimonios, concertar y concordar los discordes, defender á los que poco pueden, y baptizar tres ó cuatro mil (que no quiero decir ocho ó diez mil) guardando con ellos las ceremonias y solemnidad del baptismo?]28

Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, pp. 266–7. Toribio de Benavente Motolinía, Memoriales o libro de las cosas de la Nueva España

26 27

y de los naturales de ella (Mexico City, 1971), p. 261. 28 Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, pp. 268–9.

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It is surely telling that, in this long line of duties that occupied the friars, the only mention of any spiritual exercise is the divine office. Granted, this exercise was a formidable investment of time, but it was clearly only one portion of the much greater eremitic spiritual program. The demographic crush at times prevented the friars even from fulfilling this spiritual obligation; it was impossible for them to fulfill the rest with anything like the intensity they had practiced in Spain. Mendieta offered a similar example when he described the work of Andrés de Castro, who arrived in New Spain in 1542 and soon left Mexico City to pioneer the evangelization in the valley of Toluca. After he had deciphered the local language, he wrote a grammar, a catechism, and a yearlong series of sermons in order to equip those who later followed him there as missionaries. After an intensive initial period of evangelization, he settled into a routine of itinerant pastoral work that Mendieta described thus: His ordinary routine was to preach three sermons in three different languages every Sunday and feast day. The first to the Mexican Indians, the second to the Matlazingas, and the third to the Spaniards. And often after this work, he would also sing mass and baptize the children, which were many, and bury the dead when there were some … He never ceased hearing confessions as long as there were those desiring to confess. And there were never not any, because he traveled several times per year through that entire province (which is very bitter and rough), and he sought them in the mountains, hills and canyons. And, except for the time he spent saying mass, reciting the divine office, and eating, he would be all day in the sun without his hood, hearing confessions, something that no one else could tolerate for even a day. [Su ordinario predicar era tres sermones en tres lenguas diversas todos los domingos y fiestas. El primero á los indios mexicanos, el segundo á los matlazingas y el tercero á los españoles. Y muchas veces le acaecia despues de este trabajo, cantar la misa y baptizar los niños, que eran muchos, y enterrar los muertos cuando los habia, y tras esto conten6tarse con un jarro de agua fria y no querer beber vino, con celo de guardar la pobreza, por ser costoso en esta tierra, aunque entonces valia mas barato que agora. Jamas cesaba de oir confesiones, habiendo quien se confesase, y nunca le faltaban, porque él discurria algunas veces entre año por toda aquella provincia (que es bien áspera y fragosa), y los buscaba por montes, cerros y barrancas, y se estaba todo el dia (dejado el tiempo en que decia misa, rezaba el oficio divino, y comia) quitada la capilla, al sol, oyendo confesiones, que otro no lo pudiera sufrir ni un solo dia.]29 29

Ibid., p. 706.

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Despite this heavy load, Castro did attempt to maintain his spiritual exercises. The preceding quote illustrates his effort to continue the required recitation of the divine office; he could not do so in the company of his Franciscan brothers, but at least he recited it himself. Moreover, Mendieta also reported that Castro dedicated himself to mental prayer and scripture reading, in the time that was left over after his pastoral work.30 Further, he constantly attempted to avoid administrative responsibility, preferring instead the solitude of his cell. Yet, though Castro was praised for his great recollection, the heavy load of evangelization and pastoral work relegated that virtue to the time that was left over—a dramatic departure from the eremitic spirituality that had so emphasized contemplation and isolation over active ministry. This demographic crush did not just affect friars in visita villages or those such as Castro who took up residence in frontier areas, but had much the same impact in the cabecera towns. Mendieta reported that, as of 1540, these friars had even more work to do than those in the visitas, a circumstance fueled by what he called an increasing fervor for requesting the sacraments.31 Further, the Franciscan boarding schools in these towns enrolled as many as a thousand youths, and responsibility for keeping order around the clock belonged to the elderly friars who could no longer work in the itinerant pastoral circuit of the visitas, together with their Franciscan teachers and other friars who rotated onto guard duty.32 No matter how one imagines this scenario, it is difficult to see these monasteries as quiet houses of contemplation and prayer. Of course, the contemporary chronicles that provide these numerous examples raise many questions. Are the spectacular numbers with which the friars described their ministry in any sense reliable? Did the indigenous peoples actually increase their demands on the friars, or was this a mere perception of the chroniclers? If they did increase their fervor for the friars’ work, why? Were they afraid of the friars or their allies in positions of civil authority? Were they responding to the periodic epidemics that ravaged the indigenous population? Were they appropriating Catholic ritual for what the friars might have termed superstitious purposes? Had they genuinely embraced Christianity and come to value the sacraments more profoundly? For this study, the answers do not actually matter. Whether or not most indigenous people actually wanted the ministry of the friars, whether or not their demand actually increased with time, the friars perceived an enormous need for their services, and their beliefs about the tragic afterlife of any people they failed to reach added even more urgency to their work, “Todo lo demas tiempo que le restaba de la obra de los indios.” Ibid., p. 706. Ibid., p. 300. 32 Ibid., p. 217. 30 31

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and thus more pressure on their spiritual disciplines. Moreover, though the chroniclers likely exaggerated the numerical and qualitative success of their ministry, it is still clear that the friars felt overwhelmed by the numbers, and that this situation adversely affected their spiritual well-being. Another question of particular relevance to this study is whether the friars worked like this every day, or whether the chroniclers instead chose to highlight the most frenetic periods of ministry in order to lionize their missionary forefathers. If the latter was true, and the normal work routine of the friars was calmer, then perhaps their spirituality was not as deeply affected. The evidence, however, all points toward mission work in New Spain as a long-term, high-intensity enterprise. Even if, however, these examples represent extremes rather than the norm, even if the friars had more time and energy to nurture their souls than these examples suggest, this work was still dramatically more active than what they had done in Spain, especially for the eremitic friars who predominated in this first period, and even for the more moderate Observants who eventually outnumbered them. Added to this trying calculus were the ecclesiastical and civil obligations that pulled many friars away from full devotion to the indigenous work. Many served as guardians, and while this was necessary work, it certainly distracted their attention from the indigenous ministry and their spiritual exercises. Motolinía thus described Valencia’s time in New Spain, all of which was spent either as provincial or guardian: However much he used to flee from the world and from men in order to focus more completely on God, at times he could not get away, because so much business depended on him, both because of his office and also cases of conscience that friars took to him. [Por mucho que huía del mundo y de los hombres por mejor vacar a sólo Dios, a tiempos no le valía esconderse, porque como colgaban de él tantos negocios, así de su oficio como de cosas de conciencia que se iban a comunicar con él, no le dejaban.]33

Similarly, a word from the end of Zumárraga’s career demonstrates the spiritual struggle it had been for him to serve in this position of ecclesiastical administration. He wrote about the spiritual pleasures of contemplation and solitude and reflected on the course his life had taken since he was plucked from his Spanish monastery and placed on the episcopal throne of Mexico:

Motolinía, Historia de los indios de la Nueva España, p. 211.

33

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I shall have to mourn greatly my unhappiness, because for my sins I was deprived of the holy house of El Abrojo, where I found and tasted something of this. And I did not know the treasure that I had there, until I tasted and understood the danger that I have now. I am not without hope in God and in our Catholic King that he might ease my sorrow and provide these people with the leader that this church needs in order to be well established, and for the faith to be rooted truly in these natives. [Y harto terne yo que llorar mi infelicidad porque por mis pecados fui priuado de la sancta casa del abrojo; donde halle y guste algo desto; y no conoci el bien que alli tenia, hasta que guste y entendi el peligro que tengo, no sin esperança en dios y en nuestro catholico rey que remediara a mi y a estas gentes proueera de la cabeça que a esta yglesia conuiene para yr bien fundada, y la fe ser arraygada enlos naturales de veras.]34

In the same year, he formally requested permission to resign and retire to a monastery, but died before he could take such action.35 It seems, then, that the towering inaugural archbishop of Mexico spent his years in office mourning the sins that had merited him such a predicament, and praying that God and the king would find someone else to do the work so he could return to his solitude. However much he had tried to do to maintain his spiritual regimen in office, it was not enough. Beyond their administrative duties, the civil obligations that drew the friars away from their mission work and spiritual exercises generally involved their advocacy for the indigenous people against those who exploited them or those who had different ideas about their best interests. For example, during the first several years of their mission, many Franciscans participated actively in the political rivalry between Cortés and his detractors. According to the friars’ own testimony in the chronicles and their letters, the Franciscans openly supported Cortés against the Spaniards who sought to exploit and enslave the indigenous peoples.36 Both Motolinía and Valencia reluctantly entered the fray, feeling that they had to speak for the church, for the people, and for their original patron, since there were no bishops available, and feeling that their missionary privileges granted them canonical authority to do so. Cortés’s opponents, 34 35

Zumárraga, Regla cristiana breve, p. 368. “Zumárraga to Prince Philip, 4 December 1547,” in García Icazbalceta (ed.), Don

Fray Juan de Zumárraga, vol. 4, pp. 204–5. 36 A concise narrative of this important episode, derived both from chronicle and judicial sources, appears in Aragón and Canedo, “Estudio preliminar,” pp. 14–20. A much more extensive version of these events appears in volume 1 of García Icazbalceta, Don Fray Juan de Zumárraga, chs 3–9.

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naturally, disagreed with this interpretation of their authority, leading to an ugly series of excommunications, violations of ecclesiastical immunity, imprisonments, and even executions. This conflict took a severe toll on the friars, and when Valencia realized that their anxiety over the fight was ruining their nascent work of evangelization, he surrendered all claims to jurisdiction over the Spaniards and withdrew from the battle, moving the efforts of his friars instead toward direct indigenous ministry.37 According to Mendieta, however, even this withdrawal was not enough to satisfy Cortés’s opponents, who continued persecuting the friars and hindering their ministry until they were at the point of withdrawing from the mission field entirely.38 To be fair, it is extremely difficult to evaluate the objective veracity of the friars’ testimony about this highly contentious episode. Their black and white portrayal of the controversy is indeed highly suspect, especially since the Dominicans also cited religious reasons for openly supporting Cortés’s opponents. The Franciscan testimony does, however, illustrate how civil conflict could divert the friars from their stated mission and make their spiritual exercises more difficult to sustain. A letter to Charles V in 1526, signed by a large group of friars including Motolinía and Valencia, also expressed this temptation to withdraw from the field because of civil conflict. The occasion of the letter was not specifically the conflict with Cortés’s opponents, but the sentiment was the same. The letter introduced two friars who were traveling to the court to report on the labor abuses against the indigenous peoples by the Spanish settlers. In the process of preparing the king to receive their specific requests, the authors wrote: Let our land rejoice, and especially the friars, since we have such a great helper [that is, the king], and from today forward let there no longer be any place for, nor any refuge given to, the cruel and excommunicated distrust that so many times has attempted to attack and overthrow us, so that we might turn our hands back, once already on the plow, and thus be unworthy of our God and of such a great and blessed work as this, returning instead, with the great temptation of our adversary, to our natural state in Spain. [Gaudeat terra nostra, et maxime nos los frailes, pues tal é tan grand ayudador tenemos, y de hoy mas no haya lugar ni se le dé posada á la desconfianza cruel é descomulgada, la cual muchas veces ha atentado á nos combatir é derrocar, porque ansí desconfiados tornásemos la mano atrás, ya una vez puesta al arado, y no fuésemos dignos de nuestro Dios y obra tan grand é tan bendita

37 38

Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, p. 315. Ibid., p. 313.

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como esta, volviéndonos, no sin gran tentacion de nuestro adversario, á nuestro natural y esas partes.]39

Thus, only two years into the mission, before they had really accomplished much more than language acquisition, the friars expressed their strong temptation to return home to their lives of recollected solitude. This temptation must have been especially intense for Valencia, the renowned contemplative from San Gabriel who loved his solitude so much that he had considered joining the Carthusians, but instead ended up not only teaching the alphabet to hundreds of young people, but fighting the bitter battles of civil politics. For Valencia and the rest, their work was difficult enough, but to have it made more so by these civil conflicts was spiritually devastating. Torre Villar eloquently summarizes the spiritual struggles caused by the work of evangelization in this earliest period of New Spain’s history, and in the process introduces the next theme in this study—the methods by which the friars attempted to endure their struggles: Many of these religious, their faith having grown through their work, aspired to a life of full isolation as a form of total perfection, but since the urgency of the evangelization was so strong, they had to be satisfied with moments of solitude and prayer that would strengthen their spirit and permit them to continue their interminable labor … The great social and religious work that they faced demanded intense action, total dedication, and a dynamic life, such that it was impossible to divert their limited energy toward individual perfection. [Muchos de estos religiosos, acrecentada su fe en el esfuerzo realizado, dieron muestras de aspirar como forma de perfección total a una vida de aislamiento pleno, mas como la urgencia evangelizadora fuese de tal fuerza, hubieron de conformarse con momentos de soledad y de oración que reforzaban su espíritu y les permitían continuar su interminable labor ... La gran obra social y religiosa a que se enfrentaron exigía acción intensa, entrega total, vida dinámica, de ahí que no fuera posible distraer las pocas energías en el perfeccionamiento individual.]40

“Motolinía, with other Franciscans and Dominicans, to Charles V, 1526,” in Javier Aragón and Lino Gómez Canedo (eds), Epistolario de Motolinía (1526–1555) (Mexico City, 1986), p. 79. 40 Torre Villar, “Sobre los orígenes del eremitismo,” p. 1382. 39

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Moments of Solitude and Prayer These “moments of solitude and prayer” are exactly how the friars attempted to exercise their spirituality in the midst of their overwhelming work of evangelization. The two most common methods they used were to incorporate their exercises into the daily work itself, and to sacrifice their already limited sleep. Valencia, for example, used to give his students a reading assignment and then steal away for a time of prayer, finding a spot in the room where the students could see him praying and he could see them to make sure they did not stop reading.41 Similarly, Pedro de Gante, a member of the original company of Flemish friars and an anchor of the friars’ education efforts for forty years, kept a cell next to the school in order to recollect himself from time to time during the day. And he gave himself there to prayer and reading and to other spiritual exercises, and he would occasionally go out to see what the Indians were doing. [Tenia Fr. Pedro junto á la escuela una celda para recogerse á ratos entre dia, y allí se daba á la oracion y leccion y á otros ejercicios espirituales, y á ratos salia á ver lo que los indios hacian.]42

At least the teachers could find this time for prayer, but they could not have hoped to enter into the deep recollection and even ecstasy that they craved, while also keeping one eye on a room full of students. The friars also attempted to maintain their spiritual exercises by teaching the youth to participate with them, incorporating them as best they could into the liturgical rhythm of the house. Thus, Gante described a day in the life of his school in this manner: In the morning the religious made [the youth] come together to pray, and to sing the minor office of our lady from prime until none. Later they heard mass and went in to learn how to read and write, while others learned to sing the divine office as officiant. The most capable students would learn the doctrine in order to preach it to the villages and hamlets, and after reading, they would sing the None of Our Lady. After eating they would give thanks to the Lord, and would sing the designated offices, and recite the Psalms and the Canticum grado so that they were never idle. They would read until vespers, and afterward would have another period of exercises in how to teach doctrine and letters.

41 42

Jiménez, “Vida,” p. 245. Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, pp. 608–9.

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[Es que de mañana hazian los religiosos se ayuntasen y rezasen, y cantasen el officio menor de nra señora dende prima hasta nona, y luego oyan missa, y luego entrauan a ensenarse a leer ya escreuir. y otros a esenarse a cantar el officio diuino para lo officiar. los mas habiles haprendian la doctrina para la predicar a los pueblos y aldeas y despues de auer leydo cantauan nona de nra señora. despues de comer dauan gracias al señor, cantauan officios desinados Rezauan los psalmos y canticum grado de tal arte que nunca estauan oçiosos. leyan hasta visperas las quales acabadas tenian otro rato de exercitio en enseñar la dotrina y letras.]43

Gante continued by describing the intensive preparation he gave to the best students for preaching in their hometowns. After all this, the students slept until matins, during which all the students, young and old, had to get up three times a week to discipline themselves alongside the friars. Mendieta gave a similar description of the schools: There in front of the children the friars would recite the divine office … and there they entered into prayer … giving an example to those innocent creatures, and teaching them by work before word about the divine worship and devotion and reverence with which we must seek God. They also went there to recite their matins at midnight and to discipline themselves. And after they learned to speak in the language, they would not sleep after matins, but rather after prayer they would teach the Indians until the hour of mass, and after mass until the meal. After eating they would rest a bit and later return to the school until the evening. And they would also teach the children to pray. [Y esto era lo ordinario, porque allí delante de los niños rezaban el oficio divino ... y allí se ponian en oración ... dando ejemplo á aquellas inocentes criaturas, y enseñándolos primero por obra que por palabra en lo tocante al culto divino y devocion y reverencia con que hemos de buscar á Dios. Tambien allí iban á rezar sus maitines á media noche, y hacian su disciplina. Y despues que comenzaron á hablar en la lengua, no dormian despues de maitines, sino que en acabando de tener su oracion se ocupaban en enseñar á los indios hasta la hora de misa, y despues de misa hasta hora de comer. Despues de comer descansaban un poco, y luego volvian á la escuela hasta la tarde. Y tambien enseñaban á los niños á estar en oración.]44

The friars in the schools, then, attempted to maintain their spiritual exercises by including the youth. Gante’s letter suggests that this arrangement did not satisfy the spiritual hunger of the friars, however, 43 44

“Gante to Philip II, 23 June 1558,” AHN Diversos, Leg. 24, no. 35. Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, p. 218.

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for his purpose in writing was that the king might see the great labor and despondency to which the religious subjected themselves.45 Outside the schools, those friars who traveled to the visitas or on longer journeys also attempted to incorporate their spiritual regimen into their work. The physically ascetic elements of their spirituality, of course, fit perfectly well with their long journeys on bare feet with inadequate provisions. In addition, Mendieta reported that they prayed alone while walking and, when they arrived at a place where crosses had been erected, they knelt before them and stopped for a while to pray, if they were not in a hurry. Moreover, wherever they were going, when the hour arrived for vespers or compline, they stopped right there in the road and recited them, just as they did at the other hours.46 Mendieta wrote here specifically of the earliest evangelistic preachers, but similar examples suggest this was a longtime norm for itinerant friars.47 In addition to those friars working in the schools and in the visitas, the case of Zumárraga provides an example of how those in administrative positions attempted to incorporate their spirituality into their daily work. He made regular visits to the monastery of San Francisco de México in order to encourage the friars in their work and also to humble himself. The former fulfilled part of his role as a fellow friar, while the latter helped him fulfill his own rigorous observance of the rule. An anonymous sixteenthcentury roster of benefactors of that monastery said of Zumárraga: His devotion was so great that, laying down his authority as archbishop and drawing near to his great religion, he used to come many times to this monastery, and he used to confess his sins in the refectory in order to be corrected, and undertake other exercises of humility, such that his actions not only had a material impact, but with his great example and holiness he rebuilt the spirit of the servants of God, so that they might raise themselves up with greater heart to the heavenly things. [era tanta su devoción, que dejando la autoridad arzobispal y acudiendo á su gran religión y frailía, venía muchas veces á este dicho convento, y decía las culpas en el refitorio para ser reprendido, y se ocupaba en otras cosas de humildad, de manera que no sólo hizo en lo material, mas con su gran ejemplo y santidad reedificaba el espíritu de los siervos de Dios, para que con más ánimo se levantasen á las cosas celestiales.]48 45 “para que vea en quanto abatimiento y a quantos trabajos se subjectauan los religiosos.” “Gante to Philip II, 23 June 1558,” AHN Diversos, Leg. 24, no. 35. 46 Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, pp. 250–51. 47 Ibid., pp. 671–2. 48 “Memoria de los bienhechores,” in NCDHM, vol. 1, p. 188.

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Beyond these regular visits to the monastery, Zumárraga also attempted to live his full spiritual regimen within the episcopal residence, much as Cisneros had done before him in Spain. Mendieta reported that he preserved his humility and poverty, despite the trappings of his office, by continuing to dress as a friar, in the harshest clothing, and by sleeping in a poor bed. He continued to rise at midnight for matins, and he always ate in silence while someone read to him from scripture or another spiritual treatise. He never accepted larger portions of food than those served to the humblest friar in the monastery. As bishop, he did have to preserve the dignity of the office when performing his official duties, so he had fine clothes and all the necessary trappings for those occasions. “But outside of those times and duties of authority, he treated himself as a Friar Minor.”49 After attempting thus to incorporate their spiritual exercises into their daily work, many friars sought further exercise by sacrificing their already limited sleep. Just as Andrés de Castro fit in his mental prayer in the time he had left over after working with the indigenous people, so also did many other friars fit as much contemplation as possible into the nighttime hours. They had done much the same in Spain, as it had always been their custom to pray for long periods at night. In New Spain, however, the practice intensified, both because their work during the daytime was now far more active and exhausting, leading them to need more sleep, and because that same work hindered their normal spiritual exercises and led them to covet even more the precious nighttime hours for prayer and recollection instead of for sleep. Thus, Alonso de Ordoz, who had gone to New Spain from the Province of Andalucía in 1538, developed a formidable reputation for his spirituality. He spent the days studying in his cell, and was renowned even among the austere Franciscans for taking very little sleep at night, devoting all the rest of the night to prayer.50 Similarly, Juan de San Francisco spent the majority of each day teaching doctrine and administering the sacraments, and then spent almost all night in prayer and recollection.51 Mendieta reported that Valencia and the original missionaries also did the same, invoking the example of Jesus himself, who used to spend the night in prayer after preaching the kingdom of God throughout the land.52 Other friars sought to protect their spiritual well-being by taking periodic retreats, as Francis and his original disciples had done. Valencia maintained a hermitage at Amecameca, and Andrés de Olmos, the pioneer missionary in Tamaulipas, also built several hermitages and huts in that 49 “Mas fuera de estos tiempos y oficios de autoridad, tratábase como fraile menor.” Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, p. 632. 50 Ibid., pp. 692–3. 51 Ibid., pp. 654–5. 52 Ibid., p. 585.

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region to which he retreated from time to time.53 It is unclear, however, how many of the missionaries took such retreats, how often, and how long they spent there. Clearly, such retreats provided an opportunity for spiritual rejuvenation, but sources only mention them in connection with a very few friars. Other friars protected themselves by simply leaving the mission field, whether seeking their repose elsewhere in the colony or returning to their monasteries in Spain. A final, powerful tool the Franciscans had with which to manage the spiritual difficulties of the mission field was not to abandon the field, but to use the threat of doing so as leverage against their detractors. Especially in this first period, evangelization would have ground to a halt had the Franciscans quit, for they were by far the most numerous religious group in New Spain. Indeed, decades passed before the secular clergy were in any position to take over their pastoral work, and the other mendicant orders had later and smaller presences than the Friars Minor, so in the meantime, unless the civil and ecclesiastical authorities were willing to abandon the evangelization project entirely, the Franciscan threats were credible and serious. The hope, of course, was that such threats would bring about changes in their situations that would in turn enhance their ability both to complete their work and to nurture their spirituality. This tactic became more prominent in the second period of this study, but it was present even in the earliest days of the mission. Thus, a Licenciado Salmerón, writing to the Council of the Indies regarding Zumárraga’s response to a rebuke he had received, wrote the following: He shows complete obedience and agreement: but he wanted to give up the protection of the Indians, and for the friars to give up their students and the teaching of the natives, entering instead into recollection. We have gone over that to the point of agitation, but in the end we have won him over with tenderness. [Muestra toda obediencia i conformidad: pero queria dejarse de la proteccion de Indios, i los frailes dejar los muchachos i dotrina de naturales metiendose en recogimiento. Hemos pasado por ello hasta alteracion, mas al fin los hemos atraido con blandura.]54

A few years later, friars deployed the same type of threat in their fight against the other mendicant orders over the proper administration of Ibid., p. 646. “Salmerón to the Council of the Indies, 23 January 1531,” RAH Colección de Don

53 54

Juan Bautista Muñoz, vol. 106/79, fol. 22v.

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baptism. Zumárraga wrote to the Council of the Indies, introducing two friars whom he was sending to Spain to negotiate a final resolution. As part of this introduction, he conveyed just how frustrated the Franciscans were, for they could not effectively carry out their work if they were, first, constantly bickering with the other orders and, second, uncertain whether their work at any moment would be overturned by an unfavorable policy decision from above. In the recent chapter meeting, the friars were so disgusted with the situation that “they wanted to come together and recollect themselves in two or three monasteries, abandoning all the rest and forgetting about baptism and all the ceremonies.” [querían juntarse todos y recogerse en dos o tres monesterios desamparando todos los otros y echar a semanas el baptismo con todas las cerimonias.]55 Zumárraga was forced to go to the monastery to encourage the men not to abandon their work, but he added to their explicit threat the threat implicit in this letter that, if a suitable solution were not found, he might not be able to restrain their desire to abandon the field. Missionaries in this first period of the evangelization, then, faced tremendous temporal and spiritual difficulties as their eremitic habitus crashed against the realities of their new environment. They attempted to overcome these, or at least to manage them, in several different ways. They tried to incorporate their spiritual exercises into their work. They sacrificed sleep in order to spend time in contemplation. Some took periodic retreats to rejuvenate their souls. Some essentially ignored the people, in order better to nurture their own souls. Some threatened to abandon the evangelization in a type of spiritual blackmail, while others actually did quit. The results of these attempts were mixed, even within the same person. Thus, for example, Valencia expressed his frustration, yet he also wrote triumphalistic expressions of how glad he was to have undertaken the work. Mendieta reported at one point that Valencia declared, after two years in the field, that he esteemed more the services that he had done for our Lord God those two years that he had worked in this apostolate, and he judged them of more merit, than the thirty years that he was a friar in Spain, even though he spent them in much prayer and divine contemplation, and in many exercises of penitence, fasting, discipline, nakedness, descalcez and other holy exercises. [En mas estimaba los servicios que á nuestro Señor Dios habia hecho estos dos años que habia trabajado en este apostolado, y lo juzgaba de mas merecimiento, “Zumárraga to the Council of the Indies, 8 February 1537,” in García Icazbalceta (ed.), Don Fray Juan de Zumárraga, vol. 4, pp. 145–6. Original letter is at AGI Patronato 184, r. 28. 55

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que treinta años que estuvo en la religion en España, aunque los pasó en mucha oracion y contemplacion divina, y en muchos ejercicios de penitencia, ayunos, disciplinas, desnudez, descalcez y otros santos ejercicios.]56

While many friars shared this sense that their spiritual sacrifice was worthwhile, they still struggled with the difficulties. The great majority of friars in this early period had left a very isolated, austere, and spiritually rich existence in order to undertake a work that profoundly challenged that spirituality, and as Borges said, the evidence of their struggle, even their torture, is apparent throughout their writings.

56

Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, p. 585.

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Chapter 4

Flight and Fight in the Missionary Church, 1549–1574 The second period of this study opens with the departure of twelve Franciscans into the wilderness to found a new province, in which they could practice their eremitic spirituality free from the encumbrances of mission work. The period ends with many Franciscans in New Spain considering the order to be in danger of spiritual ruin. The next chapters examine the struggles that affected the friars in between. They still faced many of the same difficulties of the first period—too few friars, too much distance to cover, too many people to Christianize. In addition, during this period their centuries-old struggle with the secular clergy erupted into bitter fighting, as multiple parties tried to determine what form the maturing New Spanish church would take. Just as the conflicts with civil authorities and the other religious orders had damaged the spiritual well-being of the first generation of friars, so did the battles against the secular clergy in this second period have devastating effects on missionary spirituality. Not only did they sap the friars’ energy and motivation and distract them from their work, but also they put the long-term spiritual trajectory of the friars in play. The outcome of these battles, and the resultant face of the colonial church, determined the nature of the friars’ work—whether they would continue as pastors to the indigenous peoples or be sent to the far corners of the colony to evangelize new peoples or retire to their monasteries. The nature of their work, in turn, had a direct impact on the type of spirituality they could practice. In this second period, then, the eremitic practices of the first generation of missionaries faded into the background as the spirituality of the friars was forced to evolve beyond them. La Provincia Insulana The earliest missionaries to New Spain predominantly came from the eremitic Provinces of San Gabriel and La Concepción. Yet despite the crucial influence of these friars, the spirituality of their colleagues and successors was not monochrome. By 1528 the crown was recruiting friars from several different provinces, all of whom were to be of good character

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but with no stipulation that they practice eremitic or any other particular brand of spirituality. The king simply asked that “there be named from among the religious of the order a good quantity, and that they be people of good life and example.”1 The next year he sent the same request to specific provinces, some of which were eremitic (La Concepción and Los Angeles) but some of which were not (Santiago and Andalucía), again suggesting that the king did not equate a “good life and example” with any particular brand of spirituality.2 Even more telling, by 1535 there were enough friars of questionable character in the colony to prompt Empress Isabella, at that time regent of Spain in her husband’s absence, to tighten controls over who would be allowed to embark for New Spain and expressly to forbid any non-Observant friars from doing so. She wrote: If a place is given to them, they are a great hindrance to the instruction of the natives of those parts and their conversion to our Holy Catholic faith, because of the bad examples that could be followed in those parts because of their status. Thus I order you that from now on you do not consent or give a place for any religious who is not observant and under obedience to pass to our Indies. [Si a ellos se diese lugar, son a grand estorbo ala ynstruicion delos naturales de aquellas partes y su conversion a nuestra Santa fee catolica por los malos exemplos que de su estado en aquellas partes se podrian seguir. Por ende yo vos mando que de aqui adelante no consintays ni deis lugar a que ningun religioso que no sea observante y este debaxo de obediencia pase alas dichas nuestras indias.]3

Even here, however, she also did not specify exactly what kind of spirituality the acceptable missionaries should practice but rather limited her concern to their obedient membership in the Observant family. The crown, then, much like during the struggles for reform at the turn of the century, was more concerned with the good order and obedience of the friars in the mission field than with the specific details of their spirituality. All missionaries were to be Observant, but within that juridical family existed a broad range of spiritual practices, from austere hermits on one extreme to grudging crypto-Conventuals on the other. Thus, the often

“se nombren delos religiosos de la orden una buena cantidad y que seran personas de buena vida y enxemplo.” “Real cédula, 30 September 1528,” AGI Indiferente 421, L. 13, fol. 382r. 2 AGI México 1088, L. 1, fos 31r–41v. 3 “Real cédula, 27 October 1535,” AGI Indiferente 1961, L. 3, fos 364v–365r. 1

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contentious diversity among the Spanish Franciscans traveled with them to New Spain. This diversity increased further through the novice friars who professed in New Spain. For example, at least a few conquistadores joined the order after their military adventures had ended. Thus, Fray Jacinto de San Francisco would later write to Philip II, recounting some of his life story. He had been one of the earliest conquerors and was rewarded for his efforts with an encomienda of four indigenous pueblos, which gave him the right to their labor and tribute payments as he attempted to build there the life of a wealthy nobleman. Shortly afterward, however, he decided that he had sinned in this enterprise and chose to release his subjects from their bondage and become a Franciscan. Indeed, the purpose of Fray Jacinto’s letter was to request permission to return to the villages he had held in encomienda in order to oversee personally their proper Christianization by peaceful means.4 Others entered the order after being born in New Spain to Spanish parents. These creoles were a slow trickle in the first missionary period, but they became increasingly important, eventually outnumbering the Spanish-born friars and striving to control the order. These friars who professed in New Spain received different spiritual training from that of the Spanish friars, for they were trained in a fundamentally different context. Instead of being trained in isolated outposts of the Spanish peninsula, sequestered from urban life, civil conflict, and active ministry, New Spanish novices lived together in the main monasteries of Mexico City and Puebla and were trained by friars who were beleaguered by the spiritual tensions of the mission field. The spiritual formation of these friars was not necessarily ineffective or “inferior”; their masters intended to train them in the same rigorous observance of the rule of Francis. Their formation, however, was certainly different. Franciscan life in New Spain was very different from that in the peninsula, and these novices were forged from the beginning in that life. For them, the extraordinary circumstances to which Quiñones had called the first missionaries were the norm, and their spirituality reflected that. At the start of the second period, then, the roster of missionaries was growing gradually in numbers and in spiritual variety. According to Mendieta, some of the earlier missionaries perceived a decline in spiritual quality accompanying this growth: it seemed to them that, with the multiplication of religious, the rigor of poverty and the strictness in which this province of Santo Evangelio had been founded was now in decline.

“Jacinto de San Francisco to Philip II, 20 July 1561,” in NCDHM, vol. 2, pp. 235–47.

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[pareciéndoles que con la multiplicacion de religiosos iba ya declinando el rigor de la pobreza y estrechura en que se habia fundado esta provincia del Santo Evangelio.]5

To combat that decline, these friars decided to take action, and Alonso de Escalona took the lead. He had left Spain in 1531 as a missionary and spent the next eighteen years in New Spain in a variety of roles— schoolteacher, guardian, difinidor, master of novices, and itinerant preacher. By 1549, however, he decided that the order in New Spain was in desperate need of greater perfection and observance of the rule and thus appealed to the minister general for permission to found a new, reformed, eremitic province. When that permission arrived from Andrés de la Insula, Escalona formed a group of eight priests and four lay brothers for this new enterprise.6 Rubial reports that at least half of these twelve friars had come from the eremitic Province of San Gabriel. Moreover, they were not marginal friars who would not be missed, if such a thing existed in that understaffed mission context. One of the original twelve missionaries—Juan de Ribas— was among their number, and no fewer than three of the twelve abandoned guardianships in order to join the new province.7 The first action of the friars of the new Insulana province—named in honor of the minister general who had granted their permission—was to elect Escalona as their provincial minister, and then he led them into the interior desert in search of their solitude. They traveled north and west from Mexico City, into the wilderness along the boundaries of Nueva Galicia, seeking a suitable place to found their new recollect houses. At some point during the next year, however, they concluded that they would never find that suitable place, so in 1550 they returned to the Province of Santo Evangelio. This is all the detail we know of the experiment of the Insulana Province. Mendieta is the only chronicler to write independently about it, and his coverage is sporadic, spread through the biographies of the individual friars.8 Motolinía wrote before the Insulana friars departed, and those later chroniclers who do reference them depend entirely on Mendieta. Three questions arise from this very limited data. Why did they leave? Why did they fail? How did they respond to that failure? Regarding Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, p. 668. Ibid., pp. 667–9. 7 Only seven of their names are available today, of whom six were from the Province 5 6

of San Gabriel. Two had been guardians, and three were currently guardians in 1549: Juan de Ribas at Cuernavaca (Mendieta, p. 623), Melchior de Benavente at Tulancingo (Mendieta, p. 699), and Diego de la Peña at Tepepulco (Mendieta, p. 709). 8 Mendieta, pp. 24, 32, 43, 52, and 54.

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the first question, the Insulana friars perceived a decline in the rigor of observance in the Province of Santo Evangelio, so they left because of their zeal for greater perfection and observance [celo de mas perfeccion y observancia de la regla]. This zeal, however, is ambiguous. Did their zeal for perfection make them leave in disgusted separatist protest over the laxity of their brethren? Or was their zeal aimed at improving the quality of those brethren, thus making their departure an effort to serve as an example of greater observance for those they had left behind? Or was their zeal perhaps simply for their own greater perfection, suggesting that their departure was an escape from the trials of missionary life, aimed at allowing them to recover the spiritual health they had lost in the field? No extant text answers these questions clearly. The evidence in the previous chapters, however, suggests that the perceived spiritual decline and consequent departure of the Insulana friars was not solely due to the perceived laxity of their confreres, but rather also to their personal spiritual difficulties. Though their ideals may have remained firmly eremitic, the reality of mission life made it extremely difficult to live this spirituality in practice, and their emphatic complaints about their circumstances suggest that some felt they were failing in this respect. Thus at least some of the motivation of the Insulana friars came from their desire to escape the active ministry among the indigenous peoples in order to nurture their own spiritual well-being. In other words, the Insulana friars had failed to adapt their eremitic habitus to the harsh realities of their new life, so they fled. I cannot prove this assertion, because the longitudinal sources that might establish such causation do not exist. While the Insulana friars, however, explicitly cited the increasing number of friars as a cause for the decline, their actions pointed also to the difficulties of mission life, thus supporting this assertion. If their concern had merely been the danger of increasing diversity, the friars could have fought to limit that diversity or to pressure it out of existence. Indeed, in an example above, Antonio de Ciudad Rodrigo, when serving as guardian of his house, used his authority to obstruct even the slightest relaxation of his monastery’s observance. Similarly, Juan de Ribas had the prestige of having been one of the original missionaries, and he and at least two others were serving as guardians when they joined the Insulana province, so they could have had a greater reforming impact on their brethren had they stayed in their positions of authority. They fled, however, suggesting that the mission work itself had also contributed to the perceived spiritual decline and that it had affected their own spiritual health as well. Mendieta offers some answers to the second question, of why the Insulana friars ultimately failed to establish a new eremitic province. In his biography of Escalona, he wrote:

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But because this division was in that time of much damage and waste for the Province of Santo Evangelio, both for the loss of such good friars and for that of those who would follow later, Our Lord did not permit them to find a place to rest their feet, but instead they encountered everywhere such great inconveniences and difficulties that, by unanimous consent, they had to return, like the dove to Noah’s Ark, and subject themselves again to the province. [Mas porque esta division fuera en aquel tiempo de mucho daño y dispendio de la provincia del Santo Evangelio, así en perder aquellas tan buenas piezas, como otras que despues los siguieran, no permitió Nuestro Señor que hallasen ubi requiescerent pedes eorum, sino que en todas partes hallaban tantos inconvinientes y dificultades, que de comun consentimiento ovieron de dar la vuelta, como la paloma á la Arca de Noé, y subjetarse (como se subjetaron) de nuevo á la provincia.]9

Mendieta, then, argued that the founding of the Insulana province was against God’s will and that God personally prevented them from finding any place to settle. God chose thus to intervene because of the great damage their departure had done to the Santo Evangelio province. Whether or not the Insulana friars had intended to help their brethren by demonstrating a better life, their departure in fact made the mission situation worse by removing some exceptionally gifted friars from an already insufficient roster of missionaries. Their departure must have discouraged the friars left behind, both because they now had even fewer coworkers and because of the inherent rebuke to their own “defective” spirituality. Rubial suggests another explanation for their failure, which agrees very closely with the evidence presented thus far in this study. Commenting on the “inconveniences and difficulties” that Mendieta mentioned but never elaborated, Rubial suggests that the friars failed because they could not find any location more suitable to the eremitic life they desired than the monasteries they had left: The Insulana friars wanted to find a solitary place to dedicate themselves to contemplation and prayer, but wherever they stopped, the indigenous peoples had such need and were so attached to the friars that they always found themselves surrounded by people requesting their help. [los frailes insulanos querían encontrar un lugar solitario para dedicarse a la contemplación y a la oración, pero donde quiera que paraban era tal la

9

Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, p. 669.

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necesidad de los indígenas y tal el apego de éstos a los frailes, que siempre se vieron rodeados de gente que solicitaba su ayuda.]10

It is difficult to know whether these indigenous needs were real or perceived, but the effect on the friars either way was a perception that they could never find any place remote enough to escape the demands of their mission, so they gave up the search. Again, I cannot prove Rubial’s suggestion, but it deserves much credit. If Mendieta’s “inconveniences and difficulties” merely signified the physical hardships of wandering the desert with bare feet and inadequate provisions, these eremitic friars would have enthusiastically embraced them. If they signified the physical danger of wandering in unsettled lands populated by nomadic people who had not yet been subdued by Spanish colonial power, again the friars would have enthusiastically embraced the possibility of martyrdom. If the “inconveniences and difficulties” instead referred to these spiritual difficulties, as Rubial suggests, the friars would have had every incentive to return to their original posts and continue their work alongside their beleaguered brethren, rather than continue their fruitless journey in search of spiritual peace they would never find. This is indeed what they did, as is evident from Mendieta’s answers to the third question, of how the friars responded to their failure. Rather than responding with bitterness or fleeing New Spain altogether, the Insulana friars poured themselves fully into the mission work they had earlier abandoned, despite the spiritual costs. Juan de Bastida, for example, worked in New Spain for almost forty years after the Insulana experiment, serving on several occasions as difinidor and guardian, even though he was a lay brother with little formal education.11 Similarly, Juan de Ribas served in several administrative positions after returning to the province, and Alonso de Escalona dedicated himself to fixing the mess that had been made of the evangelization in Guatemala. The second period of this study, then, begins with an experiment that illustrates several of the points of this study thus far. First, eremitic spirituality was still the ideal for many of the missionaries after twentyfive years. It was embattled, to be sure, but it was a living ideal. Even those, such as Mendieta, who looked unfavorably upon the friars’ attempt to found a new province, nevertheless lauded their passion for reform, perfection, recollection, and greater observance of the rule. Separating from the mother province perhaps was not the best way to pursue that reform, but even the critics respected their devotion to the eremitic spirituality that 10 Antonio Rubial García, “La insulana, un ideal eremítico medieval en Nueva España,” Estudios de historia novohispana, 6 (1978): p. 46. 11 Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, p. 711.

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the original missionaries had established in New Spain. Second, both the founding and the failure of the Insulana province demonstrate the extreme difficulty of maintaining a rigorous eremitic spirituality while doing active mission work. The Insulana friars were dissatisfied, at least in part, with their own spirituality in the mission field, so they left to found a new work. They could not find the satisfaction they sought in that work, either, so they abandoned it a year later. In both cases, the demands of active mission work drove their actions. Third, the Insulana experiment suggests that their struggles carried deleterious cumulative effects. While the original twelve missionaries and their successors knowingly placed themselves in spiritual danger to fulfill their vocation, these twelve Insulana friars were no longer willing to make that sacrifice. The case of Juan de Ribas is particularly suggestive here, because he was one of the original twelve who volunteered to risk their spiritual health for the evangelization of the colony, but he evidently had changed his mind after twenty-five years of attempting to maintain his eremitic spirituality while engaged in active ministry. It is difficult to know how generally the dissatisfaction of the Insulana friars was shared among the other Franciscans, for there are not enough sources to know whether they were radical exceptions or broadly representative. The friars in this second period, however, increased both the frequency and bitterness of their expressions of spiritual distress, which suggests that the Insulana friars represent but an early ripple in a broader wave of discontent. Conflict with the Secular Clergy Juan de Zumárraga was a great friend to the mendicant orders in New Spain and especially to his own brethren the Franciscans. He often participated in their common life, he actively recruited more missionaries, and he paid many of their expenses out of his archiepiscopal purse. This collegial relationship died with him in 1548, replaced within a few years by ferocious antagonism between the Franciscans and the new archbishop— Alonso de Montúfar. Though Montúfar was a Dominican and thus a member of the religious clergy, as archbishop his primary responsibility lay in the sphere of the secular, overseeing the diocesan churches and their priests. When conflict arose between secular and regular clergy, then, he was the vigorous advocate of the secular clergy. Rivalry between mendicant orders and the secular clergy was of course not unique to New Spain in the 1550s. It had begun shortly after the death of Francis himself and was simply a normal fixture of medieval religious life, for while Francis had counseled the importance of submitting to and supporting the ministry of the secular priests, many of his followers were not

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so sure. Moreover, the conflict had flared up early in the history of colonial New Spain, as when Zumárraga and his episcopal colleagues complained in 1537 that a few friars had grown unruly and were publicly flaunting their legitimate independence from episcopal jurisdiction.12 The age-old conflict, however, exploded under Montúfar, as settlers, civil officials, secular clergy, and each of the religious orders struggled to determine the course of the maturing colonial church, especially regarding questions of jurisdiction and funding. The focus of this discussion will not be on the exhaustive details of these fights, for they do not inherently concern the spirituality of the friars, but rather on the glimpses of spirituality that present themselves in the voluminous testimony and correspondence that derive from the conflicts. First is the issue of jurisdiction. The friars had built in New Spain a church of unprecedented structure. While secular priests were the pastors of the Spanish settlers almost from the beginning, the indigenous peoples were the exclusive domain of the friars for decades. After undertaking the initial evangelization of a given area, they built their monastery in the principal town and established visitas in outlying areas, all of which together formed a doctrina—effectively an indigenous parish. When they pioneered this system, the traditional episcopal church did not yet exist in New Spain—no bishops, no dioceses, and so few secular priests that they had little to do with the friars’ work. Thus, the friars exercised almost entire independence in the earliest period, a status that continued largely uninterrupted even after Zumárraga took the episcopal throne, both because of his warm sympathy for his confreres and also because he simply did not have the resources to impose any different arrangement. This independence was not just a natural outcome of frontier evangelization but was the product of very specific papal legislation. The friars had enjoyed a longstanding exemption from episcopal jurisdiction, won in part because of their formal vow of obedience to their own guardians and ministers provincial and general. They believed no one can serve two masters, so the friars committed to their own hierarchy and were exempted from the episcopal structure. In peaceful circumstances, this meant that the friars cooperated voluntarily with their diocesan bishops while reserving formal obedience for their own prelates. At least as often, however, they deployed this exemption as a weapon in their local rivalries with the secular clergy, refusing even to be in the presence of the bishop, to say nothing of cooperating with his ministry. These rivalries usually revolved at least in part around money. The secular clergy were dependent for their livelihood on the often meager tithes of their parishes, plus any 12 “Zumárraga and the bishops of Oaxaca and Guatemala to Charles V, 30 November 1537,” in García Icazbalceta (ed.), Don Fray Juan de Zumárraga, vol. 3, pp. 107–9.

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fees they could collect for special ceremonies such as marriages or burials. The presence of friars in the parishes, however, siphoned off many of those fees, both because they too could perform those special ceremonies and because they were at least ostensibly dependent on voluntary alms for their sustenance. Leo X confirmed this medieval exemption in 1521 and extended it to the missionary context by granting the friars broader rights to administer the sacraments than they had possessed in Spain, including even the sacrament of confirmation when no bishop was readily available (Alias felicis recordationis). Adrian VI then expanded their privileges still further in 1522 when he authorized them to exercise all ministries of the church if there were no bishops within a two-day journey (Exponi nobis). Finally, Paul III dispensed with the distance requirement in 1535, granting to the friars the full ministry of the church even in areas with resident bishops (Alias felicis recordationis).13 These privileges expedited the formal Christianization of the indigenous peoples of New Spain, but they also made bitter conflict with the episcopacy all but inevitable, for they greatly hindered the governance of the bishops over the indigenous majority of their diocesan populations. Zumárraga did not push aggressively against this problematic structure of the indigenous and mendicant church while he was archbishop. Montúfar most certainly did, unleashing a flood of harsh accusations against the friars and receiving a torrent in return. His accusations lay in three principal categories: that the friars abused the people, refused to accept the help of any secular clergy, and were willfully negligent in their ministry. First, Montúfar wrote in 1555 to the Council of the Indies with a surprising accusation, considering the extent to which the friars claimed to be protecting the indigenous peoples from exploitation: We beg your highness that you suspend your response and provision in all that they ask until this Holy Council [that is, the Mexican ecclesiastical council meeting that year] writes to inform your highness of the status of the land and all that is occurring in it, so that comparing the one to the other your highness might provide what is best for the service of God. It is especially necessary that you rule in favor of these natives regarding the great oppression and excessive expenses and personal servitude in which the friars have them, supposedly for the purpose of teaching them doctrine.

13 Antonio García García, “Los privilegios de los franciscanos en América,” in Actas del II Congreso Internacional sobre los Franciscanos en el Nuevo Mundo (siglo XVI), La Rábida, 21–26 de septiembre de 1987 (Madrid, 1988), pp. 373–9. The Latin texts of all three bulls appear in Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica, Book III, chs 5–7.

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[Suplicamos a vuestra alteza en todo lo que pidieren se suspenda la respuesta y provisión hasta que deste Sancto Concilio se escriba a vuestra alteza la disposición de la tierra y todo lo que en ella pasa para que visto lo uno y lo otro vuestra alteza provea lo que más al servicio de Dios convenga porque hay bien que proveer en favor destos naturales de opresiones grandes y gastos excesivos y servidumbres personales en que los tienen puestos con título de dotrinallos.]14

The Franciscan friars were known to use corporal punishment and even imprisonment as tools of Christianization, which were no doubt experienced as oppression by many indigenous people. Regarding the expenses and servitude to which the friars subjected them, Montúfar provided an example in a letter he wrote several years later. Responding to a cédula that granted the friars permission to build monasteries wherever they saw fit, with or without the local bishop’s permission, Montúfar argued that, when the papacy granted such privileges, it was understood that the monasteries would be built with voluntary labor. The friars, however, had established such firm authority over the indigenous peoples, even whipping and jailing those who did not cooperate, that they had neither the courage nor ability to refuse the friars’ requests. Thus, the indigenous people “voluntarily” provided all the materials and labor necessary to sustain the friars materially, to support their ministry, and to build their churches, but Montúfar saw this as another form of abuse.15 Second, Montúfar accused the friars of being territorial and refusing any help from secular priests even when there was desperate need. In that same letter to the council he wrote: The worst of all, I do not know with what kind of conscience they are so offended with me, because I put helpers in the places they cannot serve or teach, so that they do not abuse the Indians by making them travel three or six leagues for mass, when they could have it right there in their villages—a cruel thing to hear and even worse to see. [y lo peor de todo no sé con qué consciencia se agravian mucho de mí porque les pongo coadjutores en lo que ellos no pueden servir ni doctrinar y que no 14 “Montúfar to the Council of the Indies, 18 September 1555,” in Francisco del Paso y Troncoso (ed.), Epistolario de Nueva España 1505–1818 (Mexico City, 1939–1942), vol. 8, p. 43. 15 “son las limosnas voluntarias que los fieles catholicos quisieren hazer y no haziendo repartimientos de materiales y dineros y servicios personales, los catholicos açotando y castigando y encarcelando a los que no lo quieren hazer, como todas las hordenes lo an hecho y hazen en esta tierra.” “El Arzobispo de Mexico, y otros Obispos de la Nueva España, contra las tres ordenes de San Francisco, Santo Domingo, y San Agustin dela Nueva España, 1562,” AGI Justicia 165, n. 5, fol. 989v.

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vejen los indios en hacerles ir a misa tres y seis leguas pudiéndola tener en sus pueblos cosa cruel de oír y peor de ver.]16

Similarly, in 1558 Montúfar complained to Philip II that the friars had convinced the viceroy not to support the secular priests that he had rightfully placed in isolated indigenous villages: In accordance with the orders of Your Majesty, I have put clerics in villages of Your Majesty with the ordinary salary, and I have asked your viceroy to provide for the clerics, but even if the said villages were visited by the friars only after long days and months, he does not want to give the provision, saying that those villages are visitas of the friars, desiring more the contentment of the friars that visit them only rarely than the good that would follow from having a minister always with the sheep. [ha acaescido conforme a las erecciones y una cédula de vuestra majestad poner yo clérigos en pueblos de vuestra majestad con el salario ordinario y pedirle a vuestro visorrey el clérigo le dé la provisión y si tales pueblos eran visitados de los frailes aunque de largos días y meses, no quiere darle la provisión diciendo que aquellos pueblos son de visita de frailes, queriendo más el contento de los frailes que los visitan de tarde en tarde que el bien que se sigue de estar siempre el ministro con las ovejas.]17

Finally, he complained in 1562 that the Franciscans would not even permit friars of other orders into their territory, much less any secular priests, because they wanted nothing more than to be lords of the land and rulers of “their” people.18 Third, and most important for this study, Montúfar accused the friars of being willfully negligent in their ministry, because such ministry was often in conflict with the observance of their rule. In 1555 he wrote that the friars only wanted to work in pleasant climates and that they tried to build their monasteries close to one another, for the benefit of their recollection, rather than more dispersed for the greater good of the evangelization. He even acknowledged the spiritual cost of the evangelization when he stated that, as a mendicant himself, he actually wanted to help the friars nurture “Montúfar to the Council of the Indies, 18 September 1555,” in Paso y Troncoso (ed.), Epistolario de Nueva España 1505–1818, vol. 8, p. 43. 17 “Montúfar to Philip II, 31 January 1558,” in Paso y Troncoso (ed.), Epistolario de Nueva España 1505–1818, vol. 8, pp. 180–81. 18 “Lo peor de todo es que los dichos Frayles no admitten Frayles de otra horden que entren a les ayudar, ni quieren que el obispo ponga clerigos en los dichos lugares.” “El Arzobispo de Mexico...,” AGI Justicia 165, n. 5, fol. 989r. 16

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their recollection, but as bishop he had to place the spiritual good of the indigenous peoples first: Of the four prelates on this council [that is, the Mexican ecclesiastical council], three of us are religious and we wish to favor their souls and we do favor them in everything holy and good, but in what pertains to the spiritual and temporal good [of the indigenous peoples] we cannot, just because of our religious affiliation, stop fulfilling our obligations. We even want to favor the recollection and moderation of the orders in which we were trained, even though they brazenly say that we have forgotten that we are friars. [De quatro prelados que estamos en el concilio, los tres somos rreligiosos y los deseamos faboresçer en el anima y faboresçemos en todo lo santo y bueno, pero en lo que toca al bien espiritual y tenporal, por el abito no podemos dexar de hazer lo que somos obligados. Y aun por lo que conviene al rrecogimiento y moderacion de las dichas ordenes en que nos criamos, aunque no con poco desacato disen que emos olvidado de ser Frayles.]19

Montúfar mentioned similar conflicts with the Franciscan regular observance in several other letters. In 1558 he wrote that it was a miracle if sick indigenous people were able to confess before dying, since the friars refused to travel to them because it was inconvenient for their regular observance. The friars had created a routine that attempted to balance all their normal obligations, and to incorporate an emergency visit to an outlying village into that routine was impossible. Besides, such emergencies were the domain of pastors (curas), and the friars were neither pastors nor did they want to be—a refrain they repeated for years to come in these conflicts.20 In 1556 he wrote that the friars refused to confess even those sick people who were nearby, because it was not appropriate for their regular observance that they enter indigenous homes.21 Again in 1558 he wrote that

19 “Informes de la Audiencia y autoridades religiosas sobre diezmos,” AGI Indiferente 2978, n. 38, fol. 163v. 20 “por milagro se confiesa uno, al tiempo de la muerte, ni los frailes los quieren yr a confesar de dia ni de noche, porque dizen que no conbiene a su rregular observançia andar por las casas a dar los sacramentos, porque no son curas ni lo quieren ser.” “El Arzobispo de Mexico...,” AGI Justicia 165, n. 5, fol. 989r. 21 “andar por las casas.” “Montúfar to the Council of the Indies, 15 May 1556,” in CDAO, vol. 4, p. 495.

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these fathers have made a statute that they not go out to the houses and villages to confess, and that they not leave at night to give the sacraments, because it is not convenient to their regular observance. [Estos padres tienen hecho statuto que no salgan a confesar a las casas ni pueblos ni que salgan de noche a darlos sacramentos porque no conviene a su rregular observancia.]22

He even accused the friars of refusing to give last rites to dying Spaniards because they said “they are not pastors nor is it part of their regular observance to walk the streets with the most holy sacrament.”23 Perhaps Montúfar’s most incredible accusation regarded an effort by Pedro de Gante to found a new indigenous parish in 1562. The negligence, in the archbishop’s opinion, was that Gante would do so by dissolving four indigenous parishes on the outskirts of Mexico City and combining all forty thousand of those souls into one distant parish, centered at the main Franciscan house in the Spanish part of the city. Though Gante argued that this would be an improvement because there were so many qualified linguists in the monastery (who would not otherwise spend much time in the visita pueblos), Montúfar argued that such an arrangement would only exacerbate the already gross neglect these indigenous peoples suffered, for they would now have to travel miles in order to receive any ministry.24 This proliferation of examples provides strong evidence of a growing incompatibility between the evolving roles of the friars as pastors to the indigenous peoples and their regular observance and of a tendency for the friars to place their own spiritual needs over those of their people. Moreover, these examples illustrate the conflict between merely Observant spirituality and the friars’ ministry, saying nothing of the scope of the conflict for those friars still dedicated to the most rigorous eremitic spirituality of the first missionaries. Montúfar’s attacks did not go unanswered, of course. The friars’ equally vigorous defense appeared in a long series of letters over the course of fifteen years. In response to the archbishop’s accusations of abuse, the friars argued that only with the threat of physical punishment could the evangelization move forward. For example, in a 1567 letter to the king and council, the friars complained that the viceroy had removed their right “El Arzobispo de Mexico ... ,” AGI Justicia 165, n. 5, fol. 994v. “no son curas ni es dado a su regular observançia andar con el sanctissimo

22 23

sacramento por las calles.” “Pareceres del virrey, presidente y religiosos sobre los diezmos,” AGI Indiferente 2978, n. 42, fol. 359r. 24 “Montúfar to Philip II, 30 April 1562,” in Paso y Troncoso (ed.), Epistolario de Nueva España 1505–1818, vol. 9, p. 161.

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to imprison indigenous people, requiring instead that they work through the secular authorities. They felt the result would be that any indigenous offenders would simply flee to the hills before the appropriate paperwork could be filed and that the good work of the friars would then be lost as their people disappeared. They asked permission, then, to be able to put an Indian in jail for a day, so that he does not flee to the mountains before we can investigate and solemnize his marriage, or before we can put him on the road of what is required for his salvation, which is done in one day … and not in any other manner, because they are people that want to be led in this way, and they always used it among themselves … and to remove them from this method is to waste our work and our time. [para poner un indio en la cárcel por un día, porque no se vaya á los montes hasta averiguar y concluir su casamiento, ó hasta ponerlo en camino de lo que es obligado para salvarse, lo cual se hace en un día y con poca premia, y no de otra manera, porque son gente que se quieren llevar por esta vía, y siempre usaron entre sí este modo desde que son hombres, y sacarlos desto es perder el trabajo y el tiempo.]25

Two years later, Provincial Minister Miguel Navarro complained of the same decision, describing how it was destroying indigenous Christianity: By taking away the favor that the Religious have had until now to compel the Indians to gather in the churches on Sundays and festivals for mass and catechism, and to send their children to the schools, the doctrine and Christianity of these natives is being damaged greatly, because even though they are docile and attracted to the good, this almost has to be with whip in hand, as is done with schoolchildren, so that even though the teacher does not hurt them, at least he threatens and they know that the whip is there, because to leave them to their liberty would mean that in just a short time they would be no more Christian than their ancestors. [por quitarse á los Religiosos el favor que hasta aquí han tenido para poder compeler á los indios á que se junten en las iglesias los domingos y fiestas para las misas y doctrina, y que envíen á sus hijos á las escuelas, se va perdiendo mucho de la doctrina y cristiandad destos naturales, porque aunque ellos son dóciles y atraíbles á lo bueno, esto ha de ser casi con el azote en la mano, como se hace con los niños del escuela, de manera que aunque no les hiera el maestro, á lo menos amague ó sepan que está allí el azote, porque dejarlos á “Memorial to Philip II and the Council of the Indies, 1567,” in NCDHM, vol. 4,

25

p. 62.

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su libertad sería para que en pocos días no fuesen más cristianos que lo fueron sus antepasados.]26

The threat and exercise of swift, non-bureaucratic corporal punishment, then, was a critical tool in the friars’ efforts. To the accusations that the friars were willfully negligent, they responded by reminding the authorities that they had been actively training indigenous assistants since the earliest days of the mission, precisely in order to carry out the ministry that they themselves could not complete. For example, in a 1557 report to the king, they did not deny that there were not enough friars to do the full work of the church among the indigenous peoples, but they fulfilled the need by training their assistants to visit the sick, admonish them toward contrition, and take care of any other pastoral emergencies.27 Significantly, the only pastoral emergency that the friars excluded in this list was confession of the dying, which was exactly the grounds on which Montúfar attacked them. Nevertheless, far from being negligent, the friars felt they had proven themselves diligent in providing more pastoral care through their assistants than they could accomplish themselves, regardless of how hard they should work. The Franciscans responded to the charge that they were territorial with their most vicious and voluminous counter-accusations. To be specific, they were territorial not because they wanted to be temporal or spiritual lords over the indigenous peoples, but because they felt the secular clergy were so grossly incompetent that they could not, in good conscience, inflict them upon their converts. Cortés himself had made this same charge when he specifically requested Franciscan friars for the evangelization rather than the secular priests of Spain.28 In that same 1557 report, the leaders of all three mendicant orders in New Spain accused Montúfar of lying when he complained that they did not want help. In fact, the friars wanted nothing more than extra hands for the work, but they must be ministers who were not so incompetent that they would destroy in thirty days what the friars had accomplished over thirty years.29 The friars accused the secular priests of being full of greed and of seeking only their own material gain and that of their extended families back home. Indeed, the “Navarro to the Comisario de Corte, 25 February 1569,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, pp. 109–10. 27 “Respuesta que los Religiosos de las tres Órdenes de la Nueva España dieron en el año de 1557,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, p. 4. 28 “Cortés to Charles V, 15 October 1524,” AGI Patronato 16, n. 1, r. 3. 29 “no hay cosa que más deseemos; pero querríamos que no fuesen de tal calidad que lo que en treinta años se ha plantado de cristiandad, con tan grandes é inmensos trabajos, lo destruyesen en treinta días.” “Respuesta que los Religiosos...,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, p. 7. 26

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friars asserted that most secular priests were just like so many Spanish settlers—only seeking to make their fortune in the colony before returning home. They had no interest in the mission field, much less a commitment to do the hard work necessary to succeed there. The friars feared that the humble indigenous peoples who had been so receptive to the Franciscan ideal of apostolic poverty would immediately perceive the greed of their secular counterparts and abandon the faith in protest.30 Finally, the friars asked how the bishops believed the secular priests could be effective when they generally did not even speak the indigenous languages.31 It would be far better, according to the friars, to work with fewer priests than to import incompetent ones, much as the biblical Gideon had defeated a host of Midianites with only three hundred men.32 As a further warning of the danger of placing indigenous peoples in the hands of secular priests, the friars used the relatively recent example of the evangelization of Granada. The kingdom of Granada had been the last Muslim stronghold in Iberia until the Catholic Monarchs conquered it in 1492. While Franciscans were among the first clergy to arrive in the kingdom (the mission that Juan de Guadalupe had tried unsuccessfully to join), the secular clergy eventually took control of the evangelization and forced the friars back into their monasteries—exactly what the bishops were now trying to do in New Spain. Motolinía wrote to the Council in 1555 to protest: when the kingdom of Granada was won, the first ministers that that church had were the religious of our order, and they began to plant the faith with a strong foundation of life and doctrine. But after greed placed secular priests there, the religious removed their hands from them, and Your Highness already knows how they have benefited from Christianity, that they are just as much Moors as on the first day. [quando se gano el reino de granada, los primeros ministros que aquella Iglesia tuvo fueron los religiosos de nuestra horden e començaron a plantar la fe con gran fundamento de vida y doctrina, e despues que la cobdicia puso clerigos,

“agora que ven y entienden los indios la demasiada cobdicia de los clérigos, que como ellos dicen no quieren perpetuarse en esta tierra, sino coger lo que pudieren é irse á España; de lo cual coligen que no quieren la salvación de sus ánimas, sino sólo el interese.” Ibid., vol. 4, pp. 7–8. 31 “no sabemos cómo con estos tales se supla la falta que dicen [los obispos] que hay de doctrina.” Ibid., vol. 4, p. 8. 32 “No está la fortaleza del escuadrón cristiano en la multitud, sino en la virtud y ánimo y esfuerzo de los que han de pelear. Gedeón de treinta mill que sacó en su ejército contra los madianitas, solos trescientos tomó y con ellos venció.” Ibid., vol. 4, p. 10. 30

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alçaron los religiosos la mano dellos, y ya sabra Vuestra Alteza lo que an aprovechado en la christiandad, pues se estan tan moros como el primer día.]33

In short, according to these friars, the Christianization of Granada had been proceeding rapidly until the secular clergy took over, after which all progress was lost and the mission became a complete failure. The friars went even further a few years later, reminding the king that his own father, Charles V, had specifically assigned the evangelization of New Spain to the friars because he wanted to avoid another debacle like Granada: considering how the conversion and Christianity of the moriscos of Granada and other parts of Spain has ceased, he not only did not think about removing the Indians from the hand and administration of the Religious, but even prohibited and prevented secular clergy from coming to these lands, considering it firmly established that they were not suitable for its administration. [considerando en lo que ha parado la conversión y cristiandad de los moriscos de Granada y de otras partes de España, no solamente no pensaba en quitar á los indios de la mano y administración de los Religiosos, mas aun prohibía y estorbaba que no pasasen á estas partes clérigos, teniendo por muy averiguado que no convenían para su administración dellos.]34

The truth about Granada was more complex than this, but the Franciscan warning was clear—the secular clergy were not capable of assisting the friars, much less replacing them, without destroying all mission work to date.35 In sum, Montúfar and his colleagues at mid-century actively sought to bring the mendicant indigenous church under episcopal jurisdiction, while the friars just as actively resisted them. The bishops accused the friars of abusing the people, aspiring to temporal lordship over them, and willfully neglecting their spiritual health in order to nurture their own. The friars disagreed with each of these accusations and defended themselves vigorously. This jurisdictional conflict between the secular and religious clergy first exploded upon Montúfar’s ascension to the episcopal throne, and it continued unabated for decades and indeed did not finally draw to “Informes de la Audiencia y autoridades religiosas sobre diezmos,” AGI Indiferente 2978, n. 39, fol. 168r. Also available in published transcription in Aragón and Gómez Canedo (eds), Epistolario de Motolinía (1526–1555), p. 187. 34 “Provincial Minister to Fr. Bernardo de Fresneda, Confessor of Philip II, 20 May 1564,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, p. 27. 35 For a more complete study of this process, see David Coleman, Creating Christian Granada (Ithaca, 2003). 33

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a close for centuries afterward.36 Montúfar’s accusations about the friars’ concern for regular observance present a very specific way in which their spirituality collided with their mission work. They could not meet all the pastoral needs of the people, especially in their unforeseeable emergencies, while still pursuing the individual perfection to which their understanding of the rule called them. The friars notably did not deny this accusation, but defended themselves instead by pointing to their training of indigenous assistants to do the work that their own spirituality did not permit them. In addition to this very specific example of the conflict between the Franciscan rule and mission work, the protracted battle itself caused the friars distress and damaged their spiritual vigor. In 1560, the Franciscan provincial Francisco de Toral wrote to the king that because of the conflict with Montúfar, many religious have left this country … and if it were not a disservice to God and Your Majesty, we too would have recollected ourselves and sought our peace; but we see and know that these natives, whom we have raised, and everything we have built, will be destroyed if we leave them. [muchos religiosos an dexado esta tierra, que los prouinçiales no los hemos podido quietar, y sino fuese por no desseruir á Dios y á V.M., nos abriamos recogido y puesto en nuestra paz; pero vemos y conosçemos destos naturales, como quien los hemos criado, que en alçando la mano dellos, se destruirán y lo hedificado.]37

Similarly, in 1562 Mendieta reported to Comisario General Francisco de Bustamante that, though the friars had been compelled by their zeal for God’s service to leave behind their stillness and tranquility [quietud y sosiego], they were now devastated by the conflict: What we see and experience in our chapters and congregations is now nothing but renunciations of guardians. In their visits to the houses, the prelates hardly find any happy or content friars, but instead receive letters and news of their discontent while still on the road, including some persistently requesting license to return to Spain.

36 For example, a late seventeenth-century document records a bishop complaining that the proliferation of friars and their competition for ceremonial fees was bankrupting the secular priests and causing many villages to go without pastoral care at all. “Petición al papa sobre regulares de España,” BNAH Fondo Franciscano 188, fos 232r–237r. 37 “Toral to Philip II, 7 March 1560,” in Cartas de Indias, vol. 1, p. 144.

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[lo que vemos y experimentamos es que en nuestros capítulos y congregaciones ya no hay otra cosa sino renunciaciones de guardianes. En las visitas de los conventos apenas hallan los prelados fraile consolado ni contento, antes á los caminos les salen al encuentro las cartas y nuevas del descontento, y una y otro porfia sobre la licencia para volverse á España.]38

He went on to describe the extent to which the conflict with the bishops had paralyzed the friars: they no longer wanted to learn languages or confess or preach, because those who did this work struggled so greatly in their ministry. They either wanted to hide in the corner [meterse en un rincón] or flee back to their monasteries in Spain. Two years later, the Franciscan provincial again tied the friars’ spiritual health directly into this depressing equation. In response to the pressure against their use of physical punishments, he reported that the friars had decided to relent, leaving such discipline up to the bishops, even though they believed it would greatly damage the faith of the indigenous peoples. The reason was so they might find “at least a little stillness …”: May it please God that they would all leave us in peace, and that our recollection would be of more spiritual profit for this newly converted nation. [Plega á Dios que los unos y los otros nos dejen en paz, y que nuestro recogimiento sea para más aprovechamiento espiritual desta nación recién convertida. ]39

Thus, not only the active nature of their ministry to the indigenous peoples but also the contentious struggles with the secular clergy caused great difficulty to the friars in their pursuit of spiritual perfection. In addition to these battles over jurisdiction, another conflict between secular and religious clergy has direct relevance for this study. Montúfar wanted to rectify the perceived negligence of the friars by placing secular priests in the visitas that rarely received any attention. In order to pay for this, however, he needed to collect tithes from the entire indigenous population, something that his predecessor Zumárraga had refused to do, citing their poverty. Indeed, Montúfar argued that, if he could collect tithes, he could rapidly resolve all personnel shortages throughout the archdiocese, because he would have enough funding to place a secular

38 “Mendieta to Comisario General Francisco de Bustamante, 1562,” in NCDHM, vol. 1, pp. 3–4. 39 “Provincial Minister to Fr. Bernardo de Fresneda,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, p. 28.

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priest in every village.40 Viceroy Luis de Velasco, on the other hand, a great friend to the Franciscans, mocked this argument along with the friars, who vigorously sought to prevent the indigenous tithes. Even with full tithes, they argued, the archbishop could never deploy enough secular clergy to replace the friars. Any recruits from Spain would require years of training to learn the languages they would need in the field, and most would not be willing to apply themselves for so long. If Montúfar were to seek recruits among the creole population of the colony, he would fare even worse, because most creole priests were unlettered even in their own language.41 Years of unrest followed as those in favor of and those against indigenous tithes attempted to convince the authorities of their cases. One particularly relevant theme among the many arguments was the difference between alms and fixed payments. Secular priests, at least in principle, received an established if meager salary from the tithes of their parishes. Franciscans, however, had vowed in their profession to live in poverty without any possessions of their own, including any fixed source of income such as rents or salaries. Their ministry, at least in principle, was therefore sustained by voluntary gifts from those they served. They perceived, then, that tithes were a threat not only to the indigenous peoples, who they argued could not afford to pay, but also to themselves. If Montúfar were to impose the tithe on “their” people, the friars’ alms would evaporate, diverted instead to the diocesan church. The friars, then, steadfastly resisted any solutions to the funding controversy that would take away their privilege of begging for sustenance. For example, one such proposal was that the king be responsible for all their expenses, paying a certain amount per friar per year out of the indigenous tithes and tribute so that the villagers would no longer have to support the friars materially and pay tribute. Franciscan leaders, however, rejected the suggestion: We must notify Your Majesty how repugnant it is to our profession to have a certain quantity of money set aside every year for our sustenance … which, even though it might be acceptable for all the other ministers to receive it, for us it is not fitting, because in no way can we receive it, or have such a fixed deposit, even in many areas where we have need, because by the goodness and mercy of the Lord we sustain ourselves with alms freely offered by the devout faithful.

“Montúfar to Philip II, 15 August 1559,” in Paso y Troncoso (ed.), Epistolario de Nueva España 1505–1818, vol. 8, p. 246. 41 “Pareceres del virrey, presidente y religiosos sobre los diezmos,” AGI Indiferente 2978, n. 42, fol. 332r. 40

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[Item, es necesario dar aviso á S.M. de cómo repugna á nuestra profesión tener señalada cierta cantidad de dineros en cada un año para nuestra sustentación ... lo cual, aunque para todos los demás ministros cuadre porque lo pueden recebir, para nosotros, como he dicho, no se compadece, porque en ninguna manera lo podemos recebir, ni tener tal depósito señalado, ni en muchas partes lo hemos menester, porque por la bondad y misericordia del Señor nos sustentamos de las limosnas libremente ofrecidas de los fieles devotos.]42

The authors of this memo next addressed the problem of villages that simply could not afford to support the friars with voluntary alms. Rather than abandoning those villages, the friars consented to accept tribute money for their sustenance, but only after they had exhausted all potential sources of alms and were thus driven to the tribute collectors by necessity to beg their provision. A specific instance of such an arrangement is a Franciscan request for help in rebuilding two of their oldest structures, which were already in disrepair. They asked Philip II to pay for these projects, because they could not find the money anywhere else.43 In order to convince him, they referred to the fixed payments that they had refused to accept from him earlier, suggesting thereby that he could afford to help them now in their need: We did not accept the twenty thousand or so pesos, or the ten thousand or more fanegas of corn, that Your Majesty ordered, because it is against our state and profession to have any fixed rent or salary. We must instead receive only the alms for our needs that are given to us out of love for God. [no recibimos los dichos veinte mill y tantos pesos, diez mill ó más hanegas de maíz, que S.M. nos manda dar, por ser contra nuestro estado y profesión el tener renta ni salario señalado, sino solamente recebir para nuestras necesidades la limosna que se nos quisiere hacer por amor de Dios.]44

Thus, a major Franciscan concern in the contentious funding controversies was to protect their spiritual practice of poverty. They did not absolutely oppose accepting royal money, and they certainly did not oppose accepting alms from the same people they argued could not afford to tithe. Rather, “Memorial de algunas cosas que conviene tratar y negociar con S.M.,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, pp. 53–4. 43 “manifestamos á S.M. nuestra necesidad, y es que tenemos dos obras entre manos, las cuales, aunque no son muy costosas, por no tener de ninguna parte limosna ni ayuda para ellas, si S.M. no es servido de la dar, se harán con mucha dificultad y trabajo nuestro.” “Memorial to Philip II and the Council of the Indies, 1567,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, p. 65. 44 Ibid., p. 65. 42

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they opposed any funding structure that would eliminate their official posture as beggars and provide them instead with financial security. This is, then, another example of a direct conflict between the exigencies of mission work and Franciscan spirituality. Just as the friars could not simultaneously fulfill the pastoral needs of their people and maintain their regular observance, so they could not cooperate with many proposals to improve that pastoral care while maintaining their rigorous vow of poverty. The result was continual strife that sapped their vocational and spiritual vigor. The documents generated by these conflicts offer one final observation about mid-century spirituality. Some friars were still dedicated to the original eremitic spirituality of the first missionaries. At the very least, the twelve Insulana friars had returned after their failed experiment to the Province of Santo Evangelio, and Mendieta’s biographies show that they continued striving to balance their eremitic spirituality with their active ministries. In addition, many friars in these conflicts contrasted the frustration they faced with the spiritual recollection that they craved. This continued devotion to the discipline of recollection suggests the broad persistence of a rigorist interpretation of the rule of Francis, an eremitic habitus, after several generations of mission work. On the other hand, Montúfar accused the friars of enjoying not only the authority of their positions, but also the liberty that the work afforded them from the normal constraints of religious life. I have presented the difficulties of practicing eremitic spirituality in the mission field as a cause of distress for the friars, but some friars saw them instead as opportunities to flee the rigors of common life without entirely abandoning their profession. Thus in 1556, the archbishop claimed to have heard from an old and unidentified friar that “if he crossed the gulf, it was because here they walked with liberty.”45 This friar opposed tithes because with tithes came secular priests, who would make his own work unnecessary and would instead relegate him to the same kind of cloistered religious rigor he had already fled. Similarly, a few years later, Montúfar wrote that the friars opposed tithes because they say that with tithes a priest will be placed in every village, and the friars in turn will have to recollect themselves and live according to their regular observance.

45 “si pasaba el golfo, era porque acá andaban con libertad.” “Montúfar al Consejo de Indias,” in CDAO, vol. 4, p. 511.

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[porque dizen que con los diezmos se porna un cura en cada pueblo e assi ellos se abran de rrecoger y bivir conforme a su obseruancia regular.]46

Even granting that Montúfar, the great antagonist of the Franciscans, is not the most reliable witness to the motives of the friars, his suggestions are nevertheless intriguing for their implications about missionary spirituality at mid-century. First, they confirm that mission work and the pastoral care into which it evolved created a freedom of movement, a freedom from spiritual accountability and common life, which undermined rigorous spiritual discipline. Second, if his accusations are even partially accurate, they suggest that, far from being a blessed relief, spiritual recollection and the rigorous common life of a Spanish monastery were to some men a grave burden to be avoided. Therefore, despite the continued persistence of eremitic spirituality as an ideal in some quarters, it was certainly no longer the dominant stance among the friars.

“Pareceres del virrey, presidente y religiosos sobre los diezmos,” AGI Indiferente 2978, n. 42, fol. 377v. This letter is also available in “Montúfar to Philip II, 4 February 1561,” in Paso y Troncoso (ed.), Epistolario de Nueva España 1505–1818, vol. 9, p. 94. 46

Chapter 5

Eremitic Retreat and a New Missiology in the Church, 1549–1574 Recruiting Difficulties The uneasy interaction between mission work and Franciscan spirituality has appeared in this second period in the flight of the eremitic Insulana friars and the bitter fights with the secular clergy. The former case showed that eremitic spirituality was still a strong presence after twenty-five years of New Spanish mission work and that many of its practitioners had concluded that they could not find the spiritual depth they craved without abandoning their active mission work. In the latter case, the extensive testimony generated by the conflicts revealed several specific areas in which the demands of the friars’ regular observance clashed with the practical exigencies of their ministry, in addition to the general spiritual malaise that resulted from the strife. Ultimately, this testimony led to the conclusion that eremitic spirituality may yet have been an ideal at mid-century but was by no means the norm among the friars. Another major issue, which led to several fundamental changes in the Franciscan mission and which had a powerful effect on their spirituality, was the extreme difficulty of recruiting new missionaries. This problem had always plagued the mission, but it grew into a major crisis at mid-century. From at least 1528, the crown regularly ordered Franciscan provincials in Spain to recruit certain quotas of missionaries and scolded them when they failed.1 At the same time, the friars sent nearly constant requests for more friars, with almost every official correspondence. Moreover, Zumárraga in 1533 was already sending guilt-inducing exhortations back to the peninsula looking for more recruits.2 He argued that the friars had enlisted in Christ’s army when they joined the order and were thus obligated to Dozens of these cédulas survive in AGI México 1088, L. 1; and AGI Indiferente 421–3, L. 13–20. 2 “Zumárraga to the mendicant friars, Pastoral exhortation, 1533,” in García Icazbalceta (ed.), Don Fray Juan de Zumárraga, vol. 3, pp. 76–85. 1

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follow him into this spiritual battle in which so many indigenous souls were perishing. Further, if so many Spanish fighters had been brave enough to conquer the land physically, then the friars certainly should be brave enough to join the fray as spiritual soldiers. The need for such pressure from high places does not suggest an overwhelming enthusiasm for the mission field. Motolinía described in 1537 how the missionaries had begun to build smaller houses, recognizing that fewer and fewer new recruits were coming from Spain.3 Mendieta described the travails of Francisco de Soto, who went to Spain in 1546 in search of new recruits. Not only was he exhausted in this work from the difficulty of traveling in his old age all over the peninsula on bare feet with inadequate provisions, but also by not being well received by his own confreres, because of the commission and charge he carried to recruit up to a certain number of suitable friars to be ministers in the Indies, in which the guardians in Spain only bitterly assisted. [también por no ser bien acogido de sus proprios hermanos los frailes, á causa de la comision y cargo que llevaba de recoger hasta cierto número los que le pareciese para ministros de los indios, lo cual los guardianes de España ásperamente llevaban.]4

In 1554, the personnel shortages in the field and the recruitment difficulties at home were so great that Juan de San Francisco wrote to the king that he would accept new ministers of any stripe, even secular priests. “It does not matter to us whether they are religious or clerics, as long as they have the spirit and zeal that this apostolate requires.”5 Montúfar, as part of his polemic against the friars, also wrote of their dwindling numbers in both 1564 and 1566. “Every day we expect that they will be fewer because even if ten friars come, twenty either leave or die.”6 Finally, historian Pedro Borges, in his detailed study of the process of recruiting and deploying missionaries, described the continual struggle of royal and religious authorities to create some lasting and effective recruiting system. They started out working through the Franciscan hierarchy, Motolinía, Memoriales, pp. 354–5. Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, p. 614. 5 “no tenemos cuenta con que sean religiosos o clérigos, como tengan el espíritu y el 3 4

celo que este apostolado requiere.” “Juan de San Francisco to Philip II, 31 August 1554,” in DIHM, p. 233. 6 “cada día se espera que serán menos porque de las religiones si vienen diez se van veinte o se mueren.” “Montúfar to Philip II, 28 February 1564, 31 March 1566,” in Paso y Troncoso (ed.), Epistolario de Nueva España 1505–1818, vol. 10, pp. 30, 132.

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sending requests for personnel from the field to the general chapter, then on to the provincial ministers for recruitment. If that failed, the crown got involved, sending the cédulas referenced above, ordering the provincials to provide a certain quota of missionaries. Since even the royal scolding that followed often did not result in enough missionaries, Franciscan authorities eventually appointed official recruiters who bypassed altogether the order’s hierarchy, and later they appointed permanent recruiting agents at the royal court to facilitate the process.7 These examples demonstrate how difficult it was to recruit even enough missionaries to maintain the status quo. The reasons for this difficulty are many. Perhaps the most basic is that the friars of just one European kingdom were trying to Christianize a vast territory, with very little help from anyone else. By royal preference and perhaps political necessity, the evangelization of the vast Spanish American territories was not a project of the church at large, or even of the Franciscan order at large, but was rather limited predominantly to the Spanish regular clergy. Even if every mendicant friar in Spain, of whatever order, had embarked for the new world, they may not have had enough men for the mission they had accepted. Compounding this problem were the expanding colonial boundaries, as military expeditions continued to seek new territory. With each expansion came the expectation that the friars would evangelize the new subjects, meaning that they not only needed to recruit enough friars to maintain the work already underway as missionaries died or returned to Spain but also enough to expand the work. Thus, for example, though the Franciscans were struggling to staff their existing doctrinas adequately, the king requested in 1554 that they find enough new friars to evangelize the vast northwest territories of New Spain that were coming under his control, thus including the far reaches of Michoacán, Jalisco, and the northern Pacific coast.8 Conditions in Spain also made recruitment of new missionaries extremely difficult. Borges argued that it was very rare, especially after the first wave of missionaries departed, for any friars to present themselves spontaneously for mission work without a great deal of exhortation.9 To this end Franciscan authorities produced written (and presumably oral) propaganda, such as the exhortation by Zumárraga mentioned above. A very late example of this propaganda is a letter to the comisario general, Borges, El envío de misioneros, pp. 131–5. “Misión para la Custodia de los Santos Apóstoles (Michoacán–Jalisco) en 1554,”

7 8

in Lino Gómez Canedo (ed.), Evangelización y conquista: experiencia franciscana en Hispanoamérica (Mexico, 1977), pp. 245–8. Original document is AGI Indiferente 2048, n. 40. 9 Borges, El envío de misioneros, p. 127.

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probably written in the early 1570s by Mendieta, in which he reminded his superior to communicate to potential recruits the tremendous advantages of missionary life.10 After inducing guilt regarding the great need for friars in New Spain, Mendieta mentioned the plenary indulgence reserved for missionaries, the masses that would be said for their souls (even if they were to die on the journey without ever setting foot in New Spain), and the idyllic working conditions of the Mexican missionaries. The latter claim, with its descriptions of beautiful weather, generous alms, well-appointed libraries, excellent infirmaries, and the relative ease of following their rule, is particularly startling, coming as it did from perhaps the most prolific Jeremiah of New Spain, who spent much of his career railing against the difficulties of the mission field, the decline in royal support, and the decline in spiritual quality among the friars. In addition to this favorable propaganda, however, existed the more ambivalent reports from returning missionaries, which had a powerful impact on recruiting. While some friars returned to Spain with glowing tales of mission life, many friars who returned had not enjoyed their mission experience. The latter, in turn, tended to spread a contagious disillusionment among the peninsular friars upon their return.11 For example, Mendieta wrote in 1569: They tell us that it is a wonder when anyone wants to come, at least among those who are qualified for this work, because they have heard from those who have left here about the great worry and concern that we suffer here. [dícennos que por maravilla hay quien quiera venir, á lo menos de los que para esta obra serían idóneos; porque de los que de acá han ido oyeron la gran inquietud y turbaciones que acá pasamos.]12

Similarly, a few years later the viceroy of New Spain made the following request: May Your Majesty order that the provincials be advised that, if they do not know their friars well, they should not send them, because, having arrived here, they do not do any good, and their prelates end up sending them home, and there they discourage the others so they do not dare come here.

10 Mendieta, “Avisos para nuestro Rmo. Padre General Comisario de las Indias, 1574,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, pp. 160–61. 11 Borges, El envío de misioneros, p. 226. 12 “Mendieta to Philip II, 1569,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, p. 100.

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[mande V.M. que se adbierta á los prouinçiales que, si no fueren muy conoçidos, no los embien, porque, llegados acá, no hazen ningun prouecho, y bueluen los á echar de la tierra sus prelados, y allá deuen desanimar á otros para que no osen pasar acá.]13

Mendieta also recommended in his letter to the comisario that any disobedient or unmotivated friars be punished henceforth in New Spain, rather than sent back to their home monasteries as had been the custom, because their bad example and their bad reports tarnished the image of the mission and discouraged new recruits.14 These general complaints from New Spain certainly point to the negative impact of disgruntled friars, but specific examples (that is, names and dates) are elusive. One such example, however, is Alonso Maldonado de Buendía, who went to Perú around 1551 and later worked in New Spain. In 1561 he was sent to Spain to inform the king of several reforms that the friars felt were necessary in the colony. He took his charge seriously enough that, upon failing to achieve the reforms in his first visit to the royal court, he made three further visits over the next decade, condemning the chronic abuse against the indigenous peoples, explaining the physical and spiritual toll of the mission field on the friars, and threatening divine retribution on the empire if the king should fail to rectify these problems. While Maldonado’s message was consistent with other correspondence generated in New Spain at the time, his aggressive presentation caused him trouble with Franciscan authorities both in Spain and in New Spain. For example, in addition to visiting the court, as he had originally been sent to do, he traveled widely around the peninsula, airing his grievances in many Franciscan houses and thus attempting to gain momentum for his reforms. In the process, he also gave those friars firsthand testimony of the extreme hardship—spiritual and otherwise—of the mission field. By 1568 the resulting uproar led New Spanish authorities to revoke his license to speak on their behalf and led peninsular authorities to seclude him in several different recollect houses. Maldonado did not relent, however, with the eventual result that the peninsular Franciscan authorities imprisoned him for ten years, denying him any contact with the outside world and thereby silencing his complaints.15 The case of Maldonado de Buendía is 13 14

Cartas de Indias, vol. 1, p. 280. “Que procuren de reprimir y corregir allá en Indias á los frailes que hallaren ser

díscolos y mal inclinados, y no los envien acá á España, porque con sus ruines costumbres causan flaca opinión de los buenos que allá quedan.” Mendieta, “Avisos para nuestro Rmo. Padre General Comisario de las Indias, 1574,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, p. 148. 15 Pedro Borges, “Un reformador de Indias y de la orden franciscana bajo Felipe II: Alonso Maldonado de Buendía, OFM,” AIA, 20 (1960): pp. 287–93, 315.

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perhaps an extreme one, but it demonstrates vividly the poisonous impact a returned missionary could have on recruitment and the great lengths to which Franciscan authorities would go to counter that impact. In addition to such negative reports, there was the simple difficulty of convincing friars to leave behind the life they knew. Embarking for New Spain meant abandoning the patria, friends, and even the occasional visits of family members. It meant the exchange of a conventual life more or less austere but without doubt more comfortable and peaceful than that of the evangelization, the risks and discomforts of the voyage over land and sea, as well as the spiritual and physical dangers … connected to the mission enterprise. [el trueque de una vida conventual más o menos austera pero sin duda alguna más cómoda y tranquila que la de la evangelización, los riesgos e incomodidades del viaje terrestre y marítimo, así como los peligros espirituales y físicos o, por lo menos, las dificultades de orden humano anejas a la empresa misional.]16

Such hesitations were present from a very early date, as in a 1532 exhortation to the Franciscan general chapter that specifically criticized those who might prefer to stay cloistered in the monastery rather than rising to meet the challenges of evangelization: Before such a glorious enterprise, no one could refuse. Before such a circumstance and need for good works, no religious could prefer to remain in the monastery devoted to prayer. [Ante una empresa tan gloriosa, nadie podía negarse. Ante una tal coyuntura y necesidad de obrar el bien, ningún religioso podía preferir quedarse en el convento entregado a la oración.]17

Mendieta himself felt the same hesitations after returning to Spain in 1570 on official business. He did not even suffer from the uncertainty that faced new missionaries; he knew exactly what conditions were like, and he did not want to return. He wrote in a 1573 letter to his companion and superior, Miguel Navarro, that though he had not wanted to leave his work in New Spain, he had now found the peace that had eluded him in the field, and did not want to leave it behind:

16 17

Borges, El envío de misioneros, p. 221. Ibid., p. 179. Borges draws his translation of the exhortation from Marcellino da

Civezza, Storia universale delle missioni francescane (Rome, 1857–95), vol. 6, p. 569.

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Since I am here now and content, blessed God, I do not want to make a voluntary move, but rather if I have to go, may God take me as if by the hair, under obligation. [mas ya que estoy acá y hallo contento, bendito Dios, no quiero hacer mudanza voluntaria, sino que si hubiere de ir me lleve Dios como de los cabellos, y lo tenga yo obligado.]18

Several other factors damaged the recruiting of new missionaries. The Protestant Reformation, for example, diverted potential missionaries, political will, and financial resources into defensive efforts against that threat and its peninsular offspring.19 The rapid growth of the Society of Jesus across Europe and its entry into Mexico in 1572 may have exerted a strong pull on those young men who felt called to mission work and who might otherwise have joined the Franciscans. Continued reform efforts among Franciscans in Spain, particularly those of Pedro de Alcántara to revive and expand the eremitic spirituality of San Gabriel, may also have led some friars to prefer staying home to the spiritual perils of the mission field. Financial problems also appeared in the interactions of the recruiters with the Council of the Indies, which paid for missionary travels. Thus, when Zumárraga at one point had recruited a full thirty friars to embark with him for New Spain, the council refused to pay for more than twelve.20 Perhaps the most significant of these factors was the widespread resistance of peninsular Franciscan authorities to the recruiting efforts, a seemingly ironic phenomenon which will appear again presently. Franciscan mission leaders, then, found it difficult to recruit enough friars to carry out their work effectively. This difficulty, in turn, profoundly affected the spirituality of the missionaries in several ways. Antagonistic bishops seized upon the friars’ acute staffing shortages as ammunition against them. Those shortages also led to dramatic geographic retreats by the Franciscans, to the rise of creole friars to prominence within the order, and to a significant shifting of standards for missionary recruits—all of which carried the order ever farther from the eremitic roots of its mission enterprise. From the earliest days of the evangelization, Franciscans had complained that they needed more missionaries in order to advance their work. By the 1560s the staffing shortage had reached crisis proportions, forcing them “Mendieta to Miguel Navarro, 6 January 1573,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, p. 168. Inga Clendinnen, Ambivalent Conquests: Maya and Spaniard in Yucatan, 1517–1570

18 19

(Cambridge, 1987), p. 50. 20 “Zumárraga to Suero del Aguila, 17 September 1538,” in García Icazbalceta (ed.), Don Fray Juan de Zumárraga, vol. 3, pp. 164–8.

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not merely to slow the advance of their work but to reverse it. Over the course of that decade, the Franciscans closed at least ten monasteries and feared they would have to close them all if they could not find some solution to their recruiting crisis.21 The primary stated reason for the closings is of particular interest for this study. It was not simply that the friars lacked sufficient men to populate these houses but rather that they could not do so without destroying their spiritual health. Whereas a secular priest might be able to move to an indigenous village alone, administer the sacraments, and feel that he had done his job, the tradition of the Franciscans required that they also live in mutually supportive community, carrying out not only the ministerial work of the church but also the communal life and liturgy of the monastery. This the friars could not do, so they retreated. In 1564 Franciscan authorities requested permission to close several monasteries, citing their spiritual health as the cause: For our better recollection, and in order better to spur one another on in the execution of this work, we sought in this recent Chapter and in the previous one to abandon some of the houses that we possessed, because in recent years many Religious have died and few have come from Spain. [Para mayor recogimiento nuestro, y para esforzarnos mejor unos á otros en la prosecución desta obra, queriamos dejar en este último Capítulo y en el pasado algunas casas de las que tenemos tomadas, porque de pocos años á esta parte se nos han muerto muchos Religiosos y venido pocos desos reinos de España.]22

Without sufficient community to support them in their work, then, they could not maintain their spiritual well-being, so they chose to withdraw, a stark example of how Franciscan spirituality could take precedence over the Christianization of the indigenous peoples. By 1567 the friars had closed these houses and found themselves under attack by the viceroy as a result, who had promised to find sufficient friars to keep the houses open. The arguments they offered in their defense provide further insight into the spiritual impact of the recruiting crisis. First, the houses they had closed were in outlying areas, far from the watchful eye of their superiors and usually of severe climate. As we have seen before, this harsh climate of the Mexican lowlands devastated missionaries both physically and spiritually. Similarly, Mendieta here called these areas 21 Multiple letters speak of these closings and the friars’ fears for the future. For example, “Provincial and Difinidores to Philip II, 1567,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, pp. 65–6, and “Navarro to the Comisario de Corte, 25 February 1569,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, pp. 102–8. 22 “Provincial and Difinidores to Philip II, 10 February 1564,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, pp. 20–21.

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wastelands and argued especially that new missionaries should not be sent to such areas, because in such places they so often despaired of their mission and fled to Spain.23 He also argued that the smartest thing ever done in the province [la cosa mas acertada] was to abandon six of these houses and that the friars should never return to them, even if they were to develop a surplus of friars: The reasons are because they are all like slaughterhouses for the friars, where they go lame and get sick. Also, because they are causes of great distraction for the friars. Also, because they can hardly be visited by their Prelates. [Las razones son porque todas ellas son degolladero de frailes, adonde se mancan y cobran enfermedades. Item, porque son ocasionadas para distraerse los frailes. Item, porque apenas pueden ser visitados de los Prelados.]24

All of these circumstances had grave spiritual consequences for the friars in these houses. Second, the provincial of Santo Evangelio argued in 1568 that, in order to keep those outlying houses open, he would be forced to send not just new arrivals from Spain but complete novices into those difficult areas. To press these young men [mozos] into early service in order to compensate for the grave lack of friars in these outlying houses would stunt their growth, taking them away from their studies and their spiritual training, which in turn would cause as much damage to the Franciscans as to the people upon whom they were thrust.25 Mendieta had already complained the year before that, in the best of circumstances, the training of novices was very weak in New Spain: There is nothing in which this Province is weaker … than in not having some houses where all the young friars can benefit from study and recollection … and conserve the good ceremonies of the order. [No hay cosa por donde más esté coja la Provincia en las cosas de Religión, como es por no haber en ella algunos conventos formados adonde aprovechen

23 “en ninguna manera los envíen recién venidos á los derramaderos ... porque no se desconsuelen, y pidan luego la vuelta á España, como suele acaecer.” Mendieta, “Avisos tocantes á la Provincia del Santo Evangelio, 1567,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, p. 72. 24 NCDHM, vol. 4, pp. 77–8. 25 “así no les pueden dar estudios ni enseñarlos como conviene en las cosas de la Religión; lo cual es grandísimo daño, así para la misma Orden y Religión, como para la doctrina que estos han de enseñar después a los naturales.” “Miguel Navarro to Viceroy don Martín Enríquez, 1568,” in NCDHM, vol. 1, p. 67.

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en estudio y recogimiento todos los mancebos, y adonde también puedan recoger á los aviesos, y conservar las buenas cerimonias de la Orden.]26

To place these same youth into situations where their training was even further hindered was shortsighted at best, if not utterly devastating for their own spiritual health, for the evangelization of the indigenous peoples, and for the order as a whole. Even if they were somehow to survive the spiritual turmoil of working in harsh conditions with little or no support, they would damage the order in the future because of their abbreviated training in the observance of the rule of Francis. The geographic retreat of the friars, then, derived in large part from the difficulty of maintaining Franciscan spiritual rigor in outlying monasteries with too few men and too little oversight. Another result of the recruiting crisis at mid-century was a growing influx of creole friars into the ranks. As the flow of new peninsular missionaries slowed to a trickle, Franciscan mission leaders looked for alternatives. After early and unsuccessful attempts to recruit indigenous nobility into the order, they turned to creoles, those men who had either been born in New Spain to peninsular parents or who had taken their Franciscan vows in the colony, wherever they had been born.27 The mutual distrust that characterized peninsular/ creole relations throughout the colonial period already existed by midcentury, so it was highly controversial to accept creoles into the order. Peninsular leaders believed that creoles lacked the rigorous discipline required both for mission work and for Franciscan life in general and so were very hesitant to recruit them. Indeed, by the last third of the century (1583), Franciscan authorities at the general chapter in Toledo declared that creoles were to be excluded from the order. Meanwhile, New Spanish mission leaders were facing tremendous personnel shortages and thus were much more willing to consider creoles as missionaries, even against peninsular opposition. While it is difficult to know exactly when the order started accepting creoles, the process had begun by the 1550s, because the provincial of Santo Evangelio complained in 1558 that Montúfar, as part of his crusade against the friars, was refusing to ordain any of the men he had recruited in New Spain.28 Moreover, from 1570 the Franciscans 26 Mendieta, “Avisos tocantes á la Provincia del Santo Evangelio, 1567,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, p. 76. 27 Pedro Borges and Francisco Morales, “Los hermanos menores en las Provincias de América. Procedencia geográfica del personal de las Provincias,” in Francisco Morales (ed.), Franciscanos en América: Quinientos años de presencia evangelizadora (México, 1993), p. 148. 28 “Francisco de Toral to the Council of the Indies, 25 November 1558,” in Cartas de Indias, vol. 1, pp. 132–3.

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in New Spain began aggressively recruiting creoles as a solution to their personnel problems, despite the negative opinion of peninsular authorities. As a result, while in 1569 there were two hundred twenty-five Franciscans in New Spain, the great majority of whom were peninsular, by 1600 there were over six hundred friars, of whom fewer than fifty were from Spain.29 To say with the peninsular authorities that creoles lacked the necessary discipline for mission work would be a qualitative assessment that is beyond the purposes of this study. We can say with certainty, however, that creole friars did not receive the same spiritual tradition and training available in Spain, and however effective they might have ultimately been in their mission work, their spiritual formation was thus markedly different. They did not have access to the intense eremitic training available in Spanish provinces such as San Gabriel. There were at this time no eremitic houses in which to spend years cultivating the spiritual and contemplative maturity that might help them maintain the rigor of their regular observance in the mission field. Instead, they were trained in the field, and it was a constant and losing battle to isolate them from ministry work long enough to complete a normal novitiate. For their roles as missionaries, pastors, preachers, or confessors, perhaps this training was exemplary. For their roles as spiritual heirs of Francis and their missionary forefathers, however, it represented a clear shift of standards. Thus, the influx of creoles into the order as a remedy for the recruiting crisis stands as evidence of a significant adaptation in Franciscan spirituality, of the eremitic habitus of the missionary pioneers giving way to something new. Shifting spiritual standards were not merely a result of the influx of creoles, however. Navarro’s 1568 defense of his decision to close several monasteries also indicates that the personnel shortages caused by the recruiting crisis had pressured Franciscan leaders to change the spiritual standards for all friars. He was already concerned that keeping those houses open would force him to deploy novices into the field before they were adequately prepared. He also argued that the shortage tempted leaders to accept new friars into the order who were unfit even to begin that preparation, which in turn would lead to the relaxation and destruction of the order.30 Moreover, guardians and provincials were forced by the shortage to soften their stances on discipline and observance, fearing that enforcing the full rigor of the rule would drive friars to abandon the

Borges and Morales, “Los hermanos menores en las Provincias de América,” p. 148. “vernían á dar el hábito de la Religión más indiferentemente de lo que conviene, y así

29 30

se daría á muchos que serían después causa de relajar y destruir la Orden.” “Miguel Navarro to Viceroy don Martín Enríquez, 1568,” in NCDHM, vol. 1, p. 67.

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field.31 Perhaps even worse, the inability of friars to staff all the houses led provincials to appoint guardians who were not yet ready for that role, thus diminishing their spiritual leadership.32 The sense of Navarro’s argument is that all these factors together created a downward spiral, in which discouragement and spiritual decay led to defection from the order, which then exacerbated the shortages and caused more discouragement. The only way to stop this decay was to close as many monasteries as necessary to bring staffing needs back into balance, regardless of the impact of such closures on the religious instruction of the indigenous peoples.33 Indeed Navarro argued that the impact of the closures would be a net gain for the indigenous peoples, because the overstretched friars in the current situation were unable to do their jobs adequately anyway. It would be better to have fewer houses doing better ministry to fewer people, than to continue failing everyone and destroying the friars themselves in the process. While Navarro believed these closures would halt what he perceived as a loosening of standards, there is no evidence that they had this effect. Instead, the evidence suggests that Franciscan spirituality at the end of this second period had departed dramatically from the eremitic ideals of the missionary pioneers, a departure that vocal Franciscan leaders unequivocally interpreted as a dangerous spiritual decline. Mendieta complained in his 1567 Avisos of a general loss of their religious fervor and good order.34 In the same document he referred several times to the relajados, or those friars who had abandoned the rigorous observance of the rule of Francis, and the grave danger they represented to the entire order in New Spain. For example: if some sick friar should have need of an item of linen [in contrast to the harsh fabrics normally in use], provide it with liberty and with the greatest secrecy possible, in order not to give occasion to the relajados to do what they see in the exterior. And if on some friar should be found clothing unfit to our state, no matter how hidden it may be … the punishment that must be given him is to burn it on his back, or something equal: because if those who are beginning “no se pueden corregir los díscolos ni apremiarlos con la disciplina y rigor que las Religiones acostumbran, lo cual resulta en grave y notable daño de la misma Religión.” Ibid., vol. 1, p. 67. 32 “no se pueden poner ellas [las casas] los guardianes que en todo puedan dar contento ... porque no todos (aunque sean muy buenos religiosos) satisfacen en el oficio.” Ibid., vol. 1, p. 67. 33 Ibid., vol. 1, pp. 68–9. 34 “Las cosas que causan el perdimiento de la Religión, y que los Prelados no puedan regir bien esta Provincia, ni los súbditos tener asiento en ella, son las siguientes ....” Mendieta, “Avisos tocantes á la Provincia del Santo Evangelio, 1567,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, p. 67. 31

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to destroy the order with such abuses are not attacked with all vigor, later the poison will go spreading and the bad custom will prevail. [si algún enfermo tuviere necesidad de cosa de lienzo, súplala con licencia y con el mayor secreto que pudiere, por no dar en lo exterior ocasión á los relajados para hacer lo que ven, sin tener necesidad. Si en algún fraile se hallase traje indecente á nuestro estado, por oculto que sea, como es cuera ó cosa semejante, el castigo que se le había de dar es quemárselo en las espaldas, ó igual á este: porque si á los que comienzan á destruir la Orden con semejantes abusos no se les ataja con todo vigor, luego va cundiendo la ponzoña y prevalece la mala costumbre.]35

He did not merely suggest that some friars had relaxed their standards but rather presented it as a given. He further asserted that the company of relajados was large enough that not only the mission enterprise but the entire Franciscan order in New Spain was in danger of destruction. Similarly, in his 1574 Avisos Mendieta warned against a creeping decline of discipline in the monasteries, as guardians departed from the customs of their first fathers and loosened the observance of the divine office, mental prayer, scripture reading, and physical austerity.36 One might object that all the evidence of spiritual decline in this section comes from Mendieta alone, just one friar among many in New Spain. He was not, however, just one among many but was prominent among Franciscan leaders in New Spain, and he continued to be so for years after these complaints. His colleagues had long before commissioned him to write an official history of the mission, the Historia Eclesiástica Indiana from which this book has drawn so much material. They had also made him a sort of appointed redactor for official Franciscan correspondence in this later period of the century, an official spokesman for the order in New Spain. He would presumably have been silenced by his fellow leaders if he were simply making wild and baseless accusations, much as he was silenced by the crown in the 1590s when his Historia was buried rather than published. His continued service among them as a spokesman for the order’s concerns then suggests that his words accurately represented a common concern among the leadership. The recruiting crisis of the second period, then, had a powerful impact on Franciscan spirituality in New Spain, pushing its eremitic foundations ever further into the background and opening the way for a different spirituality increasingly driven by a creole majority serving as pastors in 35 36

Ibid., vol. 4, p. 82. Mendieta, “Avisos para nuestro Rmo. Padre General Comisario de las Indias, 1574,”

in NCDHM, vol. 4, pp. 147, 152–4.

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established parishes rather than as pioneer missionaries pushing forward the boundaries of the church’s influence. Itinerarium Catholicum Profiscentium ad Infideles Convertendos The year 1574 saw the publication of the first scholarly missiological work concerning New Spain, the fruit of over forty-five years of mission experience.37 It reflects the complicated marriage of Franciscan spirituality and mission work, and it provides a theoretical basis for some of the changes observed in this study. The Catholic Itinerary for Those Who Set Out to Convert the Infidels is a collection of individual missiological treatises by Juan Focher, compiled and edited by Diego de Valadés.38 Focher had come in 1532 from his native France to New Spain, having been a professor of law at Paris before joining the order and having studied theology and canon law afterward. His unique ministry in New Spain was to apply his learning to the unprecedented questions that arose in the mission field, a ministry that was especially important in the early years before the provincial councils of Mexico and the Council of Trent were able to apply the church’s teaching to the new context. For example, he provided legal opinions about such issues as indigenous multiple marriages or the correct administration of the sacraments, and his reputation grew throughout New Spain to such heights that Mendieta reported that his opinions were taken as final decisions. He did learn Náhuatl and used it in both preaching and confessing, but he spent most of his working hours in scholarly activity. His legacy was so great that, upon his death in 1572, one Augustinian friar wrote that the friars of all orders were left in the darkness.39 His editor, Diego de Valadés, was a missionary and teacher in New Spain from about 1550 until he departed for Spain in 1571, after which he served in several administrative offices and compiled Focher’s earlier treatises into the Itinerarium.40 Scholars are divided about how faithfully Valadés represented Focher’s original writings when he put the Itinerarium in its final form, but regardless of the answer, this work is a reflection Bert Roest, Franciscan Literature of Religious Instruction before the Council of Trent (Leiden–Boston, 2004), p. 270. 38 Juan Focher, Itinerarium Catholicum. Itinerario del misionero en América, ed. Antonio Eguiluz (Madrid, 1960). The only extant original is the 1574 Sevilla edition kept at BNE R/28177. 39 “Pues el padre Fucher es muerto, todos podemos decir que quedamos en tinieblas.” Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, pp. 677–9. 40 Isaac Vázquez Janeiro, “Fray Diego de Valadés. Nueva aproximación a su biografía,” in Actas del II Congreso Internacional sobre los Franciscanos en el Nuevo Mundo (siglo XVI), La Rábida, 21–26 de septiembre de 1987 (Madrid, 1988), pp. 843–72. 37

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on forty-five years of collective Franciscan mission work, written by an experienced missionary (or two). The final product examines a wide range of topics, including the biblical rationale for evangelization, the necessary qualifications for missionaries, the role of coercion and catechism in baptism, the prerequisites for just war against the indigenous population, and the friars’ use of weapons in self-defense. Of particular interest for this study is Focher’s discussion of two separate forms of life for missionaries, which I quote here at length: Christ the Lord, upon sending the Apostles to preach, established a double form of living. First, when he said to them in Matthew 10: “Do not take gold, or silver, or money in your belts, or a bag for your journey, or two tunics, or shoes, or a staff.” For this form was observed by them in times of peace: that is, when both on their journeys and in the villages where they went to preach, they provided them with food and the rest of the things necessary for life. But he also set before them a second norm, saying in Luke 22: “But now, the one who has a purse must take it, and likewise a bag. And the one who does not have”—understand a sword—“must sell his tunic and buy a sword.” For that form of life, instead, almost contrary to the other, was legitimately observed by the Apostles in times of persecution: that is, when both on the journey and in the villages where they went to preach they probably would not find someone to supply the necessities of life. For Christ, not wanting the promulgation of the Gospel to fail on account of the observation of the first norm, allowed them to carry on their journeys not only the necessary food, but also even to use a moderate self-defense, when otherwise they would not be able to advance and preach. He shows through this that a lesser good should not impede a greater good. [Christus Dominus Apostolis ad praedicandum missis duplicem vivendi formam constituit. Primam, quando, Matth. 10, eis dixit: Nolite possidere aurum, neque argentum, neque pecuniam in zonis vestris, neque peram in via, neque duas tunicas, neque calceamenta, neque virgam. Haec enim forma ab eis fuit observata tempore pacis: id est quando in via et apud eos, quibus praedicaturi erant, de suo eis providebatur victu et de aliis ad vitam necessariis. Secundam vero eis praefixit normam dicens, Luc. 22: Sed nunc qui habet sacculum, tollat similiter et peram. Et qui non habet—supple gladium—vendat tunicam suam et emat gladium. Ista enim vivendi forma, alteri pene contraria, ab Apostolis tempore persecutionis licite fuit observata: id est, quando in via et apud eos, quibus praedicaturi erant, probabiliter non invenirent qui eis vitae necessaria ministrarent. Nolensque namque Christus quod propter prioris normae observationem Evangelii periret promulgatio, concessit eis in via deferre necessaria ad suum victum, sed et moderata uti defensione, quando

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aliter incedere et praedicare non possent: per hoc ostendens, quod minus bonum non debet impedire maius.]41

Two important points arise in this paragraph. First, Focher asserted that both forms of life, as different as they were, came directly from the mouth of Christ. He did not, then, subordinate one to the other but rather granted legitimacy to both. Second, he introduced a principle that permeated his entire work: a lesser good must not impede a greater good. This principle had guided him through his decades of navigating complex ethical situations for his confreres, and it was here codified as a basic rule of the missionary enterprise. In the next chapter of the Itinerarium, Focher applied this teaching specifically to the New Spanish mission context. In doing so, he altered the definition of the “evangelical perfection” that the missionaries were to pursue. This important term had previously signified, both to the missionary pioneers and their eremitic forefathers, a strict adherence to a rigorist interpretation of the rule of Francis. It meant contemplation, prayer, physical austerity, corporal discipline, and perhaps above all, absolute poverty. Moreover, when the demands of mission work made such exercises of evangelical perfection impossible to fulfill, many friars chose to retreat from the work for the good of their spiritual health. The Insulana friars are the clearest example, but others as well did very little “mission” work, preferring their contemplative repose in the monasteries, and Franciscan authorities sometimes retreated entirely from outlying indigenous villages, preferring to abandon the doctrina of those people rather than to send their friars to their spiritual (and sometimes physical) slaughter. Focher, however, presented a different perspective. “It is, thus, something that concerns evangelical perfection, that the missionaries observe, according to the diversity of the times, this double norm of life set out for the Apostles.” [Ad perfectionem igitur spectat evangelicam, quod euntes ad convertendos infideles illam duplicem Apostolis praefixam vivendi observent pro temporis diversitate, normam.]42 Focher thus tied evangelical perfection to active ministry rather than limiting it to the spiritual disciplines, as if to be perfect the friars must live this double life when circumstances required it. Thus, when they traveled or lived in Christian villages, the friars should carry nothing with them, trusting that God would provide for them through the villagers, just as their rule had taught them to do. This was in keeping with the rigorist understanding of evangelical perfection. In cases, however, where the friars could not depart 41 42

Focher, Itinerarium Catholicum, pp. 30–32. Ibid., p. 33.

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on a journey with a reasonable expectation that people would provide for them, they should carry provisions, including money to resupply. Though Francis himself had gone to heroic lengths to avoid even touching money, Focher here taught that “carrying traveling money in no way diminishes their evangelical perfection, because each form of life is evangelical and instituted by Christ.” [tunc viaticum deferentes in nullo perfectioni derogant evangelicae; cum uterque modus sit evangelicus et a Christo institutus, pro temporum diversitate.]43 Next, Focher related this teaching to the greater good: Since the conversion of the infidels is an evident utility of the Church, just as the Friar Minor may carry money in necessity, as when otherwise he would perish from hunger, so also is it permissible when it serves the common good of the Church or an evident utility for the common good. For the conversion of the infidels is a greater good than not carrying money; and a lesser good … does not impede greater goods … Thus, it must be said for our purpose, that since for the Friar Minor, not carrying money because of his vow is a lesser good than the conversion of the infidels, if he cannot observe both things, he may legitimately omit the lesser good in order to practice the greater, even when the one is for him a precept (not carrying money), and the other is a choice (that he go to convert infidels). [Et cum conversio infidelium sit evidens Ecclesiae utilitas, sicut Fratri Minori in necessitate licet deferre pecuniam, quando aliter esset fame moriturus, ita ei licet quando curat commune Ecclesiae bonum et evidentem boni communis utilitatem; namque maius bonum est conversio infidelium, quam sit non portare pecuniam; minus enim bonum, ut dicit divus Thomas … non impedit meliora bona … Sic itaque dicendum est in nostro proposito: scilicet quod cum non deferre pecuniam Fratri Minori ratione voti sit minus bonum, quam conversio infidelium, si utrumque servare non potest, quamvis unum sit sibi praeceptum, scilicet non deferre pecuniam, et alterum consilium, scilicet ire ad convertendos infideles, licite omittit minus bonum, ut melius operetur bonum.]44

Finally, Focher opened this door of necessity much more broadly, saying that it would be absurd for a friar to neglect his mission simply because of his scruples about carrying money. Instead, he could even disguise himself in secular clothing, if such action were necessary for safe passage. Such actions, illicit in other circumstances, were made legitimate by necessity. Thus, Focher pointed to the example of the Maccabees fighting on the sabbath or David eating consecrated bread in order to stave off hunger 43 44

Ibid., p. 34. Ibid., pp. 35–6.

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or the apostles picking grain on the sabbath with Jesus and eating it, all of which were justified by the necessity of a greater good.45 Thus, almost anything could be licit for a missionary, as long as it was necessary or manifestly useful for the greater good of converting the indigenous peoples. Focher’s analysis closely resembles the arguments made by Franciscan leaders in the thirteenth century, after Francis’s death, those who became the Conventual party. Bonaventure, especially, felt that God had created the order to fill the void left by the corrupt and incompetent secular clergy, and he used his position as minister general to move the order in that direction, even when the resulting evolution went against the literal teachings of Francis.46 Above all, their calling was to save souls, and if that meant they had to spend more time in study than in manual labor or more time preaching than in contemplation or more time fighting for their rights against the secular priests than submitting to their authority, then so be it. The greater good of salvation subordinated all these lesser goods. Just as many thirteenth-century friars sought to loosen Francis’s standards so they could better serve the church, so also did the demands of mission work in New Spain become a greater good for Focher that required adaptation of the rule of Francis and its prescribed spirituality. While the friars’ actions in New Spain did not always correspond to this principle, this was the theory that Focher developed as he sought to bring the collected wisdom of the church to bear on the mission field. As such, he helps to explain why many missionaries persisted in difficult situations about which they simultaneously complained. He helps to explain why many friars indeed fought vigorously for their right to stay in positions that did so much damage to their souls. He helps to explain why so many friars were willing for centuries afterward to serve as parish priests in New Spain, a ministry that was very much against their vows yet very necessary for the church’s mission. The work of Focher also serves as a caution against the temptation to imagine a simple linear trajectory of spiritual decline over the course of the first missionary century. While chroniclers such as Mendieta do indeed tend toward such models, lionizing the missionary forefathers while railing against their successors, Focher shows that the changes in Franciscan spirituality were not necessarily for the worse, that such evaluations depend entirely on one’s perspective and priorities. His teachings were not simple rationalizations offered by slothful or disgruntled friars but were rather thoughtful arguments about how the friars could best serve the greater good of the church, based on ample evidence from scripture

Ibid., pp. 37–8. Moorman, History of the Franciscan Order, p. 143.

45 46

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and canon law and on years of practical experience in the mission context about which he wrote. Though Focher seems thereby to have introduced a kind of Conventual Franciscanism into the mission field, he himself had no intention of diminishing the friars’ observance of the rule through his analysis of the greater good; Mendieta described him as observantísimo in his faith.47 Nevertheless, Focher’s arguments could have also been used by relajados as justification for their spiritual liberties, much as Mendieta warned that any necessary concessions be made in secret, lest the relajados take them as license to loosen their own observance. Almost any liberty, after all, could be defined as “necessary” or “manifestly useful” to the greater good, if enough like-minded friars sought to do so. Focher’s analysis, then, provides theoretical insight into the evolution in Franciscan spirituality in New Spain, from an initial eremitic emphasis to much greater variety. I cannot establish that any particular friar was motivated by Focher’s arguments in any particular situation, but he was highly influential among the missionaries, and his influence may well lay behind some of their otherwise puzzling actions. Focher’s analysis also provided an opening to those friars against whom Mendieta and others railed, those who simply sought to loosen the standards without concern for the greater good, some of whom appear in the next chapter of this study. The state of Franciscan spirituality at the end of this second period of study, then, was troubled. The period began with a failed attempt to resuscitate the eremitic ideals of the first missionaries, and ended with grave concerns about the order’s future in New Spain. While there had been complaints of “unfit” friars in the field almost from the beginning, their proportion seems to have grown during this second period, as a result of ongoing strife with the secular clergy and difficulty recruiting peninsular missionaries. Indeed, according to prominent leaders such as Mendieta, they were approaching a critical mass that endangered the existence of the order in New Spain altogether, at least as its missionary pioneers had envisioned it. Apart from the failed Insulana experiment, there was little talk of eremitic spirituality in the writings of the period, and many friars struggled even to reach the more moderate standards of Regular Observant spirituality. It would be presumptuous, however, to declare that these changes in Franciscan spirituality were necessarily for the worse, for such a qualitative determination privileges the eremitic perspective and depends on the relative priorities one places on the diverse goals of the Franciscan mission. For example, if the most important goal was to Christianize the indigenous peoples, as in the thinking of Focher, then the influx of Mendieta, Historia eclesiástica indiana, p. 678.

47

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creole friars was perhaps a positive development, while it was certainly a disaster for those whose priority was to preserve the eremitic spirit of the first twelve missionaries. The mission field most certainly, however, had a profound effect on Franciscan spirituality, by placing the friars in unprecedented work conditions that made their traditional practices all but impossible, by forcing them into bitter conflicts with both ecclesiastical and civil authorities that distracted and discouraged them from their spiritual exercises, by filling gaps in staffing with creoles who had not had the same type of spiritual formation, and by changing the standards of what constituted a “fit” missionary.

Chapter 6

Crisis and Renewal in the Maturing Church, 1574–1599

The Real Patronazgo of 1574 By the start of this period, the evangelization of New Spain was largely complete, and the friars’ work had shifted predominantly toward pastoral care and administration of indigenous parishes. This is not to say that the friars had fully Christianized the indigenous peoples (whatever that would precisely mean) or that there were no pockets of rural territory that still lay outside the control of the church. It does mean, however, that any friar who felt called to undertake missionary work in this period—that intensive linguistic, cultural, and religious code breaking that characterized the first period—would find himself at the distant frontier of the colony, far from the central areas where the majority of his confreres lived and worked. Most Franciscans at this point, then, were no longer really “missionaries” but were rather more like pastors in relatively stable areas. As the colonial church entered this mature stage, all parties had to consider the question of what their role would become in the church’s ministry. Many Franciscans intended to remain in their positions as pastors to the indigenous peoples. While the latter may have been nominally converted, the friars could see that their work of Christianization was not yet complete. They believed the people were not yet ready for full membership in the church, if they ever would be, and these friars therefore sought to retain their pastoral roles. Other friars had withdrawn almost entirely from indigenous work, turning instead to more traditional Franciscan occupations such as scholarship or auxiliary ministry to Spanish Christians. This withdrawal is evident when Miguel Navarro in 1573 had to exhort his friars not to abandon the indigenous ministry: Let each one labor as much as possible in the Indian work, learning their languages if they do not already know them, and improving them if they have already started, and exercising them if they already know them, in continual confession and preaching and other exercises … because the harvest charged to us, and that which everywhere awaits our help, is great, and we workers are

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few, and even in them it seems that the spirit and fervor they used to have is now extinguished. [que cada uno trabaje lo posible en la obra de los indios, procurando aprender su lengua y lenguas los que no las saben, y aprovechar en ellas los que tienen principios, y ejercitándolas los que las saben, en continuas confesiones y predicaciones y otros semejantes ejercicios ... porque la mies que tenemos á nuestro cargo, y la que en todas partes aguarda nuestro socorro es mucha, y los obreros somos pocos, y aun en esos parece que está ya apagado el espíritu y fervor que en otro tiempo solía haber.]1

The secular clergy and bishops, for their part, recognized that they had very little control over the church in New Spain, for the friars still labored under papal exemption from episcopal authority. Given that the indigenous population was still much larger than the Spanish and that the friars were the predominant ministers among them, large portions of the church were essentially ungovernable for church authorities. In 1574 civil and secular authorities determined to resolve this awkward circumstance, with explosive results. For ammunition they turned to the decrees of the Council of Trent, which among many other things sought to increase episcopal control over the church and to increase the quality of pastoral care.2 Of particular relevance to the conflict between the friars and bishops was the following decree from Session 25, held in December of 1563: In monasteries or religious houses of men and women which have attached to them the spiritual care of lay persons over and above those belonging to the household of the monasteries or institutions, the persons both regular and secular who carry out this care are to be immediately subject in all that concerns the said care and the administration of the sacraments to the jurisdiction, visitation and correction of the bishop in whose diocese they are situated. [In monasteriis seu domibus virorum seu mulierum, quibus imminet animarum cura personarum saecularium, praeter eas, quae sunt de illorum monasteriorum seu locorum familia: personae tam regulares quam saeculares huiusmodi curam exercentes, subsint immediate in iis, quae ad dictam curam et sacramentorum

1 “Patente del Comisario General para las Provincias de Nueva España, 1573,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, p. 187. 2 For the difficulty of implementing the Tridentine decrees in New Spain, see Amos Megged, Exporting the Catholic Reformation: Local Religion in Early-Colonial Mexico (Leiden, New York, Koln, 1996).

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administrationem pertinent, iurisdictioni, visitationi et correctioni episcopi, in cuius dioecesi sunt sita.]3

Friars in New Spain, of course, had been exercising the cure of indigenous souls for some forty years, making them directly subject to this decree and thus putting their episcopal exemption into doubt. According to the letter of this law, if they desired to exercise cure of souls after Trent, they would have to submit to their bishops. It was, however, much easier for the council in Europe to pronounce the decree than to enforce it, so it did not immediately transform religious work in New Spain. As late as 1595, the friars still were able to acquire papal confirmation of their privileges, insofar as those privileges did not explicitly contradict the decrees of Trent.4 It was also no simple matter to discern and prove such contradictions or to determine exactly how such decrees applied to the unique ministry in New Spain, if at all. The episcopal struggle to rein in the religious clergy, therefore, continued unabated at the start of this third period, ten years after the decree. At the same time, Spanish royal policy was shifting away from the friars and toward the secular clergy, a circumstance that probably made all the difference in the events that followed. We have seen that Ferdinand and Isabel, followed by Charles V, greatly favored the religious orders in general and the Franciscans in particular. The crown supported their mission with financial resources, helped with recruiting, and gave great weight to the friars’ policy recommendations for both ecclesiastical and civil administration. Not every decision went the friars’ way, but there was little doubt that the crown supported their prominence in the colony. With the ascension of Philip II, however, the fortunes of the friars began to change. As Trent had attempted to increase centralized control over the church, so did Philip seek to increase his economic, legal, and ecclesiastical control over New Spain. For this purpose, the independence of the friars was problematic. The crown had no statutory authority over the friars and thus could do no more than exhort them to support its policies. For example, when Philip decided it would be best if the indigenous peoples learned Spanish and integrated into colonial society (even if only as forced laborers) rather than continuing in the largely separate spheres the Franciscans had cultivated, he nevertheless could not force the friars to teach them Spanish and facilitate their integration. He ordered them to do so, but the friars simply dragged their feet.5 Norman P. Tanner (ed.), Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils (London, 1990), vol. 2,

3

p. 780.

García García, “Los privilegios de los franciscanos en América,” pp. 386–7. Phelan, Millennial Kingdom, pp. 83–5.

4 5

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Philip did, however, have strong authority over the secular clergy through his right to appoint bishops, and if he could find a way to subject the friars to episcopal authority, he would thereby gain some measure of control over them as well. Out of this shared frustration of church and crown was born the Real Patronazgo of 1574.6 This order consisted of twenty-three articles, many of which had appeared earlier but failed to take root. As Schwaller summarizes, the Patronazgo placed all ecclesiastical matters more closely under the authority of the king as the church’s patron. It gave the viceroy, as vice-patron, more direct authority over the church’s administration and confirmed the role of the civil court [audiencia] as the judicial supervisor of the church’s jurisdiction. In order both to increase royal control over the church via the episcopacy and to increase the quality of pastoral care in New Spain—both key concerns of Trent—the Patronazgo also ordered the secularization of all rural parishes, the creation of benefices in those parishes, and the institution of competitive exams to fill those benefices.7 The rural parishes were overwhelmingly indigenous doctrinas staffed by friars exempt from episcopal control, and while their secularization would mean eventually installing a secular priest, in the short term it meant subjecting the remaining friars to the presiding bishop. This order, then, struck directly at the religious independence of the friars. Moreover, the creation of benefices, while ostensibly aimed at improving the quality of the clergy, was also a blow against the mendicant friars. “The benefices differed from the earlier simple curacies in that they carried with them a guaranteed salary and that the cleric could hold the post for life without fear of being hastily removed by a new bishop.”8 The theory was that the guaranteed salary and job security of a benefice would encourage more bright young men to study at university and enter the priesthood, thus increasing both the intellectual quality of the priests and the pool of available manpower. Such a system, however, left no place for the Franciscans, who had vowed to live in poverty and to beg for their sustenance. One intention of the Patronazgo, then, was to force the friars back into their monasteries and back into the more auxiliary ministerial role they had played for centuries before in Europe. In short, its authors intended to put the friars in their place.9 As with the decrees of Trent, the Patronazgo did not immediately have the intended effect. Archbishop Pedro Moya de Contreras enthusiastically 6 John Frederick Schwaller, “The Ordenanza del Patronazgo in New Spain, 1574–1600,” The Americas, 42 (1986): p. 254. 7 Schwaller, “Ordenanza del Patronazgo,” p. 254. 8 Ibid., p. 254. 9 Poole, Pedro Moya de Contreras, p. 60.

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embraced the system of competitive exams but implemented it in staggered fashion in order to avoid the chaos that would result from vacating and filling all the parishes at the same time. Moreover, he could not find enough candidates to compete for even the limited number of positions available at any given time.10 For example, when he opened competition for two benefices in the Mexico City parish of Veracruz, only two candidates presented themselves, and the examiners found neither of them suitable.11 The situation was even worse in the rural parishes, and indeed the church did not successfully secularize all of them for hundreds of years, since there simply were not enough qualified secular priests to fill the positions. Nevertheless, the Patronazgo firmly declared the crown’s increasing preference for the secular clergy over the friars and marked a major milestone in the former’s ascendancy.12 The relevance of the Patronazgo to the spirituality of the Franciscans lies in their vigorous responses. According to extant sources, they were nearly unanimous in their opposition to the Patronazgo. A characteristic example of this opposition appears in a letter from the leaders of San Francisco de México: I do not know if a more suitable scheme could have been invented for the destruction of the order of Saint Francis, and because it is such a monstrous proposal … I do not entirely believe it. [No sé yo si para la destrucción de la Orden de Sanct Francisco se podría inventar más apropiada traza, y por ser una cosa tan monstruosa, y también por no la haber oído de boca del Señor Visorrey no he dado á ella entero crédito.]13

Their specific arguments were similar to those they had deployed against Montúfar in the 1550s and 1560s. While the Patronazgo stood to make them all into pastors [curas] under episcopal authority, the friars argued that they did not want to serve as pastors under any circumstance and certainly not under obligation to the bishops. Such subjection would go against their vow of obedience to the pope, exercised through submission to the Franciscan hierarchy. Introducing an additional authority, external to the order, would cause confusion at best and devastation at worst. Whom would the friars obey if the authorities did not agree? How would 12 13 10

Ibid., p. 61. Schwaller, “Ordenanza del Patronazgo,” p. 257. Ibid., p. 274. “Para el Rmo. Padre Comisario General de todas las Indias en Corte de S.M., 1574,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, p. 197. 11

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guardians maintain discipline in their houses if the friars knew they really only had to please the bishop?14 Such confusion would destroy their discipline and the vow of obedience. Many Franciscans also protested the financial ramifications of the Patronazgo. They argued that, even if the pope were to give them a dispensation that allowed them to receive salaries and eventually benefices, they would not accept it, for their poverty was their most important vow: And if they say that the Pope would give us a dispensation to be able to receive the stipend of curates, we do not want such a dispensation, because by accepting it we would cease to be observant Franciscan friars. [Y si dicen que también el Papa dispensaría en que podamos llevar el estipendio de Curas, no queremos tal dispensación, porque por el mismo caso dejaríamos de ser frailes observantes de la Regla de S. Francisco.]15

According to this reasoning, there was simply no way to accept either the episcopal obligations or financial benefits of an official pastorate while remaining a Franciscan. In addition, the friars condemned the Patronazgo on the grounds that it would destroy their regular observance. They could not obey this order because “we know that if we accept and receive it thus, that our Religion very quickly would come to a notable relaxation and downfall” [sabemos que si lo tal aceptásemos y recibiésemos vendría en pocos días nuestra Religión en notable relajación y caída.]16 Throughout this missionary century, friars had complained of the effect of active ministry on their spiritual health, and the same concern arose in this context as well. Mendieta wrote that for their peace and recollection and perfect observance of their state, it is very important to the Religious to leave the Indian ministry, because for the stated matters it is a great impediment. [Que á los Religiosos, para su quietud y recogimiento y perfecta observancia de su frailía, mucho les importa dejar el ministerio de los indios, porque para las cosas sobredichas les es harto impedimento.]17 14 “Las razones y inconvenientes que nos mueven á no aceptar el cargo y obligación de Curas, 1574,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, p. 206. 15 Ibid., p. 205. 16 “Miguel Navarro to Viceroy don Martín Enríquez, 12 December 1574,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, p. 200. 17 Mendieta, “Memorial de algunas cosas que conviene representar al Rey D. Felipe, 15 April 1587,” in NCDHM, vol. 5, p. 12.

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More specifically, he wrote in another letter that the indigenous work made it impossible for them to train new friars adequately before deploying them and that it similarly hindered their ability to correct and restrain unruly friars.18 The Patronazgo, with its introduction of financial rewards and its complication of the lines of appropriate authority, could only exacerbate these existing issues. Finally, the friars rejected the Patronazgo because of the perceived incompetence of the secular priests into whose hands it placed the whole church. This charge was not new in the 1570s, of course, but one of their letters reveals two new angles on the incompetence theme. First, they argued that, in order to find enough secular priests who could also speak indigenous languages, the new priests would have to be creoles, for they alone had lived in the land long enough to reach such proficiency. According to the author of this letter, however, creoles in general were “dissolute, unreliable, and lax.”19 They were incompetent for the ministry by the very fact of being born and raised in the colony. This letter also gives valuable further insight into the common charge that secular clergy were greedy. It states that most of the creole priests who would have to replace the friars were descendants of the conquistadores. While this might seem a prestigious and even lucrative status to hold, nearly the opposite was true, for the majority had seen their fortunes fade quickly as both royal policy and the availability of forced labor turned against them. By the 1570s most of these families were relatively poor, and any son who entered the ministry would thus feel pressure to use his priesthood to provide for his extended family. His primary attention, therefore, would not be on caring for the indigenous souls in his parish but on caring financially for his family—a circumstance, according to the friars, which could not but undermine all the work that they had done.20 The official response of the friars to the Patronazgo, then, was very negative. They agreed with secularization in theory, because they did not “la experiencia nos ha mostrado en esta tierra que la administración de los Sacramentos y doctrina de los indios, teniéndolos á nuestro cargo, nos ha sido grandísimo estorbo y notable perjuicio para la observancia y decoro de nuestra Religión, así por la libertad en que se crían los mancebos, como por las ocasiones que se ofrecen para mal, y poco aparejo para corregir y refrenar á los díscolos.” “Cerca de la segunda Cédula de los Curatos, 1585,” in NCDHM, vol. 5, p. 41. 19 “son gente viciosa, poco constante y relajada.” “Las razones é inconvenientes que hallan para que no se ejecute la real cédula,” in NCDHM, vol. 1, p. 181. 20 “Item, que si los curazgos se han de dar en la Nueva España á los clérigos que hay, todos ó la mayor parte son hijos y nietos de conquistadores, que por haberse acabado los repartimientos, han quedado ellos y sus madres y hermanos y parientes en mucha necesidad, y tendráse atención á esto para que todos coman y se sustenten.” “Las razones é inconvenientes...,” in NCDHM, vol. 1, p. 182. 18

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want to be pastors, but their conscience prevented them from submitting to it. Mendieta indeed said that stripping the friars of their pastoral positions through secularization would be a great blessing: We do not come [to protest] because this cédula is bad for us, nor do we have cause to be offended if the Indian ministry should be taken from us and given to the secular clergy. Instead, this would be a very good work and favor. It is true that for many years we have desired that this transaction could take place, because in addition to the work and aggravation that occur when we have charge of the Indians, and in addition to how much we lose our peace and spiritual consolation, we are also tired of the continual anxiety that some of the bishops cause us over this issue. [Ni venimos porque á nosotros nos está mal el cumplimiento de la dicha Cédula, ni tenemos de que nos agraviar de que se nos quite el ministerio de los indios y se dé á los clérigos seculares, antes en esto se nos hace muy buena obra y merced, y es verdad que de algunos años atrás hemos deseado que este negocio pudiese haber efecto, porque demás del trabajo y mohinas que se pasan con los indios en tener cargo de ellos, y de lo mucho que perdemos de nuestra quietud y espiritual consuelo, nos tiene ya cansados el continuo desasosiego que algunos de los Señores Obispos nos causan con la demanda destas sus ovejas.]21

They had never wanted to be pastors and would have liked nothing more than to hand over their positions to the secular priests, but those priests were not yet ready and would destroy by their incompetence the edifice that the friars had labored at great spiritual cost to build. Until enough qualified secular priests could be found, the friars begged that the crown not make their difficult situation even worse by forcing them into official salaried positions under episcopal authority. The friars’ official response also deployed the same type of ministerial blackmail seen since the earliest days of the mission. If the authorities should not heed their protests against the Patronazgo, if they should force the friars to submit to episcopal authority, they would simply abandon the field and place the indigenous souls on the royal conscience. The leaders of San Francisco de México wrote that if the Patronazgo were to take effect, the authorities should leave us in peace in our monasteries, doing what we do in Spain with the Old Christians, so that perhaps we will be able to slow somewhat the downfall of the Indians through preaching and confessing. And if not, let them give us license to return to Spain, which is what all of them generally prefer. “Mendieta to the Custodian of Zacatecas, 1582,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, p. 260.

21

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[á nosotros nos dejen en paz en nuestros monesterios, haciendo (si quisieren) lo que hacemos en España con los cristianos viejos, porque forte con las predicaciones y confesiones podremos entretener algo la caída de los indios; donde no, que se nos dé recado para volvernos á esos reinos de España, que es lo que todos generalmente más desean.]22

Rather than working under such conditions, these leaders would rather simply retire to their cloisters, limiting their ministry among the indigenous peoples to the same occasional offices they had exercised in Spain. Elsewhere, Mendieta took a much stronger tone, arguing that if the friars were forced to be pastors under episcopal authority, many of the most essential friars, the best linguists and workers that the orders have, will leave and abandon the ministry to the natives, because they are certain that they will cease to be friars and become mere secular clergy if they accept [the Patronazgo], and thus they would rather flee to the mountains and sustain themselves on grass than do this. [se saldrán afuera y dejarán el ministerio de los naturales muchos frailes de los más esenciales y de las mejores lenguas y obreros que tienen las Religiones, porque tienen por averiguado (como lo han siempre dicho y protestado) que dejarían de ser frailes y se volverían como clérigos seculares, si tal admitiesen, y así antes se irían á los montes á sustentarse con yerbas, que hacer esto.]23

In both instances, the friars expressed that they would rather withdraw entirely from pastoral ministry to the indigenous peoples than continue their work under obligation to the bishops. This was no idle threat, because as much as the king and the bishops wanted to rein in the friars, the American reality was that they still needed them in order to carry out the church’s mission in New Spain, which was of course the original justification for Spanish dominion in the first place.24 While much of the Patronazgo controversy echoes arguments from earlier in the century, two letters from Moya de Contreras introduce a new element and thereby provide insight that is largely hidden in the official responses of the Franciscans. In short, Moya called the friars’ bluff. In December 1574 Moya wrote to the Council of the Indies to repeat the 22 “Para el Rmo. Padre Comisario General,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, p. 197. The term “Old Christians” refers to long-term Spanish Christians, as opposed to newer converts from Judaism and Islam, who lived under constant suspicion of the sincerity of their Christian faith. 23 Mendieta, “Memorial de algunas cosas ...,” in NCDHM, vol. 5, p. 17. 24 Poole, Pedro Moya de Contreras, p. 97.

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same complaints about the friars that Montúfar had made before him. They neglected their work in order to protect their rule, they made the indigenous people build large monasteries for only one or two friars, they could not possibly provide adequate pastoral care to all the people under their care, yet they refused to share their territory with secular clergy. In all these cases, the friars so flaunted their exemption from episcopal authority that the conflict could not be resolved until the orders are reduced to their primitive observance and enclosure … and since they now offer to recollect themselves it would be good to take them at their word. [se reduzcan las órdenes a su primitiva observancia y clausura, y esto es lo que siento hablando con la claridad y verdad que debo, y pues ahora se ofrecen a irse recogendo será bien tomarles la palabra.]25

The friars were actually offering to do no such thing, at least not in the short term, but were rather merely trying to forestall their subjection to episcopal authority. A colorful illustration of this strategy comes from a Franciscan response to another cédula, which reaffirmed the substance of the Patronazgo after almost ten years of conflict. The author (likely Mendieta) explained in elegant detail how the friars actually should no longer protest and obstruct the royal order, because perhaps this was Saint Francis’s design to relieve his children of their spiritual suffering by forcing them out of the pastorate and into their monasteries for better recollection. The ironic conclusion to this argument was: Since it matters so much to the King for his conscience and for the good of his kingdom and vassals, that the Religious be in charge of these naturals, and not secular clergy, what must we think would move him to provide for the contrary, if not a divine ordinance that is pronounced for our benefit. [importándole al Rey tanto para su conciencia y para el bien de sus reinos y vasallos que los Religiosos tengan á su cargo estos naturales, y no clérigos seculares, qué se ha de pensar que le mueve á proveer lo contrario, sino divina ordenación que se lo dicta para nuestro provecho.]26

25 “Moya y Contreras to the President of the Council of the Indies, 20 December 1574,” in Paso y Troncoso (ed.), Epistolario de Nueva España 1505–1818, vol. 11, pp. 214–21. 26 “Vino Cédula de S.M. á los Sres. Obispos ... September 1583,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, pp. 274–5.

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The author’s irony illustrated that he had no intention of giving up the fight, but rather was trying to demonstrate the folly of the royal order, so nonsensical that only a supernatural intervention from God could have produced it. Moya, however, saw an opening to undermine their protests by calling for them to enact the extreme measure they had threatened. Moya employed the same strategy in a letter to Philip II nine years later, but the intervening years of conflict had sharpened his rhetoric. He reported that, in response to a 1583 cédula that affirmed the substance of the Patronazgo, he had summoned the heads of all the orders to his house to tell them how grateful they should be to God for such an order, because it clears the way for the perfection, enclosure, and observance of their rules. It prevents the relaxation and inconveniences that follow from their current way of life, being dispersed two by two across many houses, with only one remaining in the house in times of confession, because the others travel to the villages and visitas of the Indians. And it is easy to see how foreign this is to their state, and how it leads to disorder and indecency, especially since the majority of those who work this way are just boys. [pues toda se endereça á la perfection, clausura y obseruançia de sus reglas, y á euitar la relaxaçion y inconuinientes que se siguen del modo de biuir que de presente tienen, estando dispersos en las más casas de dos en dos, y donde ay más, en tiempo de confesiones queda vno solo, por yr los otros por los pueblos y visitas de los yndios; que quan ageno esto sea de su ynstituto y ocasionado á desorden y indeçencia, espeçialmente siendo por la maior parte moços los que se ocupan en este modo de administraçion, façilmente se dexa entender.]27

In short, Moya recited all their most vigorous objections back to them and then carried them to their logical conclusions. He offered to grant them several monasteries of their choice, in which they could recollect themselves permanently, without any obligation to care for indigenous souls, if they would simply acquiesce to the royal order for secularization of their parishes. Moya next leveled a very revealing accusation against the friars: The truth is that some prominent and truly religious men understand the favor that God and Your Majesty are extending to them, and they are very grateful for such a holy reformation [that is, the opportunity to retire to their monasteries]; but, in order to acquiesce to the majority, born in these parts or having come

27 “Moya y Contreras to Philip II, 26 October 1583,” in Cartas de Indias, vol. 1, pp. 234–5.

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from Spain, who like to be in charge as prelates and live licentiously as they have until now, they do not dare disclose their feeling. [Verdad es que algunos prinçipales y verdaderamente religiosos conoçen la merçed que Dios y V.M. les haze, y dan muchas graçias por tan sancta reformaçion; pero, por condesçender con la maior cantidad, naçidos en estas partes y venidos de esas, que gustan de mandar siendo prelados y biuiendo liçençiosamente como hasta aqui, no osan publicar su sentimiento.]28

According to Moya, then, the friars’ arguments against the secularization of their parishes were disingenuous, a cover for the fact that the majority of the friars simply liked the liberty of their pastoral existence and did not want to give it up to return to the more rigorous life of their missionary forefathers. Indeed, Moya concluded this letter by asserting that the friars actually opposed the Patronazgo not out of any principled concern for the indigenous peoples, but because it left them “free to observe what they professed, which as it seems, is what they hate the most.”29 Thus, according to Moya, a small remnant of true Franciscans were quietly hoping the Patronazgo would succeed, but they were outnumbered and silenced by the lax majority. Moreover, Moya was not the only person to accuse some Franciscans of hating their rule and preferring their freedom. Marcos de la Cámara, guardian of the monastery at Tula, preached to his friars in 1581: the religion is divided into two parts, like all other republics of the world. One part is composed of zealous observants, and servants of God. The other is of incorrigible people, and relajados, who would not want there to be justice in the order, and these detest this ordinance. [Sepan padres mios que la Religion esta diuidida en dos partes, como las demas Republicas del mundo, una de zelosos observantes, y sieruos de Dios. Otra de gente perdularia, y Relaxados, que no querrian, que uviesse en la Orden justicia, y estos abominan desta ordenacion.]30

Fray Marcos’s sermon, for which those same relajados denounced him to the Inquisition, challenged his zealous friars to root out corruption by

Ibid., vol. 1, p. 235. “no tienen de qué agrauiarse quitandoseles la carga y el reconoçimiento, y dexandolos

28 29

libres para guardar lo que profesaron, que, segun lo que pareçe, es lo que más aborreçen.” Ibid., vol. 1, p. 237. 30 AGN Inquisición 119, exp. 10, fol. 365r.

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reporting the excesses of their brethren when they traveled away from the monastery. Even Mendieta agreed with these descriptions of the order, as unflattering as they were. In the same 1587 letter to the king in which he said the best friars would rather flee to the hills and live on grass than submit to episcopal authority, he also made the following statement: There is no doubt that, if they force them into this [the secularization], the ministry and doctrine of the Indians will be lost, because the good and observant friars will leave and will not want to undertake this ministry, because they know that to do the work of pastors by way of strict obligation is repugnant to their profession as friars, and thus only the relajados would remain in the monastery, who having little fear in their conscience, would rush to accept the obligation, but they would not fulfill by their work what they offer by their words, but instead would harm the ministry. [que queriéndolos hacer obligar á esto pierda el ministerio y doctrina de los indios, no hay duda, porque los buenos y observantes frailes se saldrán afuera y no querrán entender en este ministerio, porque saben que el encargarse como Curas por vía de precisa obligación repugna á su profesión y frailía, y así quedarían en el dicho ministerio solos los relajados que teniendo poco temor en la conciencia se arrojarían á obligarse, mas no cumplirían por obra lo que ofreciesen de palabra, antes por ventura serían dañosos al ministerio.]31

Mendieta did not necessarily agree with Moya’s assertion that the relajados were a dominant majority, but he certainly acknowledged a significant body of friars for whom the Patronazgo caused little anxiety, despite all its spiritual perils for observant Franciscans. The results of the Patronazgo for Franciscan spirituality are unclear, for its implementation was uneven, contested at every turn, and drawn out over the course of two centuries. The rancorous conflict likely damaged the spiritual health of the friars, much as they complained the conflict with Montúfar had done in the previous generation. Moreover, if fully implemented, the ordinance had the potential to increase dramatically the pastoral duties of the friars (because they would thereafter be obligated by episcopal authority to meet all pastoral needs rather than selecting only the convenient ones) and thereby to cause even more frustration for their spiritual observance. Though the precise effect of the Patronazgo is unclear, its documentation does demonstrate the extent to which the eremitic spirituality of the first missionaries had splintered into a broad range of competing spiritualities. 31

Mendieta, “Memorial de algunas cosas ...,” in NCDHM, vol. 5, p. 13.

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Some welcomed the secularization as a chance finally to leave behind pastoral work and to return to their eremitic roots, much as the Insulana friars had attempted to do a generation earlier. Among this group, some friars may have sought rigorous enclosure, while others would have been content to retreat to the monastery for greater recollection while still exercising the auxiliary ministries of preaching and confessing that were common in peninsular Observant houses. The “official” party, on the other hand, the leaders of the order who produced the most extant correspondence for this period, argued that they wanted to retain their pastoral positions out of conscience. They longed for lives of greater quiet and recollection, but they had worked too hard among the people to whom God had called them to abandon them to the depredations of the secular clergy. In keeping with Quiñones’s charge to their forefathers, they recognized that their spiritual repose would be empty, that they would indeed be defrauding the indigenous peoples, if they were to forsake them in order to return to their eremitic roots. Finally, if the words of Moya and Mendieta are credible, a third party of friars also desired to retain their pastoral positions, but only because of the freedom that such positions afforded them. This group is harder to define, because no friars directly admitted to enjoying the freedom they found outside the monastery, at least not in writing. Both Moya and Mendieta labeled these friars as relajados, as those who had relaxed their observance of the rule and abandoned their spiritual standards and thus preferred the relative liberty of rural pastoral work to the more regimented communal life of the monastery. The nearly frantic tenor of the official correspondence suggests that these relajados were rapidly increasing and were perhaps already a numerical majority. By this point, then, the eremitic spirituality of the first generation, having faded into the background during the second period, still survived as an embattled ideal but nonetheless corresponded very little to the realities of ministry in New Spain. A Call for Eremitic Reform In addition to these sources generated by the Patronazgo controversy, other documents also point toward an increasing perception of spiritual laxity among the friars in New Spain. “Laxity” is of course a value-laden term, but nonetheless it is useful in this context. I use it to refer to Franciscan practice in relation to the rule of Saint Francis that the friars had vowed to uphold. Based on that standard, “laxity” refers either to failure to fulfill such obligations or to the pursuit and exercise of dispensations from such obligations. “Adaptation” would provide a more positive interpretation of the changes these sources reveal, but its use would require us to assume that

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the relajados were making changes to their spirituality for some greater purpose rather than merely to seek greater license. While some friars, like Focher, called for exactly these kinds of adaptations for the greater good, the sources in this section show that others were more concerned with evading the rigorous obligations of their Franciscan profession. Such perceptions of laxity were not new at the end of the sixteenth century, and relajados did not appear for the first time in the Patronazgo documentation. Indeed, early royal and judicial sources show accusations of laxity nearly from the beginning of the mission enterprise. By this third period, however, an increasing number of such accusations came from official documents of the Franciscans themselves. Where before Franciscan leaders might shrug off evidence of laxity as representing merely a few “bad apples” whose failings should not be exaggerated to undermine the good work performed by the majority of friars, now they were sounding very grave alarms about the spiritual state of their own order. Where before Franciscan leaders complained urgently about the spiritual perils of mission work and ecclesiastical conflict and pleaded with civil authorities to ameliorate those perils, now they were issuing very specific calls for internal action in order to stave off disaster. In 1573 the Inquisition tried Alonso de Cabello for heresy. He had come to New Spain with his family at the age of three, professed as a Franciscan at age fifteen, and found himself on trial by the age of eighteen. The Inquisition charged that he was an avid follower of Erasmus and, with the great humanist, a harsh critic of his confreres. He chafed against the rules of his monastery, especially those that prescribed external displays of religiosity. He found it unnecessary and superstitious to walk with fixed steps, to wear the hood, hands crossed, eyes low, to observe recollection in such a way as not to leave the cell except under obedience, to observe strict silence, to eat with the hood on. [andar con pasos concertados, traer la capilla puesta, las manos cruzadas, los ojos baxos, guardar el recogimiento en tal manera que no salga de la celda sino a caso de obediencia, guardar estrecho silencio, comer con la capilla puesta.]32

In Cabello’s confession before the Inquisition, in which he ceremonially recited his prior beliefs in order to repudiate them, he described how such displays were irrelevant to Christian perfection:

32 José Miranda, El erasmista mexicano Fray Alonso Cabello (México, 1958), p. 31. Original text is AGN Inquisición 116, exp. 1, fol. 56r.

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I scorned these things, considering them unnecessary for the keeping of the rule … Moreover, I believed that if these holy ceremonies were observed in their perfection and rigor, they were superstitious, and I called them superstitious because, according to my depraved judgment, they were given more honor than they deserved … I believed that they did not have to be observed with rigor, meaning in their perfection, and that even if someone were not to observe them completely, he should not for that reason be considered either imperfect or less good than another who observed them strictly. [Menospreciava estas cosas, teniendolas por no necessarias para la guarda de la regla ... Tenia mas, que si se guardavan en su perfeccion y rigurosidad estas santas cerimonias, que eran supersticiosas y llamavalas supersticiosas porque, segun mi depravado juicio, seles dava mas honor que el que merecían ... Tenia que no se avia de guardar con rigurosidad, digo en su perfeccion, y que aunque uno del todo no las guardase, no avia por eso de ser tenido por imperfecto ni menos bueno que otro que las guardasse estrechamente.]33

Furthermore, he had asserted that there was no genuine spiritual substance behind the pious facade, that Franciscanism had become nothing but its external displays: I called the life of the religious a fake religion, agreeing with what one part of the dialogue recklessly says, that the friars demonstrate religion only on the exterior. [en el llame fingida religion ala vida de los religiosos, concertando con lo que temerariamente el dialogo en una parte dize, que los Frayles solo en lo exterior muestran religión.]34

Cabello’s case offers two illustrations of what chroniclers such as Mendieta labeled “laxity.” The first is that of which he himself was accused, of rejecting the regular observance in favor of a decidedly unorthodox manner of expressing his faith. Second, his sharp accusations against his Franciscan brethren, including that the practice of recollection in New Spain was no more than a meaningless show devoid of spiritual content, give a glimpse (albeit a polemical one) of the state of Franciscan spirituality in this third period of the century. It is probably impossible to know how much of Cabello’s protest was the result of genuine spiritual conviction and how much of it was simply the impetuousness of his youth. Nevertheless, his example corresponds well with the warnings Miranda, El erasmista mexicano, p. 31. Ibid., p. 39.

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his contemporaries sounded about the growing laxity in the order in this period. In 1576 the Inquisition suspended Miguel de Oropeza for soliciting and consummating sexual relations with a woman who had come to him for confession.35 This in itself is not particularly revealing, nor is it unique to the missionary context of New Spain. Solicitation in the confessional was a long and unfortunate tradition in Europe, and New Spain was no different.36 Indeed, Oropeza’s trial was only one of many similar trials during the sixteenth century, and counted among the accused were secular priests, Franciscans, Dominicans, and Mercedarians. Oropeza’s suspension itself does not, therefore, indicate a decline in the spiritual quality of the friars in this period and certainly does not point to mission work as the cause of such a decline. A related document three years later, however, adds additional information. In 1579 the Franciscan comisario general asked the Inquisition to reinstate Oropeza, though he had not yet completed his sentence, not because he was innocent but because the order desperately needed more workers: Because of the lack of priests and ministers in this land, there is great need that all priests who are approved by the order … should exercise their office. [digo que por la falta que ay de sacerdotes y ministros en esta tierra ay mucha necessidad de que todos los sacerdotes aprobados por la orden ... exerciten sus officios.]37

Because Oropeza had been quietly serving out his sentence for three years “with all humility” [con toda humildad], the comisario begged that the Inquisition reinstate his license to confess, despite the moral hazard of such action. Oropeza’s case, then, shows that the warnings of the previous decade about the pressures of chronic labor shortages on spiritual standards were coming to fruition in this third period. A man who would otherwise have been in prison was sought to fill the shortage of mission personnel. In the years after the trials of Cabello and Oropeza, there were many further accusations of spiritual laxity. Mendieta raised alarms about the dispensations that many friars had been seeking, those incremental amendments to the regular observance that made life a little easier for individual friars but over time could erode the provisions of the rule almost beyond recognition. He wrote to the new viceroy in 1580: AGN Inquisición 68, exp. 5, fos 300–322. Stephen Haliczer, Sexuality in the Confessional: A Sacrament Profaned, Studies in

35 36

the History of Sexuality (New York, 1996). 37 AGN Inquisición 85, exp. 4, fol. 37.

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I beg Your Excellency … to show your devotion principally not by acquiescing to the friars who want to request positions or lands or other favors and privileges for secular persons, or to those who want to carry on businesses (because there is nothing in this land more damaging to our profession), but rather by desiring and endeavoring … for our monastic recollection and the observance of our profession to shine forth, favoring those who have true zeal for it, and avoiding those who desire to introduce relaxation. [suplico á V.E. ... sea servido de mostrar esta su devoción principalmente, no en condescender con frailes que se quisieren entremeter en pedir cargos ó tierras ó otros favores y mercedes para personas seglares, y en tratar sus negocios (porque no hay cosa en esta tierra más perjudicial á nuestra frailía), sino en desear y procurar, en cuanto fuere de su parte, que resplandezca en nosotros el recogimiento monástico y la observancia de nuestra profesión, favoreciendo á los que de ella tuvieren verdadero celo, y obviando á los que pretendieren introducir relajación.]38

In 1588 Mendieta warned the new comisario general not to be convinced by those friars who were seeking by special favors and petitions to relax the regular observance and indicated that these friars would attempt to buy his favor with special gifts: [P]rotect yourself from receiving gifts, because you would lose your freedom and would not be able to fulfill your duty with honesty. Third, that you do not let yourself be won over by the pleas of friars or seculars to do things that would relax the observance of our Religion, because in this country men try very hard to get what they want through favors and begging. [que se guardase de recibir dones, porque perdería la libertad, y no podría hacer con rectitud su oficio. El tercero, que no se dejase vencer por ruegos de frailes ni seglares para hacer cosa con que se relajase la observancia de nuestra Religión, porque en esta tierra procuran mucho los hombres salir por favores y importunos ruegos con lo que pretenden.]39

Finally, in 1582 he wrote to the minister general, asking him to pressure the Spanish crown to uphold the strict regular observance within the order, not allowing any friar to escape its rigor by any means:

“Mendieta to Viceroy don Lorenzo Xuárez de Mendoza y Figueroa, 16 September 1580,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, p. 232. 39 Mendieta, “Los cinco Avisos al Padre Comisario General Fr. Alonso Ponce, 1588,” in NCDHM, vol. 5, p. 77. 38

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That he keep and make to be kept with all rigor the Statutes of the Province, both general and particular; and that no one abolish or be able to abolish those that require stricter observance, nor dispense with them through secular intercession or any other way. [Que guarde y haga guardar con todo rigor los Estatutos, así generales como particulares de la Provincia; y ninguno de los que obligan á más estrecha observancia derogue ni pueda derogar, ni dispense en ellos por intercesión de seglares, ni por otra alguna vía.]40

All these warnings and more suggest that many friars in the 1580s were indeed seeking to alter the rigorous spirituality of their Franciscan forefathers. Mendieta responded to the growing laxity he perceived by issuing a bold proposal for an eremitic reform of the entire order in New Spain.41 This was not the first Franciscan call for reform, as leaders had often issued general exhortations for the friars to work harder or to improve their regular observance. Such appeals, however, had been aimed primarily at improving their existing practices, at helping the friars to do better what they were already doing. In this period, however, Mendieta began calling for much more profound reform, for fundamental change in the nature of the colonial Franciscan presence. Though his proposal ultimately failed, it nevertheless provides further insight into the state of Franciscan spirituality and its distance from the eremitic spirituality upon which the mission effort had been founded. Because of the importance of Mendieta’s analysis, I quote at length: I believe that Your Reverences share the desire that I, in my poverty and little virtue, have always had for the benefit of this holy Province in all Religion and holiness; and given the reverse and downfall that has occurred from how things used to be, I am one of those who have most closely felt them. And with this feeling, after having committed it to God (in whom consists the remedy for our ills), I have spent some time imagining and searching for what the Province (which is Your Reverences) could do so that we should not be in everything relaxing ourselves and becoming like the Conventuals or worse, but rather that there be some sign of that simplicity, purity and observance in which lived those blessed Fathers, the first founders of the faith and religion in this land, which is the same that the rule of our Father Saint Francis and the keeping of the Holy Gospel indicate. All the provinces of the order, after falling from their “Mendieta to Minister General Fr. Francisco de Gonzaga, 1582,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, p. 252. 41 Mendieta, “Traza de Ermitorios para Religiosos que desean recogerse, 1581,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, pp. 234–43. 40

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first rigor and luster, have been reformed in one of two manners (because it is difficult to reform the whole community, especially the large monasteries). The first is to appoint certain houses that are amenable to the reform as a Custody in themselves, where the reformation can occur for the consolation of the true zealots for their profession, and as an example for those who remained in the cloth (as they say there). In this way from the Province of Santiago was instituted the Custody of San Gabriel, which later became a Province. The other manner is to designate certain houses to be recollect houses for those who would follow that spirit, without making the distinction of Custody, as have done the Provinces of La Concepción and of Andalucía and others, which are very useful for preserving them in their Religion. I have found, for my part, that reformation cannot occur in this land by either of these two ways, and the reason is that in the Custody or recollect houses that should be formed, the friars would either have to be in charge of the Indians or not. If they should be in charge of the Indians, the reformation will be of no account, because they would later just return to the same situation in which we are now. We can see clearly that this is the reason for our ruin and why it is impossible for the Prelates to maintain the rigor of the Statutes. And if they should not be in charge of the Indians, the certain result is that they could not sustain themselves in their pueblos enough to have a fixed house of twelve or even of six friars in order to accept novices. There are not even Spanish pueblos where this could happen. Therefore I cannot find an effective remedy other than that Your Reverences put your shoulders very sincerely into the general reformation of the whole Province, reducing it as much as possible to the observance and holy customs of the old Fathers, noting with care what has been the cause or causes of the harm in which we live, and uprooting them by the stumps with appropriate diligence and by renewing the old ordinances that no longer exist, or at least are not read in any house of the Province. [Creo que consta á VV.RR. el deseo que yo con mi pobreza y poca virtud siempre he tenido del aprovechamiento de esta sancta Provincia en toda Religión y sanctidad; y vista la vuelta y caída que ha dado de lo que solía en otros tiempos ser, uno de los que entrañablemente lo han sentido y sienten soy yo. Y con este sentimiento, después de haberlo encomendado á Dios (en quien consiste el remedio de nuestros males) he gastado algunos ratos en imaginar y buscar el que de su parte la Provincia (que son VV.RR.) podrían poner para que del todo no nos fuésemos relajando y volviendo como Claustrales ó peores, sino que hubiese siquiera alguna muestra de aquella simplicidad, pureza y observancia en que aquellos benditos Padres primeros fundadores de la fe y religión en esta tierra vivieron, que es la mesma que suena la Regla de nuestro Padre Sanct Francisco y la guarda del Sancto Evangelio; y considerado que todas las provincias de la Orden, después de caídas de su primer rigor y lustre han sido reformadas en una de dos maneras (por ser difícil la reformación

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universal de toda la comunidad, en especial de grandes conventos), y estas han sido, la una hacer de ciertas casas para ello convenientes Custodia por sí, donde la reformación se ejecutase para consuelo de los verdaderos celadores de su profesión y para ejemplo de los que quedaban en el paño (como allá dicen), según que de la Provincia de Santiago se instituyó la Custodia de Sanct Gabriel, que después se hizo Provincia. La otra manera es señalar ciertas casas que sean recoletas para los que siguieren aquel espíritu, sin hacer distinción de Custodia, como las tienen la Provincia de la Concepción y del Andalucía y otras, y son de mucha utilidad para conservarse en Religión. He hallado por mi cuenta que por ninguna de estas dos vías se puede hacer reformación en esta tierra, y la razón es porque en la Custodia ó casas recoletas que así se erigiesen, ó habían de tener los frailes cargo de los indios ó no: si tuviesen cargo de los indios, no hay que hacer cuenta de la reformación que se pusiese, porque luego había de volver á lo mismo en que ahora nosotros estamos, pues vemos claro que esta es la ocasión de nuestra perdición y de imposibilitarse los Prelados á guardar el rigor de los Estatutos; y si no hubiesen de tener cargo de los indios, cosa cierta es que no se podrían sustentar en sus pueblos dellos para tener convento concertado de doce ni aun de seis frailes para tomar novicios; pues de españoles tampoco hay pueblos donde esto se pueda hacer. Y así yo no hallo otro eficaz remedio sino que VV.RR. pongan el hombro muy de veras á la reformación general de toda la Provincia, reduciéndola en cuanto fuere posible á la observancia y sanctas costumbres de los Padres antiguos, mirando con cuidado, qué haya sido la causa ó causas de haber venido á los daños en que estamos, y desarraigando las cepas dellos con poner las diligencias convenibles y con renovar las ordenaciones antiguas, que ya no las hay, ó á lo menos no se leen en alguna casa de la Provincia, que no sé qué más mal quieren que este.]42

Several points of this proposal merit comment. First, the terms in which Mendieta cast his argument demonstrate the persistence of the eremitic spirituality of the pioneer missionaries as an ideal norm, however distant that ideal had become. The solution to this crisis, in which he felt the friars were relaxing in everything and becoming like the Conventuals or even worse, was to return to the rigor of those pioneers, who had attempted to maintain their simplicity and observance despite the hard work they faced. Their brand of spirituality was the only salvation for the order in New Spain. Second, while Mendieta spoke reverently of the reforms of Puebla, Guadalupe, and Quiñones, he lamented that such partial and exemplary reformations were impossible in New Spain, precisely because of the work that had called them there in the first place. If the reformed friars should have responsibility for the pastoral care of the indigenous peoples, they would never succeed in their reform, for they would inevitably fall into 42

Ibid., in NCDHM, vol. 4, pp. 234–5.

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the same troubles that already plagued the order—the lack of sufficient personnel, the endless squabbles with secular clergy, the difficulty of maintaining common life in the monastery, the license and liberty that lured too many Franciscan pastors to their downfall. Mendieta argued that it was literally impossible to maintain the Franciscan observance while ministering to the indigenous peoples. If the friars, on the other hand, should be freed from that ministry, they would either starve or die out within a generation, and the reformation would die with them. As poor as these rigorous Franciscans desired to be, they still needed alms in order to survive. Without doing indigenous work, they would be unlikely to receive any support from the crown or colonial authorities, and the alms they needed in order to survive would instead go to indigenous tribute payments to civil authorities and fees paid both to the secular and religious clergy who still did the indigenous work. There would be nothing left over for the reformed Franciscans, certainly not enough to support monasteries of sufficient size to accept novices and thereby reproduce themselves and expand their reformation. The only solution, then, was a general reformation in which all Franciscans in New Spain would be forced to return to the rigorous eremitic spirituality of the forefathers. There were simply not enough financial or human resources to permit the partial reformations that had succeeded in Spain, in which a few friars went off to more rigorous houses to serve as examples for the others. Such a general reformation would, in turn, require that all friars return to the levels of abject poverty in which they had already promised to live, stripped of the decades of dispensations that had softened the requirement. Most importantly, however, the general reformation would bring an end to the intense pastoral ministry that had come to characterize the order in New Spain. The most qualified friars would still preach occasionally and hear confessions of local people, as they had similarly done after the earlier reforms in Spain, but the majority would dedicate their time to the work of recollection and the common life of the monastery. The focus of the order in New Spain would turn decidedly inward. Finally, the reference to “appropriate diligence” (which could also be translated “convenient speed”) suggests that Mendieta knew his proposals were radical and probably not immediately plausible. He wanted the Franciscan leaders to begin moving toward this general reformation as quickly as possible, and he wanted to extract his confreres from their debilitating ministry to the indigenous peoples as soon as possible, but his other correspondence shows that he was also gravely concerned about the effect that such a withdrawal would have on indigenous Christianity if executed prematurely. The next portion of Mendieta’s proposal, however, was in his mind immediately plausible and could suffer no delays—the establishment of

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hermitages near the principal towns and monasteries. Such hermitages would allow those friars who desired a more rigorous life to find their peace, burdened only with occasional duties to confess and preach to the lay people living closest to the houses. They would not be responsible for administering any sacraments, teaching doctrine, or visiting the pueblos. Again, I quote at length: In addition to undertaking our general reformation, another means occurs to me, which would be very helpful for it, and which would serve the consolation and tranquility of some servants of God who are unlikely to find it by other means, and who might abandon the Province for this reason, as some have done and others imagine, and for other benefits of no small importance that I will address below. Your Reverences know well that there are some old Religious in the Province, and perhaps some younger ones, of good desire, and that some of them are greatly discouraged by having charge [of indigenous peoples] when it is given to them, even if only to preside for a few days. Others are discouraged by having to deal with Indian business, whether at the monastery or in the visitas, and others by having to cross paths from time to time with Spaniards, and it is death to them. Others are discouraged from being in the company of young friars who are not very sober, others from seeing how little the prelates work to banish vice and encourage virtue. Others have scruples about masses, prayers for the dead, or monetary alms that are transacted improperly. Others are discouraged by similar things or by all of them together, and they imagine where they could go to finish out what remains of their lives in peace and tranquility and solitude, fulfilling what they promised to God, and these Religious could receive the comfort they seek from the means that I suggest, providing at the same time to the whole Province a beginning and motive for reformation. I propose that, since we cannot create an entire reformed Custody, nor recollect houses like in Spain, at least let the Province have some hermitages near the most important towns and monasteries, where these friars, who for the reasons above are not entirely content and do not have spiritual consolation, could be in tranquility and peace, confessing only and preaching to the Indians of the neighborhoods where they live, without having charge of them, living poor and exemplary lives. [Demás de poner este cuidado en nuestra general reformación, se me ofrece otro medio que para ella sería de mucha ayuda y para consuelo y quietud de algunos siervos de Dios que por otra vía apenas la alcanzarían, y podría ser que por esta causa desamparasen la Provincia, como algunos lo han hecho y otros lo andan imaginando, y para otros provechos de no poca importancia que abajo tocaré. Bien saben VV.RR. que hay en la Provincia algunos Religiosos antiguos, y por ventura otros modernos, de buenos deseos, que unos dellos reciben suma desconsolación de tener cargo cuando se lo encomiendan, y aun

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de solo presidir por pocos días, y otros de haber de tratar en casa ó en la visita negocios de indios, y otros que una vez ó otra no pueden escapar de atravesarse con españoles, y les es muerte: otros se desconsuelan de estar en compañía de mozos que no son bien morigerados: otros de ver lo poco que las cabezas se ayudan en desterrar vicios y animar á las virtudes: otros tienen escrúpulos de misas, responsos ó limosnas pecuniarias que á su parecer se reciben ó tratan ó gastan indebidamente: otros de otras cosas semejantes ó de todo junto, y andan imaginando adónde se podrían ir á acabar lo poco que les queda de la vida en paz y quietud y soledad, guardando lo que á Dios prometieron, y á estos tales se podría dar el consuelo que pretenden con el medio que digo, dando juntamente á toda la Provincia un principio y motivo de reformación, y es en esta manera: que pues no se puede hacer Custodia entera de reformación, ni casas recoletas como en España (según queda dicho), á lo menos la Provincia tuviese algunos ermitorios junto á los pueblos y conventos más principales, adonde estos Religiosos que por las causas arriba dichas no tienen entero contento ni espiritual consuelo estuviesen en quietud y sosiego, confesando solamente y predicando á los indios de los barrios adonde estuviesen, sin tener otro cargo dellos, y viviendo pobre y ejemplarmente.]43

Mendieta’s proposal conveys urgency in his reference to friars who had already abandoned the province and others who wanted to follow them. According to his perspective, these were exactly the kinds of rigorous friars that the order in New Spain could not afford to lose, so it was imperative that the leaders move to retain them. By creating hermitages where these men could seek their peace, the order not only would satisfy and retain these disgruntled eremitic friars but also would jump-start the general reformation that Mendieta desired and provide by their example a motivation for other friars to follow them into a more rigorous Franciscan spirituality. Next followed a long list of rules that Mendieta proposed for these hermitages, many of which provide a very detailed portrait of exactly how Mendieta felt pastoral work was destroying the order. The hermits might preach, but only to those who should seek them out. They must not take attendance or otherwise work to administer and enforce Christian practice among the indigenous peoples. They must only give the Eucharist in limited circumstances and to limited numbers of people, such as the gravely ill. They must not have anything to do with marriages, because of the administrative nightmare of enforcing Catholic marriage law on the indigenous population. They must not baptize, for the same administrative reasons. They must not punish anyone for any reason, not because it was wrong to do so, but because they were not to involve themselves in any 43

Ibid., in NCDHM, vol. 4, p. 236.

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matter of enforcement. They must refuse any masses or monetary alms, and if any other alms should be offered in exchange for such religious service, the hermits must refuse to accept them.44 From Mendieta’s perspective, then, it seemed that the relentless work of administering a parish and enforcing Christianity on a population of questionable willingness was the major source of the Franciscan discontent. Only by abandoning that work could the friars return to their eremitic roots, and only by returning to those roots could the order in New Spain survive. In some sense, Mendieta’s proposal—both for general reformation and for hermitages in the meantime—called for the Franciscans to move on, to prepare for the inevitable future in which they would no longer have a role to play in the Christianization of the indigenous peoples, to reinvent themselves by returning to their pre-mission roots. Toward the end of this document, he included a list of six benefits of establishing hermitages. Fourth on this list was the following: That we would gain experience in how the friars of this Province can exist when, with the passing of time, [secular] clerics enter the villages where we live, and we have to give up responsibility for the Indians. And the same Indians would learn to respect the Religious, given that he cannot arrest or whip them, and to give alms voluntarily, without compulsion. [Que se tomaría experiencia de cómo se podrían haber los frailes desta Provincia cuando andando el tiempo entren clérigos en los pueblos adonde estamos, y hayamos de dejar el cargo de los indios. Y los mismos indios se pondrían en costumbre de tener respeto al Religioso, puesto que no los pueda mandar prender ni azotar, y de hacerle limosna voluntariamente, sin tequio ni intervención de topiles ó mandones.]45

He knew that the day would come when the secular clergy would be in charge of the indigenous church, and the friars had to prepare for that time. A majority of the Franciscans in New Spain at this time had never lived in such a situation, having been recruited into the order in the exceptional mission field, and thus needed to be retrained for a more traditional Franciscan life of community, contemplation, and only auxiliary ministry to the lay people. The indigenous peoples, for their part, had only known the Franciscans as forceful (if perhaps loving) masters and teachers and apparently had no concept yet of the friars as contemplative recluses who needed voluntary alms to survive. Without some training of that population, the friars would eventually have to leave New Spain entirely, 44 45

Ibid., in NCDHM, vol. 4, pp. 237–41. Ibid., in NCDHM, vol. 4, p. 241.

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for lack of alms. The introduction of hermitages would be an important first step in that training. From the perspective of Mendieta, then, the spiritual edifice of the Franciscan order had fallen into deep disrepair by the 1580s. Virtually all extant evidence from the period indeed suggests dramatic departures from the eremitic norm that the missionary forefathers had established. An upstart young friar ridiculed and repudiated the foundational practice of recollection because it had become meaningless as practiced in New Spain, and a friar convicted of solicitation was sought out for his desperately needed pastoral skills. Moreover, where the evidence does indicate such dramatic changes, it also suggests strongly that the indigenous ministry, which had evolved into a pastoral burden unprecedented in Franciscan history, was the major cause. The Province of San Diego de México A final major development of this third period was the arrival in Mexico of a new group of eremitic friars in 1577. These friars shared much the same rigorous, austere, and contemplative spirituality, the same eremitic habitus, that the first missionaries had practiced, and the jarring contrast of their spirituality with that which had come to predominate in New Spain suggests just how much Franciscan spirituality had changed. These new eremitic friars, simply by their presence in Mexico, embarrassed the Franciscan leadership and spurred at least a limited renewal of the earlier spirituality of the Province of Santo Evangelio. Perhaps the most significant part of their ministry in New Spain was that they refused to participate in the indigenous pastoral ministry that had so troubled their predecessors, limiting themselves only to the minimal auxiliary ministry, such as preaching and confessing, which they could reconcile with their primary emphasis on eremitic spirituality. In some sense, then, Franciscan spirituality in New Spain came full circle with the arrival of these eremitic friars, who reintroduced the spirituality of the Guadalupan friars, but without involving themselves in the mission work that had so troubled their predecessors. These friars traveled to New Spain from the newly founded peninsular Province of San José, a brief history of which will illuminate the stir they caused upon arriving in Mexico. The Bull of Union in 1517, which officially placed the hierarchy of the Franciscans in the hands of the Observants, did not create “union” in any more than a juridical sense. Further, even that juridical union was undermined by the continued existence, however weakened, of the Conventual branch of the order. Recollect monasteries founded and favored by Quiñones flourished and succeeded in quelling

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some of the discontent of the most rigorous friars, who had been forced into submission to the Observant family. While those houses and their eremitic spirituality found some success, however, they did not satisfy all the eremitic friars. Instead, a small minority refused to submit to the Observants, and in their defiance lay the seeds of the next important reform movement in Spanish Franciscan spirituality. This minority, which took many names but came to be known most simply as the descalzos, the barefoot ones, persevered for decades in its devotion to eremitic spirituality. Their strict limits on the use of footwear symbolized the rigor with which they sought to live out Franciscan ideals. From their perspective, all Franciscans professed poverty and humility, but only a few had resisted the perennial temptation to soften the rough edges of that poverty. Many Franciscans had expressed their poverty by wearing humble footwear, but only the most rigorous had the conviction to live that poverty to the fullest, using only the most minimal foot protection, if any at all.46 Though this minority was the not the first group of Franciscans to emphasize descalcez, the term became for them a form of shorthand to signify their position as the leading dissidents against the prevailing Observant spirituality of the late sixteenth century. They were sheltered in their resistance, just as earlier eremitic pioneers had been, by the Conventual leadership, eventually forming a tiny jurisdiction, against great Observant opposition, called the Reformed Conventuals.47 By 1559 their leader Pedro de Alcántara (who was later canonized for his work) gained permission to form the Custody of San José with the five houses that these descalzos had managed to found and sustain, which in turn became the Province of San José in 1561.48 This official recognition, together with their incorporation on their own terms into the Observance in 1563, allowed the Alcantarine reform to flourish and expand rapidly across the peninsula.49 Indeed, from five houses in 1561, the Province of San José grew to 65 houses by the end of the century, not including the houses of several additional discalced provinces that San José birthed after it grew too large for effective provincial oversight.50 This revival and rapid expansion of eremitic spirituality did not go unnoticed Fernández describes this minimal protection as “sandalias de esparto o de cáñamo” (straw or hemp sandals). Ignasi Fernández Terricabras, “De la supresión al favor del rey: la difícil supervivencia de los franciscanos descalzos alcantarinos en tiempos de Felipe II,” in José Martínez Millán, Manuel Rivero Rodríguez, and Gijs Versteegen (eds), La corte en Europa: política y religión (siglos XVI–XVIII) (Madrid, 2012), p. 624. 47 Barrado Manzano, San Pedro de Alcántara, p. 496. 48 Abad Pérez and Sánchez Fuertes, “La descalcez franciscana,” p. 481. 49 Ibid., p. 524. 50 Ibid., p. 532. 46

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in New Spain, and indeed created a sort of “greener pastures” syndrome among missionaries of eremitic persuasion. The rapid ascendance of the Alcantarine reform in the Province of San José, despite continued opposition both by some Observant leaders and the crown, culminated in a call to the mission field. Thus, history repeated itself as the vanguard friars of a new eremitic reform were rewarded for their efforts by being sent to a mission field that might destroy that very reform. In the 1520s the Guadalupans of Santo Evangelio were sent to New Spain; in the 1570s, the descalzos of San José were sent to the Philippines. On May 21, 1577, nineteen descalzos left Spain for their new mission field. As was necessary custom, they stopped in New Spain for a period of rest before embarking at Acapulco for the even longer journey across the Pacific. Of the nineteen who left Spain, only ten arrived in Mexico City, eight having died in the crossing and another left desperately ill in Veracruz. Because of these losses, the surviving friars stayed six months in Mexico City, recovering their strength and recruiting replacements to accompany them to the Philippines. Those six months in Mexico had a profound impact on Franciscan spirituality in New Spain, as the Alcantarine reform came into direct contact with the crises of the missionaries. The descalzos took up residence upon first arrival in the most important Franciscan monastery of the colony—San Francisco de México. Shortly afterward, the newcomers moved into a separate hermitage.51 While they recovered there from the journey and prepared for the next leg, these descalzos carried on their eremitic spiritual life as they had in Spain, deeply impressing many in New Spain with their humility, austerity, and preaching prowess. For example, Juan de Ayora was the provincial minister in the Province of San Pedro y San Pablo (Michoacán and Jalisco) when the descalzos arrived. By the next year, he had renounced his position and joined them on their expedition to the Philippines.52 In the meantime, he joined with several other leaders to petition the king to found a monastery in Mexico City for these new friars. He stated: because of what I have seen of the perfection of life and example of the discalced friars that have recently come from Spain, and because of the great devotion and movement that, with their arrival and teaching, there has been in this land of New Spain, that it would be very good … to have a house of the said fathers Juan de Torquemada, Monarquía indiana (México, 1979), vol. 6, p. 72. Baltasar de Medina, Chronica de la santa provincia de San Diego de Mexico (México, 1682), fol. 8v. “Fundación de los RR.PP. Franciscanos Descalsos, 1786,” AGN Ramo de Historia 14, exp. 18, fol. 254v. 52 Antolín Abad Pérez, “Aportación americana a la evangelización de Filipinas,” AIA, 46 (1986): p. 956. 51

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in this city of Mexico, and it would be very helpful so that the friars who are going to Spain to seek the reformation that has been occurring there, would not go because they would have it here, and we would not lose the fruit that they could produce. It seems to me that many friars desire this greater observance of the rule they professed, which the said discalced friars practice with great perfection … Finally, the perfection of these friars and their poverty and great contempt for earthly things will be a mirror and very necessary restraint for all this land, as much for the friars of our order as for the clerics and lay people. [por lo que he visto en la perfection de vida y exemplo delos Frayles descalzos que agora vinieron de espana, y por la gran devocion y movimiento que con su venida y doctrina ha avido en este reyno dela nueva espana, que seria cosa muy conveniente al servicio de Dios n.s. y al bien universal desta ciudad y reyno, que hubiese casa delos dichos padres en esta ciudad de Mexico, y assi mesmo seria mucha parte para que los Frayles que se van a espana a buscar la reformacion que alla ay aviendola aqui no se irian, y no se perderia el fructo que podrian hazer porque me consta haber muchos Frayles que lo desean para maior guarda de la regla que prometieron lo qual con gran perfection guardan los dichos Frayles descalzos ... finalmente la perfection y pobreza y gran menosprecio delas cosas terrenas destos Frayles sera un espejo y freno muy necessario para todos estos reynos assi para los Frayles de nuestra orden como para la clerecia y pueblo.]53

In short, Ayora knew these friars intended to travel to the Philippines, and he did not desire to prevent them from doing so. He saw, however, how much positive impact they had immediately upon arriving in Mexico through their example and teaching of the lay people, and he saw how much potential for fruitful ministry they would have if they were to establish a permanent presence in Mexico City. They would not only provide a place of rest and recovery for their confreres headed from Spain to the Philippines, but would also help, through their presence and interaction with the lay people and other clergy, to restrain what Franciscan leaders saw as the increasing laxity of this period. That first band of descalzos did not fulfill his wish, and indeed they recruited Ayora and several others to go with them when they moved on, but the foundation for their later permanent presence had been laid. Moreover, two inferences from Ayora’s letter underscore the troubled spiritual state of the Franciscans at this time and the contrast created by the arrival of the descalzos. First, Ayora referred to friars who were leaving the province to join the Alcantarine reformation that was occurring in Spain at that time. He also believed that many more friars desired to leave for the Juan de Ayora, “Parecer sobre los descalzos, 1576,” AGI México 2705.

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same reason, and thus he hoped that founding a discalced house in Mexico City would prevent them from fleeing the field. This line of thought implied that there was at that time nowhere in the Province of Santo Evangelio where friars could practice the rigorous eremitic spirituality that had been the original norm of their mission. In order to practice what originally had been the norm, friars in the 1570s had to take the drastic step of fleeing back to Spain. A second related inference from Ayora’s letter is that the descalzos who had recently arrived from Alcántara’s Province of San José agreed with Ayora’s assessment. In Spain it had been customary throughout the century for friars en route from their home monasteries to the mission field to gather at the main Franciscan residence in Sevilla while they awaited their ships; the descalzo missionaries followed this custom.54 These new friars, however, arrived in Mexico for much the same purpose, to await their transport to the Philippines, yet found it necessary to establish their own separate residence. It is reasonable to speculate that there existed such a disconnect between their rigorous eremitic spirituality and that of their confreres that they simply could not coexist in the same residence. Even more remarkable than Ayora’s impression of the descalzos was that of the archbishop of Mexico, Pedro Moya de Contreras, certainly no close friend of the Franciscans. A few months after the first descalzos arrived, Moya wrote two letters to Philip II, also requesting that he establish discalced monasteries in New Spain. He described how the descalzos had spent their time in the city preaching very frequently and practicing other acts of virtue and humility with such meekness that they have been the cause of a very great edification of the people, and people of all estates have desired very insistently that they should found monasteries in this city. [ocupando este tiempo en predicar muy frecuentemente y ejercitándose en otros actos de virtud y humildad con tanta mansedumbre que han sido causa de grandísima edificación del pueblo y de que todos stados hayan deseado muy encarecidamente que fundasen monesterios en esta ciudad.]55

The archbishop enthusiastically agreed, asking the king to order their superiors in Spain to send some of these friars to establish the descalcez in

Juan de Santa María, Chronica de la provincia de San Ioseph (Madrid, 1615), p. 384. BNE R/25532–3. 55 “Moya y Contreras to Philip II, 16 December 1577,” in Paso y Troncoso (ed.), Epistolario de Nueva España 1505–1818, vol. 12, pp. 45–6. 54

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New Spain. Moreover, in response to the objection that there were already Dominicans, Franciscans, and Augustinians in the area, Moya wrote: since the institute of the descalzos is to occupy themselves completely in the benefit and teaching of the pueblo without undertaking other purposes, charges, nor matters foreign to their humility and poverty, they will be very important for these natives and also for the Spaniards, because they preach with their works, and they will not harm the other religious with their visible and exemplary reformation. [como el instituto de los descalzos es ocuparse totalmente en el aprovechamiento y doctrina del pueblo sin atender a otros intentos, mandos ni respectos ajenos de humildad y pobreza, serán de grande importancia para estos naturales y asimismo para los spañoles, pues predican con las obras y no dañarán a los demás religiosos con su visible y ejemplar reformación.]56

Moya’s second letter drew an even sharper contrast between the descalzos and their more established religious counterparts. After writing again about the wonderful example of virtue and humility the descalzos had given to the people of his city and about the broad following they had gathered, he turned again to the other friars. People of all estates have followed them, loved them, and desired them because their institute and way of life is so aimed at the utility and teaching of the people, and so separate from greed and other human matters. This is what in this land matters the most for the conversion and teaching of these natives and for the reformation of all the rest, who no matter how busy and concerned they are for their own interests and business, do not cease to be edified when they preach to them with works and words. And even if the other orders should continue on the same path, the true and evident poverty that is seen in this one is very powerful. [los han seguido, amado y deseado por ser su instituto y modo de vivir tan enderezado a la utilidad y doctrina del pueblo y tan ajenos de codicia y otros respectos humanos que es lo que en estas partes más importaría para la conversión y enseñamiento destos naturales y reformación de todos los demás que por muy ocupados y atentos que estén a sus intereses y negociaciones, no se dejan de edificar cuando se les predica con obras y palabras, y aunque las demás órdenes sigan el mismo camino hace mucha fuerza la verdadera y evidente pobreza que en ésta se ve.]57 56 “Moya y Contreras to Philip II, 16 December 1577,” in Paso y Troncoso (ed.), Epistolario de Nueva España 1505–1818, vol. 12, pp. 45–6. 57 Ibid., vol. 12, pp. 46–7.

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Thus, for these reasons, and notably because of the conformity and cooperation [conformidad y correspondencia] of the descalzos with their bishops, Moya requested that the king send more of them to live and work in New Spain. These letters, then, describe the same immediate and positive impact on the pueblo after the arrival of the descalzos. According to Moya, everyone loved them and they had a powerful if brief ministry of edification. Moreover, Moya saw the key to their success precisely in the eremitic way of life they had brought with them, which stood in stark contrast to that of the established friars. Where the latter concerned themselves with worldly issues such as jurisdiction or politics, the descalzos preached with simple words and works of humility and virtue. Where the latter had departed from the austere poverty they had professed, the descalzos lived it in all its rigor. Moya’s comparison is not entirely fair, but it does portray the contrast that both Ayora and Moya observed between the eremitic spirituality of the descalzos and that of the established Observants. The first group of descalzos to arrive in New Spain from the Province of San José, then, made a profound impression on many people—lay people and clergy, regular and secular—who had perhaps grown frustrated because of the bickering and worldliness of the friars. These descalzos also represented a significant threat to the established friars. First, the descalzos embarrassed them by exposing the laxity of many of their number. By this point in the century, many Spaniards and most creoles in New Spain had lost any sense of what the friars had been like before the mission started. The sharp contrast they saw when these most rigorous representatives of Franciscan tradition appeared in their midst immediately won the sympathies of many colonists for the descalzos. Second, the arrival of the descalzos exacerbated the problem of friars fleeing New Spain in order to participate in the peninsular reforms of which they had heard rumors. With the first band of descalzos, those rumors became reality and encouraged even more friars to leave, thus prompting Ayora’s request to establish that reformation in New Spain. Finally, the descalzos gave to the secular clergy and their archbishop a vision of what the Franciscan future in New Spain could look like, and that vision was not friendly to the established friars, who were fighting to retain their influence over the indigenous peoples and their independence from the secular hierarchy. The descalzos, on the other hand, focused inwardly on their common life, performing only auxiliary ministries of preaching and confession in support of the urban secular clergy and cooperating with their bishop. Despite their profound impression, the first group of descalzos moved on, arriving in the Philippines in July 1578 and founding the first Franciscan

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house in that land.58 A second group of descalzos arrived in 1581, this time establishing a permanent presence for the Alcantarine reform before sending some of their number on to the Asian mission. Upon arriving, they requested from Moya that he assign to them as a residence the Hospicio de San Cosme in Mexico City, from which they grew their numbers and founded several other monasteries until being elevated to provincial status in 1599 as the Province of San Diego de México.59 This second band of San José missionaries renewed the unfavorable comparisons of three years before, very possibly prompting Mendieta’s eremitic reform proposal from that same year. In that proposal, Mendieta complained that many friars were unhappy with the spirituality of the province, either trying to join the descalzo newcomers or leaving the colony altogether. He proposed both a general eremitic reform and the establishment of hermitages in order to console those Religious who, in the common life that the houses of the Province currently have, cannot find peace, and to prevent these friars and others whose absence would hurt the Province from going over to the descalzos or, as others have done before, leaving the Province altogether. [Consolar á los dichos Religiosos que en el modo común de vivir que tienen las casas de la Provincia no hallan ni quietud, y evitar que estos y otros cuya falta haría daño á la Provincia no se pasen á los Descalzos andando el tiempo, como otros antes de ahora lo hicieron, ó que no se vayan fuera de la Provincia.]60

With the same proposal he hoped to remove the reproach that affects the Province in the public opinion because of the strict manner of life of the said Discalced Fathers in comparison to ours. [Quitar el oprobrio que á la Provincia resulta en la opinión del pueblo de la manera estrecha de vivir de los dichos Padres Descalzos en comparación nuestra.]61

These words of Mendieta demonstrate both the growing dissatisfaction of the rigorous remnant and the public ridicule to which the Franciscan

58 59

Abad Pérez and Sánchez Fuertes, “La descalcez franciscana,” p. 483. Medina, Chronica de la santa provincia de San Diego de Mexico, fos 13v, 41r.

“Fundación de los RR.PP. Franciscanos Descalsos, 1786,” AGN Historia 14, exp. 18, fos 254v–255r. 60 Mendieta, “Traza de Ermitorios,” in NCDHM, vol. 4, p. 241. 61 Ibid., p. 241.

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establishment was subjected after the arrival of the descalzos in their territory. The establishment of the descalzos in New Spain and their uneasy interaction with their confreres suggest two conclusions about the state of Franciscan spirituality in the latter decades of the sixteenth century. First, the newcomers did not resolve the multiple crises facing the Franciscans in New Spain. Indeed, they did not even try. Their original purpose in New Spain was to provide support for the missions in Asia. Their houses were to be way stations for their missionary brethren, quiet refuges in which they could recover from the first leg of their journey. As such, the active ministry of the descalzos to the people of New Spain was a secondary concern; they never accepted the parish ministry that had so troubled their confreres, instead performing only auxiliary work that fit much better with their spiritual regimen. They certainly did not concern themselves with reforming the Province of Santo Evangelio. The unfavorable comparisons they prompted between their own spirituality and that of the established friars did prompt calls for reform by the latter, but in truth they made little difference. Many Franciscans remained in indigenous parish ministry at least into the eighteenth century, though Mendieta had argued that such ministry would be the death of the order. They continued to inhabit tiny monasteries in the rural outback of the colony, the isolation of which made it impossible for them to observe the spiritual practices of their profession. Moreover, the example of the descalzos did not necessarily reform the spirituality that had become prevalent in the larger urban monasteries, even as these friars were released from (or forced out of) their debilitating parish ministry by the slow wave of secularization. If anything, the descalzos may have hindered such reform, because any friar who desired to live a more rigorous eremitic life could simply join a descalzo house rather than agitating for reform within his own. The inadvertent pressure that the arrival of the descalzos placed on the established Franciscans, then, did little to resolve the crises of the order in the late sixteenth century. Second, the descalzos of New Spain in some sense embodied the central theme of this book, that effective mission work—both in the initial evangelization stage and the later pastoral stage—was ultimately incompatible with eremitic spirituality. For fifty years, many friars had attempted to practice both. Most of them failed, either abandoning the mission field to return to their peninsular monasteries or adapting their spiritual exercises to more practical levels. Some friars found modest success in this attempt, but the documents suggest that theirs was a frustrating existence compared to the religious life they had enjoyed in Spain. Moreover, whatever tense balance these latter friars were able to find between their mission work and their eremitic spirituality was ultimately unsustainable, for they could not create the conditions necessary to train

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future generations in their spirituality, to perpetuate their eremitic habitus. Even if they could recruit enough novices who were interested in continuing their eremitic traditions, they could not find the necessary time, energy, or resources to allow these new friars the intense novitiate that would equip them to carry on those traditions. Thus, by the 1570s only an entirely new group of fresh arrivals—with completely separate residences, jurisdiction, and ministry vocation—could revive the moribund eremitic spirituality upon which the Province of Santo Evangelio had been founded.

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Chapter 7

Peninsular Repercussions of the Mission Enterprise The evangelization of New Spain had a major impact on Franciscan spirituality in that colony. It greatly diminished the eremitic practice of the order in New Spain, until the discalced friars from the Province of San José staged a minor revival at the end of the century. In place of this eremitic spirituality that had been so important to the original missionaries, the friars of New Spain developed a variety of spiritualities that either purposefully or grudgingly adapted themselves to the unique exigencies of the colonial church. Friars such as Focher embraced these demands and guided their followers toward a highly pragmatic spirituality, in which the Christianization of the indigenous peoples of New Spain took priority over the contemplative concerns of the friars. Friars such as Mendieta, while also placing great value on this goal of Christianization, yet retained the rigorous eremitism of the first missionaries as the ideal and therefore bemoaned the negative effects of the mission work on the pursuit of that ideal. Whether Mendieta’s persistent language of spiritual “decline” to describe these changes is more appropriate than Focher’s language of adaptation or any other interpretive framework, it is certain that Franciscan spirituality at the end of the first missionary century was markedly different from that at the beginning and that the mission work itself was a major source of the change. The effects of the mission enterprise, however, were not limited to the mission field itself, but instead reached back into the peninsular houses of those who stayed behind. How did the news filtering back from New Spain affect their spiritual thought and practice? How did the departure and occasional return of their missionary confreres affect their communal life in the monasteries? How did the mission enterprise interact with the broader development of Spanish spirituality in the sixteenth century? Extant sources do not yield precise answers, but they do provide three glimpses of insight into these and similar questions.

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Personnel Conflicts I have examined above the effect of recruiting difficulties on missionaries in New Spain. They constantly struggled and failed to meet their personnel needs in central Mexico and fell ever further behind as the colonial territory expanded. These shortages caused several major problems for the missionaries. The secular clergy seized upon them as proof that the friars were not up to the task and that the bulk of the ministry should therefore be transferred to them. The shortages also forced provincial leaders into difficult choices between the Christianization of the indigenous peoples and the spiritual health of the friars. They did not have enough men to staff all their houses, at least not at a level that would permit those friars to maintain the communal liturgical and spiritual life that was so central to their Franciscan profession. Thus, in order to protect the integrity of that communal life, leaders chose to close monasteries in outlying areas, thereby contracting the boundaries of the church’s influence and at least temporarily abandoning the Christianization of those peoples. In this chapter, I examine the effects of these personnel shortages and recruiting difficulties on the spirituality of the peninsular monasteries. There definitely were significant effects, as shown by the vigorous resistance mounted by many provincial and local officials against the recruitment of missionaries from their territory. These officials felt they could not afford to lose the men who had already agreed to go, and they actively tried to prevent recruiters from convincing anyone else to volunteer. For example, when Zumárraga failed to convince Martín de Valencia to become his spiritual companion, he instead found six friars in Spain who were willing to join him, but their superiors refused to release them.1 Similarly, numerous royal cédulas show the Franciscan provincials actively obstructing the missionary recruiters. For example, in 1538 the empress issued a stern cédula to the provincial of Santiago. A recruiter had traveled through the province, identifying suitable friars who were willing to go to New Spain. After the recruiter had chosen twenty and requested permission to take them, the provincial stalled, saying that he had to convene all the leading fathers of that province to determine whether to release those friars and that he would report back afterward. He never did report back, however, leading Isabella to get involved on behalf of her appointed recruiter and ordering the provincial to release the requested friars as quickly as possible.2 On the same day, the empress Zumárraga, “Instrucción dada a Fray Juan de Oseguera y Fray Cristóbal de Almazán, como procuradores al Concilio Universal,” in García Icazbalceta (ed.), Don Fray Juan de Zumárraga, vol. 4, p. 233. 2 AGI Indiferente, 423, L.18, fos 136v–137r. 1

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issued a different cédula to the provincial minister of Andalucía, who had complained that sending missionaries to New Spain was harmful to his own province. Her reply was that there was such a huge abundance of qualified friars in his province [ay tanta copia dellos] that it would do no harm at all.3 Four months later, the provincial minister still had not complied with her wishes, prompting the king to issue a cédula to the same effect.4 Still six years later, the same recruiter had the same troubles. In 1544, Juan de la Cruz received a cédula empowering him to pressure the provincials with all his authority [con toda ynstancia] to fulfill their recruiting quotas and expressing amazement [estoy maravillado] that after so many letters and orders, the provincials still had refused to comply.5 Moreover, these cédulas are not just isolated examples. Hermenegildo Zamora analyzed every royal cédula concerning the Franciscans from the start of the mission to 1550 and found that forty percent of those approximately six hundred documents addressed this recruiting struggle. He argued from this analysis that provincial ministers and house guardians were very reluctant to let their men enlist as missionaries, and that the crown seems, perhaps ironically, to have had more missionary zeal than those Franciscan authorities.6 The resistance of Spanish Franciscan authorities was so pronounced that Zumárraga felt it necessary to resort to intrigue to meet his recruiting goals. In one list of instructions to his agents in Spain, the Mexican bishop requested that the king order the provincials to provide the names of their most brilliant, educated, holy, and wise friars and that he then request that the pope send up to twelve of those friars as missionaries to New Spain. He chose this number not because he only needed twelve, but because the provincials would not want to give even that many.7 Later in the document came the intrigue: and because the prelates of the orders, if they know that the report about their friars is requested of them in order to send them here, the bishop suspects that, like a house burglar, they will hide the people that they most want for the

5 6 3

AGI Indiferente 423, L.18, fos 137v–138r. AGI Indiferente 423, L.18, fos 175v–176r. AGI Indiferente 423, L.20, fos 776v–777r. Hermenegildo Zamora, “Contenido franciscano de los libros registro del Archivo de Indias de Sevilla hasta 1550,” in Actas del II Congreso Internacional sobre los Franciscanos en el Nuevo Mundo (siglo XVI) (Madrid, 1988), pp. 2–3. 7 “Y ponemos tan pocos porque es necesario que sean tan notables en ciencia y virtud, que a los perlados se les hará de mal aun de dar este número.” Zumárraga, “Instrucción a sus Procuradores ante el Concilio Universal, February 1537,” in García Icazbalceta (ed.), Don Fray Juan de Zumárraga, vol. 4, pp. 132–4. 4

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houses they have there. We beg Your Majesty not to tell them why the reports about their religious are requested until they have submitted them. [Y porque los perlados de las órdenes, si saben que la memoria que se les pide de sus frailes es para los enviar acá, sospecha el obispo como ladrón de casa, que encubrirán las tales personas que más los quieren para las casas que tienen allá. Suplicamos a S.M. no les dé a entender para qué efecto se les piden las memorias de los tales religiosos hasta que se las hayan dado.]8

Finally, lest one suspect that this provincial resistance was only a problem in the early period of the evangelization, Mendieta included in his 1574 Avisos an eight-point strategy for recruiting missionaries, seven of which referred directly to the obstructions of the provincials.9 For example, the provincials must be reminded regularly that they were required to fulfill the personnel requests of the general chapter. They must be obligated not to impede the process. Each missionary volunteer must get papal and royal documents in favor of his enlistment, so that no one ranking lower than the pope himself could legally impede that enlistment. The final point in this strategy is particularly interesting, as it too called for the recruitment process to remain secret until the new volunteers were already on the road to Sevilla and furthermore for the provincials to be stripped of their right to veto any particular recruit. The provincials had discovered that they could effectively veto any volunteer simply by reporting that he was incompetent, disobedient, or otherwise unfit to serve in such a high calling, without any requirement for documentation or independent verification. Mendieta’s Avisos attempted to remedy this loophole by requiring just such an independent inquiry into any accusations by the provincials. There is, therefore, ample evidence that provincial and local authorities in Spain actively fought against the recruitment of their friars as missionaries. What is less clear is exactly why they did so, for it seems ironic that such leaders would attempt to hinder their friars from joining a mission so widely hailed by contemporaries as heroic. It is not difficult, however, to imagine why peninsular leaders were ambivalent. Though they may have been highly supportive of the missionaries in principle, yet they were personally responsible for the success of the houses in their provinces, and just as understaffing in the mission field hindered both spiritual and ministerial progress, so also did understaffing damage the peninsular monasteries. Many houses were not large, and any departure of missionaries left more work, of all kinds, for those friars left behind, Ibid., vol. 4, p. 132. Mendieta, “Avisos para nuestro Rmo. Padre General Comisario de las Indias, 1574,”

8 9

in NCDHM, vol. 4, pp. 157–62.

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possibly resulting in communities that were too small to maintain the prescribed economic, liturgical, and spiritual life of the order. Such communities, in turn, would either need to recruit new friars rapidly—and thereby risk the same problems faced by their New Spanish counterparts— or disband. Neither result was desirable for provincial officials. Moreover, recruiters did not seek just any friars for the mission field, but instead sought those who were best qualified, an evaluation usually based on spiritual rigor, intellectual ability, and other leadership skills. Zumárraga sought “the religious who shine brightest in their orders, both in learning and in good living.”10 To the extent, then, that the recruiters succeeded in luring away those gifted teachers, preachers, scholars, and administrators, the friars left behind were likely to face at least a dearth of skilled leaders, if not also a shortage of spiritual leadership. Either result would have made shepherding a province more difficult. It must have been exasperating for a provincial to receive a charge from his brethren to shepherd his province, and then to lose many of his best human resources for that task. Seen in this light, the resistance of so many provincials makes complete sense. Provincial ministers were not the only friars who resisted the mission service of their confreres. In fact, in several cases missionaries traveled to Spain on official business, usually intending to return to the field with a fresh cohort of missionaries, but were instead elected by their brethren to provincial offices and compelled under obedience to accept. The stated purpose of such forceful retentions was to prevent gifted friars from leaving the province. For example, Antonio Ortiz enlisted as a missionary and traveled to New Spain shortly after the original expedition headed by Valencia. After about ten years of distinguished service in the evangelization, his brethren sent him back to Spain in 1535 to inform the king of what was necessary in the colony for the common good and the increase of the Catholic faith. Shortly after he arrived in Sevilla, the leaders of his province of San Gabriel met in chapter and, hearing that Ortiz had returned from the mission field, they elected him in absentia to be provincial minister. The chronicler wrote that they did so not just because they knew of his great holiness and skill in governance, but so that he would not return to the mission field: He was elected in absentia, which was when he returned from the Indies, for at that time the fathers of the Provinces were gathered in Chapter: and when they found out he had come to Sevilla, knowing his great holiness and “los religiosos que en sus órdenes más resplandecen, así en ciencia como en la buena vida.” Zumárraga, “Instrucción a sus Procuradores ante el Concilio Universal, February 1537,” in García Icazbalceta (ed.), Don Fray Juan de Zumárraga, vol. 4, p. 132. 10

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administration, they later elected him, desiring that he govern them and not return to the Indies. [fue electo en ausencia, que fue quando boluio de las Indias, que en aquella sazon estauan congregados en Capitulo los padres de la Prouincia: y sabida su venida a Seuilla, conociendo su gran santidad, y su gran gouierno, lo eligieron luego, desseando que les gouernasse, y no se les boluiesse à las Indias.]11

Ortiz went on to serve twice as provincial, traveling widely to visit his friars and to advocate for them in Rome. According to the chronicler, he led them by example into greater austerity and spiritual perfection and spent the remaining twenty-five years of his life in the province (apart from one brief preaching mission to Africa). The forceful retention of Ortiz, then, seems to have been an unqualified success for the Province of San Gabriel. Luis Rodríguez was similarly retained by his peninsular province of San Miguel, after having served many years as a preacher in New Spain and later as provincial of Guatemala. His province recognized in him such merits … that it did not want to lose what it had in house: by common consent they elected him the eleventh provincial on September 8, 1576. [Y como la nuestra reconocia en él tales meritos ... no quiso perder la dicha que tenia en casa: de comun conformidad le eligió su Prouincial vndezimo a ocho de Setiembre del año de mil y quinientos y setenta y seis.]12

As with Ortiz, the chronicler reported that Rodríguez spurred his confreres on to greater spiritual perfection by his exemplary life of devotion, austerity, and discipline, suggesting that the leaders of San Miguel also profited richly from their forceful retention. A final prominent example is that of Luis de Fuensalida, one of Valencia’s original companions in New Spain, who volunteered in his old age to return to Spain to recruit more friars.13 Afterward, he intended to travel to Africa to preach and be martyred. However, the provincial of San Gabriel, Pedro de Alcántara, revoked his license for that trip, because the future saint believed that the province had greater need of so exemplary a man as Fuensalida than Bautista Moles, Memorial, fos 147v–148r. Jose de Santa Cruz, Cronica de la Provincia Franciscana de San Miguel, Parte

11 12

Primera (Madrid, 1671), p. 53. 13 “Zumárraga to Juan de Sámano, 20 December 1537,” García Icazbalceta (ed.), Don Fray Juan de Zumárraga, vol. 3, p. 137.

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did the Muslims of Africa.14 Thus, Fuensalida stayed in San Gabriel for eight years as a difinidor and guardian, until he died in 1545 while fleeing back to New Spain, in an attempt to avoid being elected provincial against his will. The chronicler Bautista reported that, during these years in San Gabriel, he “dedicated himself to great recollection and prayer, enjoying the holy tranquility that he desired as the culmination of his life’s work.”15 These three friars were probably not the only ones thus retained, and it is difficult to know if all such involuntary servants had the positive effects on peninsular spirituality reported here. Nonetheless, these examples do suggest that many friars who did not serve in the mission field perceived a significant lack of qualified leadership in their peninsular provinces, a dearth that led them to such extreme measures as forcing successful missionaries to abandon the field. Whether recruitment left behind “lesser” friars or merely fewer ones, the result was a shift in the spirituality of the peninsular houses. This shift may have been toward creating an embattled group of friars trying to remain faithful to their rigorous spirituality while being ever deprived of the critical mass of men necessary to do so. It may also have been a more substantive change, if the friars who were left behind, for example, did not share such a commitment to their communal rigor. It is difficult to know what effect the recruitment of missionaries had, and it likely varied from house to house. Regardless of the precise details, however, the vigorous protests of peninsular authorities suggest that this shift was not viewed as a positive one, that instead the constant requests for new missionaries left the monasteries in Spain depleted, at least numerically and very possibly in terms of ability and spiritual vitality. While those authorities attempted to mitigate these effects by obstructing recruitment, the enormous personnel demands of the mission fields and the continual obligations to fill them significantly hindered their ability to guide their provincial flocks. The Influence of Returned Missionaries The most direct avenue for the mission enterprise to affect peninsular spirituality was in the form of returned missionaries, who had been personally shaped by their experiences and then incorporated themselves anew into their peninsular provinces. Though precise numbers are not 14 “le pareció al santo que aquella provincia tenía necessidad de semejante varón como era Fray Luis.” Manso Martínez de Bedoya, “Misioneros franciscanos en Nueva España,” p. 682. 15 “dandose a gran recogimiento y oracion, gozando de la quietud santa que desseò en remate de sus trabajos.” Bautista Moles, Memorial, p. 71.

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available, it was not uncommon for missionaries to return to their home provinces for a time or permanently. The chronicles give many examples, and the numbers increased after the 1560s, when recruiters were so desperate to meet their quotas that they promised volunteers they could return home after ten years if the mission life did not suit them.16 Some returned missionaries, such as Ortiz, Rodríguez, and Fuensalida, took on formal leadership offices, whether voluntarily or otherwise. From such positions of authority, if the chronicles are to be believed, these men exerted a powerful exemplary influence on their confreres, leading them through times of turmoil and personnel shortages toward more rigorous applications of the rule of Francis. Elsewhere, there are traces of others who followed a similar trajectory. Lejarza found several friars from the Province of La Concepción who served as comisario general and then returned to Spain to serve as guardians, difinidores, and provincials.17 Looking more broadly, we find that Luis Zapata served as comisario general of Peru before returning to his home province of San Miguel to be provincial minister.18 Other returned missionaries, however, seem to have had a highly ambivalent effect on their peninsular brethren. For example, Alonso de Rozas was sent in 1531 from his home province of Castile to serve as the first comisario general in New Spain.19 One chronicler reported that he governed there with great zeal and prudence, living a very harsh life, and producing very great fruit, just as much in the religious who lived there, as in all the lay people. [alli gouernó con gran zelo y prudencia, y haziendo vida muy aspera, y muy grande fruto, assi en los religiosos que alli viuian, como en todos los seglares.]20

After his term finished, however, Rozas chose to return to Spain for a life of greater prayer and tranquility, much like the exhausted and disgruntled friars we met so frequently in the earlier chapters of this study. The chronicler attributed his decision to the temptation of the devil:

Borges, El envío de misioneros, p. 205. Lejarza, “Notas para la historia misionera de la provincia de la Concepción,”

16 17

pp. 87–8. 18 Santa Cruz, Cronica de la provincia franciscana de San Miguel, parte primera, p. 33. 19 Manuel de Castro, “Misioneros de la provincia de Castilla en América. Siglos XVI y XVII,” AIA, 47 (1987): p. 234. 20 Pedro de Salazar, Crónica de la provincia franciscana de Castilla, Antolín Abad Pérez (ed.) (Madrid, 1977), p. 114.

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The demon, seeing the great fruit that he was making in souls, persuaded him with great temptations to return to Spain, which happened to many other religious. And because the said father Fray Alonso de Roças, was a religious very given to prayer, he was persuaded to leave his other occupations and to return to Spain, to his Province of Castile, so that he could give himself more peacefully to prayer. [el demonio, viendo el mucho fruto que en las almas hazia, con grandes tentaciones le persuadio se boluiesse a España, lo qual acontecio a otros muchos religiosos. Y porque el dicho padre fr. Alonso de Roças, era religioso muy dado a la oracion, persuadiose, dexadas otras ocupaciones, boluerse a España, a su Prouincia de Castilla, para que mas quieto se pudiesse dar a la oracion.]21

Given his reasons for returning to Castile, one might assume that he was an exemplary influence on his brethren, leading them toward greater devotion, much as the friars in the previous paragraph did. Rozas, however, never found the peace he sought. Instead, according to the chronicler, every time he was in prayer, Christ our Lord appeared to him, hung on the Cross, asking him why he had left him there on the Cross and returned to his tranquility. [Sucediole, que todas las vezes que estaua en oracion, le aparecia Christo N.S. puesto en la Cruz, el qual le preguntaua, que porque le auia el dexado en la Cruz, y se auia buelto a su quietud .]22

Rozas interpreted this vision to mean that those who converted people to Christ, such as the missionaries in New Spain, metaphorically removed Christ from the cross and that Rozas had therefore not merely abandoned indigenous souls in order to seek his repose but had abandoned Christ himself. After several years, the discomfort of this realization led Rozas to return to New Spain, where he spent decades as a leader in the evangelization of Michoacán and Jalisco. From the chronicler’s perspective, this change of heart was a divine affirmation of the mission work. From an eremitic perspective, however, whatever good Rozas had done in leading his brethren into lives of greater devotion may have been undermined by his subsequent conviction that such devotion was, in fact, a betrayal of Christ’s calling. Further, his ultimate return to New Spain Ibid., p. 114. Ibid., p. 114.

21 22

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may have demoralized those friars who were left behind, thereby negating any spiritual renewal he had caused by his example. A similar example was Alonso Xuárez, though he did not return to the mission field. After several years in New Spain, he returned to the peninsula on official business and afterward decided to retire to his home province of San Gabriel. While writing about Xuárez’s spiritual life during this period, the chronicler included a revealing detail: “He was such a friend of silence and recollection that he desired greatly to transfer to the Carthusians.”23 He eventually received his license for the transfer, but he reported that a vision from God stopped him on the way, saying “Where are you going, and leaving me?” [Adonde vas, y me dexas?] and convincing him that to follow his desire was to abandon God.24 With that vision, Xuárez completely lost his desire to transfer to the Carthusians and instead returned to his monastery, where his amazed brethren joyfully welcomed him home. According to the chronicler, Xuárez then lived out the rest of his days at that monastery “with great holiness.”25 As with Rozas above, Xuárez’s impact on the spirituality of his peninsular brethren was probably mixed. On the one hand, friars such as Xuárez and Fuensalida had served successfully as missionaries but preferred to return to Spain in order better to practice their eremitic spirituality. Their presence may well have spurred their brethren on to greater spiritual rigor. On the other hand, Xuárez felt the same frustration in the Province of San Gabriel that he had felt as a missionary in New Spain, leading him to abandon the province, however temporarily, for the even more rigorous Carthusians. His agitation for ever greater austerity may have caused conflict among the friars of his house, if not for the entire Province of San Gabriel. Some friars may have followed his example, while others may have condemned him as an extremist or taken offense at the inherent criticism of their own spirituality in Xuárez’s actions; the resulting conflict may have hindered the contemplative progress of those friars. Yet, upon his return from the failed Carthusian journey, Xuárez ultimately settled down into a peaceful and even holy existence, which the chronicler saw as a great good for the friars of his house. Another example of this kind of conflict is the case of Francisco de la Magdalena. He was born in Extremadura, then at some point moved to “Fue amicissimo del silencio y recogimiento, por lo qual tuuo muy grande desseo de passarse a la Cartuxa.” Bautista Moles, Memorial, fol. 115r. 24 Ibid., fol. 115r. 25 “dandole infinitas gracias se boluio a su casa libre del todo de aquel desseo que tanto le auia fatigado. Y espantados en casa de su buelta les relatò lo que passaua, con que regozijados en espiritu dieron gracias a nuestro Señor, y acabó este santo varon despues sus dias con grande olor de santidad enla dicha casa y conuento.” Ibid., fol. 115v. 23

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New Spain and ultimately professed there as a Franciscan (probably in the 1530s).26 Though he worked in Mexico for several years as a missionary, he was continually frustrated by the lack of spiritual rigor he perceived in the Province of Santo Evangelio and grew so agitated about the observance of the rule of Francis that he challenged the learned men [los grandes letrados] of the order in New Spain to do something about it. The result of his aggressive pursuit of reform was extreme persecution by his confreres [fue muy perseguido en extremo], as a result of which they sent him back to Spain. In the peninsula, he did more of the same, traveling through several provinces to find a home where he could live out the greatest purity of the rule. He found no rest until he arrived in the Province of San José, which was the juridical home of the reforming discalced friars of Pedro de Alcántara. Once he found his rest among them, he apparently lived out the rest of his days in tranquility, providing his confreres a powerful example of humble service and rigorous observance. The quality of Magdalena’s impact on peninsular spirituality again depends upon one’s perspective, as was the case with Rozas and Xuárez. The Observant missionaries of New Spain did not think highly of him at all, and neither apparently did the friars of the provinces Magdalena visited before settling in San José. For these friars, he was not a positive example of Franciscan spirituality but rather a troublesome extremist who attacked the spirituality they had developed in their particular circumstances. He may have strengthened their spirituality as they banded together to fight his extremism, or he may have sown discord among them that distracted from their own spiritual progress, but he certainly did not lead the sweeping eremitic reform that he desired. From the perspective of the discalced reformers of San José, however (which is privileged in Badajoz’s chronicle), Magdalena was a spiritual giant who vindicated their reformist impulse. He had found no other place in the Spanish world where he could practice the rigor to which God had called him; indeed he had been gravely persecuted for attempting it. Once settled into a Josephine monastery, however, he spent the rest of his life tirelessly serving his fellow friars, doing all he could not only to live out his spirituality but also to empower them to do the same. Given the paucity of records of returned missionaries and the range of stories they tell, it is ultimately impossible to discern a net effect on peninsular spirituality. One is tempted to argue that the challenges of the evangelization of New Spain, both for those friars in the field and those who stayed behind, forged a deeper faith and a stronger spirituality throughout the order. On the other hand, one might wish to argue that the 26 Angel de Badajoz, “Crónica de la provincia de S. José, 1584,” BNE MS 1173, pp. 139–41.

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extreme hardships chronicled in this study filtered back to the peninsula and similarly devastated the spiritual vitality of the friars there. In truth, however, the extant sources do not support any such tidy argument but instead indicate a broad range of different effects, each of uncertain prominence and magnitude. Eremitic Revival in the Province of San José A final area in which the mission enterprise had a significant effect on peninsular spirituality was in the birth, persecution, and ultimate flourishing of the Province of San José, which preserved the eremitic spirituality favored by Puebla, Guadalupe, and the earliest missionaries from the Province of San Gabriel. Earlier I examined how the eremitic revival of San José affected spirituality in New Spain. It contributed to the personnel shortages that wreaked such havoc on the mission, both by discouraging some friars from volunteering and by tempting eremiticminded missionaries to return to Spain. Moreover, the first josefino missionaries to arrive in New Spain, en route to Asia, caused considerable difficulty to the friars already present, attracting disgruntled missionaries to their ranks and provoking unfavorable comparisons between the newcomers and their more established confreres. There was also a reciprocal effect, that of the missions on the eremitic revival itself. Indeed, the mission enterprise greatly, if indirectly, spurred the rapid growth of San José, together with a parallel flourishing of descalzo spirituality in almost every other religious order in Spain. Since the Bull of Union in 1517, two distinct strands of eremitic spirituality had existed, and both were struggling by the 1560s. Indeed, eremitic spirituality in the Iberian peninsula was in danger of extinction. One strand included those friars who had submitted to the Bull of Union, finding expression for their eremitic preferences in such outlets as the Province of San Gabriel or the recollect houses scattered across the peninsula. Their juridical submission to the dominant Observants, however, tended to smooth out the jagged edges of their spirituality that had distinguished them in the first place. Even though both the friars of San Gabriel and those of the recollect houses had protections for their rigorous way of life written into their constitutions, Francisco Morales has observed that their strict observance of the rule of Francis began to lose its vitality when it was thus institutionalized.27 This precise change in Spain is evidenced by the slow but steady stream of eremitic Observants who left their houses to join the friars of the second strand of eremitic spirituality. Morales, “Franciscanos y mundo religioso,” p. 20.

27

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This strand began with those very few friars who refused to submit to the Bull of Union, but who instead went off into the wilderness to found new hermitages where they could pursue their spirituality in peace. Especially important among these men was Juan de San Pascual, who founded a few eremitic houses in Galicia and later sought protection for them under the authority of the remaining Spanish Conventuals.28 These Reformed Conventuals, with Pascual (and later Alcántara) as their comisario general, slowly began founding new houses, attracting new friars (mostly dissatisfied Observants), and collecting privileges from Rome that protected their gains, until in 1561 they formed the Province of San José within the struggling Conventual family. Their subsequent troubles, in turn, stemmed directly from this juridical submission to the Conventuals. The Observant hierarchy was outraged at their growth, because it violated the Bull of Union they had fought so hard to win. That Bull had supposedly set the Conventuals on a course for slow extinction, yet decades later the descalzos were breathing new life into the family. Thus, the Observant hierarchy opposed the descalzo movement at every step, always attempting either to absorb the new separatist monasteries or to force their friars back into officially approved recollect houses. An even more dangerous threat to the Alcantarine descalzos in the 1560s was the staunch opposition of Philip II to their movement. When he ascended the throne in 1556, he did so with a firm desire to reform the church in his territory. While his motives may have been pious, they were most certainly also political, as he attempted to impose more centralized control and uniformity in all areas of the church. Not only were the Conventual Franciscans stubbornly clinging to their divisive existence after the Bull of Union, but they were indeed at their strongest in precisely the regions, like Aragón, where Philip’s royal power was its weakest. Philip, then, loosed a vigorous persecution upon them, knowing that to increase his control over the religious orders would also increase his political power.29 With regard to the Franciscans, then, and in harmony with the Observants, his primary goal was to suppress the persistent Conventual family once and for all, following and even strengthening the royal preference for juridical unity that had existed at least since the reigns 28 Much greater detail about the life and work of Juan de San Pascual is available in several sources: Santa María, Chronica de la provincia de San Ioseph, pp. 18ff. Abad Pérez and Sánchez Fuertes, “La descalcez franciscana,” pp. 479–80. A. Barrado Manzano, “San Pedro de Alcántara en las provincias de San Gabriel, La Arrábida y San José,” AIA, 22 (1962): pp. 496ff. 29 Gonzalo Fernández–Gallardo J., “La supresión de los franciscanos conventuales de la corona de Aragón,” AIA, 60 (2000): pp. 217–23.

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of Ferdinand and Isabel at the turn of the sixteenth century.30 After ten frustrating years of pressing the papacy and the cardinals to support his efforts at reform, Philip finally persuaded a new pope. In 1566, shortly after his ascension, Pius V—a Dominican friar who favored Observant reform—issued Maxime cuperemus, which called for the bishops and provincials to absorb the Conventual houses forcefully into the Observant jurisdictions.31 To accomplish this, they were to transfer Observant friars into those houses and to disperse the Conventual residents to other Observant houses, where they would have to follow the rule of Francis in the manner of the Observants. Moreover, any friars who refused this order would be imprisoned until they should relent.32 Philip’s desire to suppress the Conventual family, in turn, focused his negative attention on the descalzos, for they had sought refuge for their movement within the Conventual family. Even though the Province of San José had submitted under pressure to the Observant jurisdiction in 1563, they still had provisions in their constitutions that protected their eremitic spirituality, and this enshrined separatism raised the suspicion of Philip. As a result, he issued the following opinion in 1567: in truth, even though they may have given their obedience to the Observance, they are and remained conventuals, and they are therefore included in the brief of His Holiness. Thus they can and should be entirely reformed and reduced to the Observance, and scattered through the Observant monasteries. [en verdad aunque hayan dado la obediencia a la Observancia son y quedaron conventuales, y por consiguiente estan comprendidos en el breve de Su Santidad. Y asi pueden y deben ser enteramente reformados y reducidos a la Observancia y repartidos por los monasterios della.]33

30 José García Oro, “Conventualismo y observancia: La reforma de las órdenes religiosas en los siglos XV y XVI,” in José Luis González Novalín (ed.), Historia de la Iglesia en España: La Iglesia en la España de los siglos XV y XVI (Madrid, 1980), pp. 317–18. Also José García Oro and María José Portela Silva, “Felipe II y la nueva Reforma de los religiosos descalzos,” AIA, 58 (1998): p. 225. 31 Ignasi Fernández Terricabras, “La reforma de las órdenes religiosas en tiempos de Felipe II: aproximación cronológica,” in Ernest Belenguer Cebrià (ed.), Felipe II y el Mediterráneo (Madrid, 1999), pp. 186–7. 32 Manuel de Castro, “Supresión de los franciscanos conventuales en la España de Felipe II,” AIA, 42 (1982): p. 203. 33 José García Oro, “Observantes, recoletos, descalzos. La monarquía católica y el reformismo religioso del siglo XV,” Actas del Congreso Internacional Sanjuanista, Avila 23–28 de septiembre de 1991 (Valladolid, 1993), p. 67.

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Moreover, the following year Pius V agreed with Philip, issuing Beatus Christi Salvatoris, in which he abolished all separate congregations and reforms within the Observance and ordered that the friars of these movements be absorbed entirely into their respective Franciscan provinces.34 Had Philip succeeded in implementing this order, it would have likely ended the descalzo reform movement, for the individual friars would have been dispersed to regular Observant monasteries and forced to conform to the Franciscan spirituality in practice there. What saved the Province of San José and its eremitic renewal from this fate? First, though Pius V himself had written the order, the descalzos appealed vigorously to Rome, hoping that their allies in the papal court could establish them as an exception to the rule.35 They succeeded, acquiring clarification from Pius V that the discalced friars of San José were exemplary in their conduct, that they were admired and supported by the lay people [pueblo], and that they therefore should not be bothered by the implementation of Beatus Christi Salvatoris. Over the next decade, these orders gave the descalzos a reprieve, which allowed them to continue founding new houses and building support among lay people, nobility, courtiers, and even Philip’s own ecclesiastical officials, who hesitated to suppress them against this growing tide of support. They even convinced many Observant leaders, who stood to gain directly by their suppression.36 Finally, in 1578 Gregory XIII issued Ad hoc Nos Deus, which granted the descalzos of San José complete autonomy within the Observance—they would remain part of that jurisdiction, but with freedom to continue their distinctive way of life. All these factors might have been sufficient to blunt Philip’s efforts to enforce uniformity within the Franciscan order. They certainly did so during the decade after Philip decreed the suppression of all the Conventuals— including the descalzos. They did not, however, themselves change his opinion of the descalzos or his desire to work against them. That change, instead, coincided with a different factor—the entrance of the descalzos into the mission field in 1576. García Oro noted a dramatic change in Philip’s posture toward the descalzos at the very time they accepted the call to evangelize the Philippines. Before, they had been troublesome separatists who undermined Philip’s plans for religious reform; afterward, they became honored partners in his empire. Before, the descalzos had

Ibid., p. 68. Ibid., pp. 68–9. 36 Fernández Terricabras, De la supresión al favor del rey, p. 634. 34 35

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looked on the king as a threat; afterward, they called him their father, patron, and defender.37 Why did their transformation into missionaries change Philip’s mind so dramatically? Why did their enlistment so rapidly change twenty years of royal antipathy into glowing praise? The reason may have simply been Philip’s missionary fervor, his desire to see his new Asian territories converted to Christ. Whether that was the case or not, Philip also gained very tangible political benefits from the descalzo mission. Philip, as the monarch responsible for the Christianization of his empire, felt the enormous personnel problems in Spanish America as his own. Moreover, the Spanish territory kept expanding, creating even more demand for personnel that the orders simply could not meet. These shortages hindered the success of the mission enterprise abroad and also filtered back into the peninsular houses, resulting not just in personnel shortages but also in dampened morale and discipline. In short, Philip faced multiple headaches from this personnel problem, with no viable solution to propose. It would be counter-productive to force large numbers of friars to embark for the Americas, for they would not likely be effective, and this would only exacerbate the problems in the peninsular houses. He was also not willing to recruit large numbers of foreign friars to serve as missionaries, for fear of weakening his already tenuous political control over his colonial territories. The descalzos of San José, however, offered Philip an almost utopian solution to this problem.38 Not only did these friars themselves respond favorably to the call to missions, to come down out of the sycamore tree of contemplation as their missionary forefathers had done, but they also proposed to open an entirely new field of recruitment in New Spain. As I described earlier, some of the descalzo missionaries to the Philippines actually established themselves in Mexico, in order to provide a way station for future missionaries en route to Asia. In keeping with this mission, they studiously avoided the jurisdictional conflicts of the New Spanish religious and secular clergy, and they declined to join their Observant brethren in their pastoral work among the indigenous peoples of the colony. Instead, they welcomed into their ranks those Franciscans who had tired of the pastoral work, the conflicts, and the spiritual toll that they took, and they recruited new men to join the order from among the Spanish and creole populations. Next, they gained license from Philip’s Council of the Indies to found several new houses in New Spain, not to duplicate the work the other 37 García Oro and Portela Silva, “Felipe II y la nueva Reforma,” pp. 226–7. Lorenzo Pérez, “Orígen de las misiones franciscanas en el Extremo Oriente,” AIA, 3 (1915): p. 410. 38 García Oro and Portela Silva, “Felipe II y la nueva Reforma,” pp. 228–9.

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houses were already trying to do but to train and deploy both the new and the disgruntled friars for the mission work in Asia. Two letters from Miguel de Talavera, the leader of the descalzos in New Spain, establish this intention. In the first, Talavera explained to the council that he had stayed behind in New Spain specifically to make arrangements for the training of new missionaries: God ordained this opportunity … to be able to arrange these things in New Spain, so that here we can go about preparing friars … sending them to those areas where they are so necessary; because if we should wait for them to be sent from Spain, there will not be anyone who is moved to send one friar. [Dios ordenaua esta oportunidad y habría esta puerta, poder componer estas cosas de esta Nueba España, de manera que se puedan yr aquí criando frailes proueyendo para yrse con tino embiando a aquellas partes donde son tan nesçesarios; porque si aguardásemos a que de España los embiasen, no habrá hombre que se mueba a imbiar un fraile.]39

In the same letter, Talavera specifically requested permission to found three houses of study in New Spain, so that he could recruit and train enough well-formed missionaries to staff the Asian missions. The following year, Talavera wrote directly to the king, not only repeating this request for permission to build new houses of study, but also highlighting the impossibility of providing for the Asian missions with peninsular labor alone: I have also written to Your Majesty in other letters, how it would be a good idea to have another two or three houses here in New Spain, so that friars should always be in training to provide those regions with friars, without it being necessary to bring them all from Spain. Because first, it is not possible to bring all the necessary friars, and they are brought with much more difficulty. [También he scripto a V.M. en otras, cómo convernía thener otras dos o tres casitas aqui en Nueua España, para que se bayan criando Frayles siempre, para proueer aquellas partes de Frayles, sin que sea menester traellos todos de allá de España. Porque lo vno, no se pueden traer todos los que son menester, y se traen con mucho más trabajo.]40

What the descalzos of San José offered to Philip, then, was perhaps the only viable solution to his personnel problems and the political difficulties Pérez, “Orígen de las misiones franciscanas en el Extremo Oriente,” p. 96. Ibid., pp. 100–101.

39 40

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that resulted. They proposed to halt the flow of disgruntled friars who were leaving mission work to return to Spain and instead to retrain them for work in Asia. Moreover, they proposed to open an entirely new field of recruitment for the king, at a much lower cost than was possible in Spain. While this plan ultimately did not solve the personnel problems, at the time Philip saw in it a welcome opportunity, and his attitude toward these friars changed dramatically as a result. A letter he wrote to the pope a few years later demonstrates this change of heart, together perhaps with some of Philip’s political motivation. Given the vast distances separating the peninsula from the missions and for the sake of more efficient and effective governance, the descalzos in the Philippines and New Spain had requested permission to organize themselves as the Province of San Gregorio, juridically separate from that of San José. Philip enthusiastically endorsed their request, not only praising their effective missionary work but also boasting that, through these friars and under his royal patronage, the church had penetrated China with the gospel. Among all the friars who, with great apostolic zeal, had gone into China and other Asian lands, he emphasized that “the Descalzos of the order of Saint Francis have distinguished themselves greatly.”41 In a few short years, then, the descalzos had been transformed in Philip’s mind from troublesome separatists into his foremost religious allies in Asia. Their entry into the mission field may not be the only reason why his staunch opposition turned to such enthusiastic support, but neither is it merely a coincidence. Finally, how did Philip’s change of heart affect the spirituality of the Franciscan order in Spain? As it turned out, the very mission enterprise that so damaged eremitic spirituality in New Spain provided the political cover that allowed that spirituality to flourish in the peninsula. The movement that began with Juan de San Pascual founding one small island hermitage off the coast of Galicia, then struggled for the next forty years against Observant opposition, then faced twenty years of royal antipathy because of its distinctiveness, exploded numerically after its mission work began in the 1570s. By the end of the century, they counted sixty-five monasteries in their ranks alone and had birthed two additional provinces in Spain to facilitate better governance and two more overseas for more efficient recruiting and deployment of missionaries. This rapid numerical growth continued well into the seventeenth century, as well, resulting in even more new provinces.42 Without the mission effort that won Philip to their side, this dramatic growth would not likely have been possible.

41 “entre los quales se han señalado mucho los Descalzos de la Orden de San Francisco.” Pérez, “Orígen de las misiones franciscanas en el Extremo Oriente,” p. 402. 42 Abad Pérez and Sánchez Fuertes, “La descalcez franciscana,” pp. 483–4, 532–42.

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Moreover, the now-favored descalzo spirituality of the Franciscans moved contagiously across the peninsula, as discalced reform movements gained traction in almost every religious order. Perhaps the most famous of these movements was the discalced Carmelite movement of Teresa of Avila. Barrado asserted that this reform movement, together with Teresa’s impressive literary output and subsequent canonization, would have been impossible without her close mentoring relationship with the Franciscan descalzo leader Pedro de Alcántara.43 Whether or not that assertion is too strong, the course of Teresa’s career and the fate of her reform were certainly closely intertwined with the Franciscan descalzos. Philip gave critical support to her reform in 1580, just a few years after the descalzos of San José won his support with their entry into mission work.44 Moreover, she and other discalced reformers drew much of their training and inspiration from the Franciscans, and if the latter had not overcome Philip’s opposition to their distinctive spirituality, the suppression of those Franciscans would probably have spread to all its other manifestations as well. The Franciscan mission work, then, had several significant consequences for the peninsular spirituality of those friars left behind. These consequences did not all run in the same direction. The personnel shortages both in the mission field and the peninsula tended to harm spiritual vitality. The influence of returned missionaries varied greatly, with some friars showing exemplary spiritual leadership and others having more ambivalent effects. The descalzo revival in Spain, on the other hand, received a major boost from the mission work. While the precise nature and extent of these consequences are unclear, however, the existence of such consequences is not. The experience of evangelizing New Spain produced major changes in the Franciscan spirituality of the colony, and the close interrelations of those missionaries with their peninsular brethren, both through direct personal interaction and through more indirect channels, similarly produced significant changes in the Franciscan spirituality of Spain.

43 Barrado Manzano, “San Pedro de Alcántara en las provincias de San Gabriel, La Arrábida y San José,” p. 519. 44 García Oro and Portela Silva, “Felipe II y la nueva Reforma,” p. 230.

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Conclusion Juan de Ribas embodied many of the themes of this study. He began his religious career in the eremitic province of San Gabriel, then volunteered to join Martín de Valencia on the first official mission to New Spain, coming down from the figurative sycamore tree of contemplation in order to serve in an intensely active ministry. He learned Náhuatl and was apparently a gifted preacher in that language, and he strove to maintain his rigorous spiritual practices despite his new obligations. Despite his best efforts, however, the hard labor of his calling undermined the rigorous and contemplative spirituality he had professed in San Gabriel. As his years of service turned to decades, he came to believe that the mission had devastated the spiritual vitality of his brethren throughout the Province of Santo Evangelio and that change was necessary. After twenty-five years of mission service, then, he abandoned his post as guardian at Cuernavaca and joined the fledgling Provincia Insulana, desiring to leave mission work behind and to return instead to the eremitic spirituality he so cherished. Whatever had motivated his original descent from the sycamore tree was no longer sufficient to keep him down. When the Insulana expedition failed, however, he did not continue seeking an escape. Instead, he returned to Santo Evangelio with his colleagues and resumed his previous labor, leading men in that work for another decade before his death in 1562. Here is the ambivalence that characterized so many of the Franciscans in New Spain at this time. Their vocation as evangelists and pastors to the indigenous peoples was frustrating, especially as evidence began to suggest that the Christianization was not as successful as they had originally believed. Their vocation was grueling, as they continually struggled against personnel shortages, ecclesiastical competitors, and indigenous resistance. Moreover, the scale of their vocation made it virtually impossible for them, especially the most eremitic of them, to practice the spirituality in which they had been nurtured and to which many longed to return. Yet, it was their vocation. They believed that God had called them to do this work, to convert these peoples, to set aside their preference for contemplation for the greater good of the church. Juan de Ribas, then, did not flee ever further into the wilderness when the Insulana experiment failed. He did not embark for Spain to return to his spiritual home in San Gabriel. Nor did he return to his active ministry grudgingly. Instead, he decided for the second time

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in his career to climb down from the sycamore tree and to take up the challenge before him, despite the difficulties he knew so well that it would bring. In telling the stories of Juan de Ribas and his colleagues, I have not intended to lionize the missionaries, though my tone at times conveys a measured appreciation for the sacrifices they made, if not for all of their methods, perspectives, or results. I have also not intended to suggest that Ribas and his Franciscan colleagues were the only friars to struggle with mission work. Each order in New Spain, together with the secular clergy, faced substantial difficulties and was not necessarily any more successful than the others, however one should ultimately define “success.” Many of the difficulties discussed in this study were shared by all those involved, such as the personnel shortages and the internecine conflicts that so often diverted their attention from fulfilling their mission to undermining one another. Indeed, much of the Franciscan correspondence to the crown and council was co-authored by their Dominican colleagues, for they faced many of the same problems in the mission field. I do argue, however, that the eremitic spirituality of the Franciscans, first with its late medieval evolution into an almost cloistered contemplative spirituality, and second with its core emphasis on extreme poverty, created especially bitter difficulties for these friars that the other orders did not have to face. While I have not sought to lionize the Franciscan missionaries or to overstate the unique challenges they faced, I have also not sought in this study to answer exhaustively all the questions one could ask about missionary spirituality. Indeed, my findings leave several questions untouched. For instance, I have not followed the eremitic missionaries of the Province of San José to the Philippines, where I could test my assertion that eremitic spirituality was ultimately incompatible with effective mission work. In New Spain, where they declined to participate in mission work, they revived the moribund eremitic spirituality of the order, at least for a limited time and to a limited extent. In that context, their success supports the central theme of this study, for they thrived spiritually, at least in part, by avoiding mission work. If I were to follow them to the Philippines, however, the story might change. Similarly, this study does not track Franciscan eremitic spirituality into the later colonial period in central New Spain, which would reveal whether it remained as an embattled ideal, as in the writings of Mendieta, whether it faded even more, or whether it revived more fully as new recollect houses rose up and the work of the friars came to resemble ever less the intensive pioneer evangelization of their predecessors. Finally, this study does not examine how Franciscan spirituality continued to evolve as the missionary frontier moved into new regions such as Texas and California and as the institutions of evangelization evolved into missionary colleges

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and the fortified frontier mission complexes whose walls survive today across the American Southwest. The answers to all these questions, and no doubt more beyond them, will expand and refine the story told here in unpredictable and important ways. The findings of this study carry several implications for the history of Latin America, Europe, and Christianity in general. For example, there were sharp divisions within the Franciscan order, both at the start of the mission and throughout the century, and these should inform the way we consider their history and especially their foundational role in developing Catholicism in New Spain. On any given issue that might draw our attention, we do well to resist the temptation to speak of the perspective of “The Church,” and even to be cautious about speaking of “The Franciscans.” Both labels, and presumably those of the Dominicans, Augustinians, Jesuits, and others with them, encompass a broad complexity of perspectives, traditions, and practices, and we lose important insights with each act of simplifying that complexity. In the same way, the very term “Reformation” is problematic, and this study invites us to reconsider if not abandon its use. The events of the tumultuous sixteenth century throughout Europe have quite understandably drawn the attention of historians and partisans toward the schism in western Christendom, together with all its traumatic components—its forceful personalities and the churches they founded, the social and political movements that so often defended those churches and consolidated their gains, the eventually vigorous attempt by the Catholic church to reverse those gains and restore order, and the centrifugal chaos that resulted when “The Reformers” turned on one another. These traumas, then, have come to define “Reformation” in that period. Yet that very centrifugal chaos points to the problem of using any tidy term to describe what happened in the sixteenth century. “The Reformation” was nothing of the sort but was rather a dizzying array of reformations— religious, social, political—each working against the others and usually staking claim to be the “true” reformation. This book is by no means the first to argue that the term “Reformation” perhaps does more harm than good to our understanding of the sixteenth century. It does strengthen that argument, however, by drawing our attention away from the portions of Europe torn apart by religious schism and toward the vast new colonial territories that spread European culture and religion beyond the farthest reaches of the known world. As our eyes follow the missionaries to the colonial frontiers, yet another model of reformation emerges, one that is so different from the battles raging in Europe that it is truly no wonder that historical literature on missions and “The Reformation” so rarely intersect. Gerhart Ladner argued elegantly that any definition of “reform” is incomplete that focuses primarily on

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the external conflicts between people and institutions. The biblical and patristic origins of the term instead emphasized personal spiritual renewal rather than institutional change, the re-formation of one’s tradition and practice in each new era to match more closely the example of saints bygone, the lifelong quest to make one’s life and soul correspond to the image of God that dwells within.1 The lives of most of the Franciscan missionaries in this book correspond well to Ladner’s concept of reform and thus yet further complicate the use of the term “Reformation.” Though the friars in New Spain were separated by an ocean from the schisms in Europe, which in any case ranked quite low on their list of priorities, yet they displayed throughout the century a constant desire for “reform,” for renewal, for a return to the spiritual golden age of their missionary forefathers and, in their minds, of Francis and Jesus before them. They spoke of reforming their order, but in terms of restoring individual friars to a more rigorous observance of their rule, not in terms of precisely delineating orthodox doctrine or, much less, rebelling against papal authority. This material, then, together with every other instance in which careful study of individual reformers complicates a simple narrative, calls for a broader vision of “Reformation” in the sixteenth century and even perhaps for abandoning the term with all its derivatives.2 These missionaries had little to do with “The Reformation,” yet their story is no less one of reform, downplaying by their global perspective the provincial European conflicts and yielding insights without which our understanding of the greater story of the sixteenth century would be impoverished. This study also sheds light on some puzzling and often troubling Franciscan behavior, which further illuminates our understanding of that first century of colonial history. For example, physical violence by the friars was seen by some, even at the time, as evidence of their primary desire to dominate the indigenous peoples and to rule over them for personal gain. I cannot prove that this was never part of the Franciscan mental calculus, but this study of their underlying spirituality does severely undermine such a blunt Black Legend perspective. Corporal discipline was a core feature of eremitic spirituality, a practice around which many of these friars organized their lives. The mortification of their own flesh was an important way in which they sought to grow closer to God, so we might indeed be surprised if such physical violence were not part of their strategy to bring indigenous peoples into communion with God and the church. Our current sensibilities lead us to reject such violence, but we cannot 1 Gerhart B. Ladner, The Idea of Reform: Its Impact on Christian Thought and Action in the Age of the Fathers (New York, 1967), pp. 2, 277. 2 Mayer, Cardinal Pole in European Context, p. xi.

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claim to understand it properly in that context without also understanding its spiritual foundation. A further example of the friars’ puzzling behavior is their fierce resistance to so many ecclesiastical and royal policies that seemed to work in their favor, and we cannot decipher that behavior or understand its implications for broader colonial politics if we do not do so in the context of the spiritual struggles analyzed in this study. Why did they fight royal efforts to place their mission work on firm financial footing, even though they had complained for years about a lack of resources? They did so because their very identity as Franciscans depended on their privilege of poverty, their right to beg for their existence. Though they often ultimately accepted royal resources, a capitulation that seems to belie their protests, it was crucial to their self-understanding that they be forced to beg the crown for that money. Why did Franciscan leaders so vigorously fight episcopal efforts to provide more men to staff their doctrinas, even as they found themselves forced to abandon several of their preaching missions for lack of personnel? They did so because three centuries of history in Europe had led them to believe that their spiritual faithfulness to Francis depended on avoiding episcopal entanglements. As much as they might have desired the Christianization of the indigenous peoples of New Spain, these leaders felt that even that goal was not worth the spiritual risks of submitting to episcopal authority. Why did they reject with such force the Real Patronazgo, which sought to make them pastors, when so many of them were already doing that work in practice, if not in name? They did so because they saw their pastoral service as a concession to overwhelming necessity, as a temporary descent from their vocational ideal that they could take up or abandon at will—a flexibility that would disappear once they were formally installed as pastors under episcopal authority. Why, again, did they oppose that legislation, which intended to improve the pastoral care given to the indigenous peoples whom they had worked for decades to evangelize? They did so, in part, because the means for improving the care was to transform their doctrinas into benefices that would assure the pastors a lifetime income, however meager, and such security represented an unimaginable breach in their vow of poverty. Surely other scholars of sixteenth-century New Spain could pose many more “why” questions about the Franciscan missionaries, particularly relevant to their areas of specialization, and this study suggests that an understanding of the friars’ peculiar spiritual distinctives should be central in any effort to answer those questions. Finally, this study suggests more broadly that ideals, practices, and deeply ingrained dispositions—such as those spiritual peculiarities of the Franciscans—matter a great deal in history, that indeed they are

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indispensable. Bourdieu’s development of the concept of habitus provides a theoretical model to account for such dispositions in our historical studies, a model which is particularly well suited to analyzing periods of crisis and change, such as that period we have examined in this book.3 He wrote: In situations of crisis or sudden change, especially those seen at the time of abrupt encounters between civilizations linked to the colonial situation or too-rapid movements in social space, agents often have difficulty in holding together the dispositions associated with different states or stages, and some of them, often those who were best adapted to the previous state of the game, have difficulty in adjusting to the new established order. Their dispositions become dysfunctional and the efforts they may make to perpetuate them help to plunge them deeper into failure.4

In this case, the physical, vocational, spiritual, and emotional struggles that the friars recounted ubiquitously in their correspondence were not merely due to the severity of their external circumstances. They were not necessarily due to any internal spiritual frailty or failure in the friars. Nor, should one take a more skeptical tack, were they merely feigned in order to pressure their superiors into giving them what they wanted. Rather, their struggles were the predictable result of the interactions between their eremitic habitus and their radically new field of action. The friars were simply unable to adjust quickly to the demands of the field, and many were unable to adjust at all but instead suffered tremendously as their habitus, a product of centuries of emphasis on contemplation and separation, fractured in an entirely incompatible mission field. In general, those who were most deeply formed in the eremitic habitus seem to have had the most trouble adjusting, almost as if they had been preconditioned by that socialization to fail, leading then to such things as the Insulana province where they abandoned the field or to Mendieta’s radical proposals in the late century for a return to the spiritual practices in which they had been trained, even though such a return would have been disastrous for the mission to which they had been called. Perhaps, on the other hand, those whom the reformers like Mendieta decried as relajados were actually those who were having the most success in adapting their eremitic Franciscan habitus to a dramatically new field. These men, then, provide a striking case study of the theoretical concept of habitus, one that indicates the importance for historical study of considering the dispositions of the actors in question, the field of action in which they function, and the interaction between the two. Bourdieu, The Logic of Practice, p. 62. Pierre Bourdieu, Pascalian Meditations (Stanford, 2000), p. 161.

3 4

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In this study, then, I have attempted to tell the stories of many of the men who, like Juan de Ribas, found themselves facing a task that was overwhelming in scope without the material, human, and spiritual resources necessary to complete it. Some of Ribas’s colleagues, such as the scholar and missiologist Focher, responded to this challenge by embracing it for the good of the cause, bending and adapting their spirituality to fit the task at hand. Others, such as Mendieta, completed the work as best they could, while bemoaning the spiritual devastation it brought on the friars and agitating vigorously for changes that would restore the practice of eremitic spirituality. Still others abandoned the field and fled back to the familiar repose of their peninsular monasteries, only to find that the spiritual effects of the mission work in New Spain had reached even there. Finally, if one can trust the polemical sources, others responded to the conflict they faced by surrendering any effort to live rigorously according to the rule of Francis, instead embracing the freedom afforded them by pastoral work in remote villages, away from the communal life of their houses. What no one did was remain untouched by the spiritual rigors of mission work. Instead, every indication is that, not only did the broad spirituality of the Franciscan order in New Spain change dramatically over the course of the sixteenth century as a result of that work, but so also did the lived spirituality of the individual friars who served there. Eremitic spirituality was the standard set by the earliest missionaries, and whether subsequent friars strove to imitate that spirituality, merely retained it as an embattled ideal, or led its later revival apart from the mission work, most found that this uniquely rigorous spirituality was fundamentally incompatible with their vocation as missionaries. Their struggle to bring the two callings together, finally, was not just a personal and fraternal spiritual crucible but also provides a crucial key to understanding their much broader place in colonial society.

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Index el Abrojo, Friary of 1–2, 44, 72 active ministry 8, 12–13, 32, 40–44, 49, 54–5, 63, 70, 85, 87, 90, 122, 132, 160, 183 Alcántara, Fray Pedro de 28, 113, 153, 156, 168, 173–5, 181 Alcantarine Reform 153–6, 159, 175 Alexander VI, Pope 19–21 alms 12, 23, 26, 92, 103–4, 110, 148–52 Andalucía 15, 18, 78, 84, 146, 165 los Angeles, Custody and Province of 15–18, 34, 84 apostle 1, 12, 31–4, 42, 49, 52, 121–4 apostolic poverty, see poverty ascetic, asceticism 4–6, 11, 23, 48–9, 55, 77 Augustinian friars 48, 68, 120, 157, 185 Ayora, Fray Juan de 154–8 baptism 67–8, 80, 121 benefice 130–32, 187 Bonaventure 14, 124 Bourdieu, Pierre 2, 188 cabecera 61, 66, 70 Cabello, Fray Alonso de 141–3 capuchos 22–3 Carthusians 43, 74, 172 Castile 18–19, 170–71 Castro, Fray Andrés de 69–70, 78 catechism 59–63, 68–9, 97, 121 Charles V, Emperor 48, 52, 57–8, 73, 100, 129 China 53–4, 180 Cisneros, Fray Francisco Jiménez de 18–24, 28, 78 Ciudad Rodrigo, Fray Antonio de 45–6, 67, 87

common life 66, 90, 105–6, 148, 158–9 la Concepción, Province of 28, 83–4, 146, 170 confession 18, 55, 60, 63, 66–9, 98, 127, 137, 141, 143, 148, 158 contemplative, contemplation 3–5, 11–13, 27, 32, 38–43, 47–9, 52–7, 62, 70–74, 78–80, 88, 117, 122–4, 151–2, 163, 172, 178, 183–4, 188 Conventual friars 8, 14–15, 18–23, 28, 84, 124–5, 145–7, 152–3, 175–7 Cortés, Hernán 29, 48–52, 59–61, 72–3, 98 Council of the Indies 79–80, 113, 178 creole 85, 103, 113, 116–19, 126, 133, 158, 178 discalced, descalzo, descalcez 16, 23, 28, 35, 45, 80, 153–60, 163, 173–81 discipline 4, 16–18, 25, 32–4, 42, 44, 52, 57, 66, 71, 76, 80–81, 102, 105–6, 116–19, 122, 132, 168, 178, 186 dispensation 34–5, 132, 140, 143, 145, 148 doctrina 61–3, 91, 109, 130, 187 Dominicans 48, 52, 68, 73, 90, 143, 157, 176, 184–5 enclosure, cloister 3, 5, 44, 52, 54, 105, 112, 135–7, 140, 184 eremitic, eremitism 3–6, 9, 13, 15–19, 21–5, 28–9, 38, 40, 43–5, 48–9, 52, 55, 63, 65–6, 69–71, 80, 83–90, 96, 105–7, 113, 117–19, 122, 125–6, 139–40, 145, 147–61, 163, 171–7, 180, 183–4, 186–9

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Escalona, Fray Alonso de 86–9 evangelical perfection 122–3 exemption, independence from episcopal authority 26, 91–2, 128–30, 136, 158 Extremadura 18, 21, 172 fasting 18, 57, 59, 68, 80 Ferdinand, King of Aragón 18, 22, 28, 129, 176 Focher, Fray Juan 120–25, 141, 163, 189 Francis of Assisi 3–4, 7, 11–15, 18, 30–32, 34–9, 44, 48, 55, 78, 90, 117, 123–24, 131, 180, 186–7 rule of 8, 20, 22–3, 35, 85, 105, 116, 118, 122, 124, 140, 145, 170, 173–4, 176, 189 Fuensalida, Fray Luis de 46–7, 168–72 Gante, Fray Pedro de 75–6, 96 Granada 18, 20–21, 99–100 Guadalupe, Fray Juan de 20–23, 43, 99 Guadalupan reform, spirituality 21–4, 28, 32–3, 35–6, 40–41, 43, 46, 48–9, 51, 147, 152, 154, 174 habitus 2–3, 5, 9, 45, 55, 80, 87, 105, 117, 152, 161, 188 hermitage 13, 15–18, 21, 78, 149–52, 154, 159, 175, 180 humility 6, 12, 14, 17, 31–2, 45, 48, 51–2, 77–8, 143, 153–8 incompetence 98–9, 124, 133–4, 166 Inquisition 138, 141, 143 Insulana, La Provincia 83, 86–90, 105, 107, 122, 125, 140, 183, 188 Isabel, Queen of Castile 18–19, 22, 28, 129, 176 Ite Vos, papal bull 8, 22–3, 28 Jesuits 48, 52–5, 113, 185

Jesus 1, 3–4, 11–12, 29, 31, 36, 39–40, 78, 124, 186 Jiménez, Fray Francisco de 42–3, 47 Magdalena, Fray Francisco de la 172–3 Maldonado de Buendía, Fray Alonso 111 Melgar, Fray Pedro de 21 Mendieta, Fray Jerónimo de 2, 42, 49, 51, 55, 89, 110–15, 118–19, 124–5, 132–6, 139–40, 143–5, 147–8, 150–52, 159–60, 163, 166, 188–9 missiology 30, 33–4, 107, 120, 189 Montúfar, Alonso de 90–96, 98, 100–103, 105–6, 108, 116, 131, 136, 139 Motolinía, Fray Toribio de Benavente 42, 46, 49, 51, 55, 72–3, 86, 99 Moya de Contreras, Archbishop Pedro 130, 135, 137–40, 156–9 Navarro, Fray Miguel 97, 112, 117–18, 127 obedience 4, 11–12, 14, 22, 29–32, 35, 79, 84, 91, 131–2, 141, 167, 176 Observant(s), see Regular Observance Olmos, Fray Andrés de 63, 78 Oropeza, Fray Miguel de 143 Ortiz, Fray Antonio 167–70 Osuna, Fray Francisco de 3, 5–8, 50 pastor, pastoral care (cura animarum) 19, 55, 62–3, 65, 69–70, 79, 83, 91, 95–6, 98, 101, 105–6, 117, 119, 127–40, 147–52, 160, 178, 183, 187, 189 Paul, Apostle 33, 36–8 Philip II, King 9, 85, 94, 104, 129–30, 137, 156, 175–81 Philippines 154–6, 158, 177–80, 184 Piedad, Province of la 34–5, 43 Pius V, Pope 176–7

Index

poverty 4, 11–12, 14–16, 23, 26, 31–2, 38–9, 42, 45–6, 48, 51–2, 78, 85, 99, 102–5, 122, 130, 132, 145, 148, 153, 155, 157–8, 184, 187 prayer 4–8, 12–13, 16, 32, 43–4, 46, 57, 59, 62, 70, 74–6, 78, 80, 88, 112, 122, 149, 169–71 mental 4–5, 16, 47, 66, 70, 78, 119 vocal 7, 16 preaching 12–14, 20, 30–32, 36, 38–9, 45, 47–8, 50, 52, 55, 57, 60–62, 64, 67–9, 75–8, 86, 102, 117, 120–21, 124, 127, 134, 138, 140, 148–50, 152, 154, 156–8, 167–8, 183, 187 public ministry, see active ministry Puebla 85 Puebla, Fray Juan de la 15–20, 24, 28, 55, 147, 174 Quiñones, Fray Francisco de los Angeles 1, 24–42, 57, 68, 85, 140, 147, 152 Real Patronazgo (1574) 127, 130–41, 187 recollection 5–8, 17, 28, 40–41, 48, 50–52, 55, 70, 74–5, 78–80, 86, 89, 94–5, 101–2, 105–6, 111, 114–15, 132, 136–7, 140–42, 144, 146, 148–9, 152, 169, 172, 174, 184 Regular Observance 8–9, 15, 17–23, 25, 28, 41, 55, 71, 84, 95–6, 101, 105, 107, 117, 125, 132, 140, 142–8, 152–4, 158, 173–8, 180 relaxation (relajados), laxity 8, 34–6, 46, 87, 117–19, 125, 132–3, 137–45, 147, 155, 158, 188 Ribas, Fray Juan de 2, 86–7, 89–90, 183–4, 189 Rodríguez, Fray Luis 168–70 Rozas, Fray Alonso de 170–73

201

San Diego de México, Province of 152, 159 San Francisco, Fray Jacinto de 85 San Francisco, Fray Juan de 78, 108 San Francisco de Mexico, Friary of 77, 131, 134, 154 San Gabriel, Custody and Province of 22–3, 28, 30, 34, 40, 43, 74, 83, 86, 113, 117, 146, 167–9, 172, 174, 183 San José, Custody and Province of 152–4, 156, 158–9, 163, 173–81, 184 San Miguel, Province of 168, 170 San Pascual, Fray Juan de 175, 180 Santa Cruz, Province of 35 Santiago, Province of 21, 84, 146, 164 Santo Evangelio, Custody of (Spain) 21, 154 Santo Evangelio, Province of (New Spain) 21, 45, 48, 85–8, 105, 115–16, 152, 156, 160–61, 173, 183 secular clergy 14, 19, 27, 50–51, 63, 79, 83, 90–94, 97–103, 105, 107–8, 114, 124–5, 128–31, 133–6, 140, 143–4, 148, 151, 158, 164, 178, 184 secularization 130–34, 137–40, 160 Soto, Fray Francisco de 45, 108 sycamore tree 39–40, 42, 54, 178, 183–4 Talavera, Fray Miguel de 179 Talavera, Hernando de 21 Teresa of Avila 6, 181 tithes 62, 91, 102–5 Toral, Fray Francisco de 101 Trent, Council of 120, 128–30 Valadés, Fray Diego de 120 Valencia, Fray Martín de 21, 30–32, 35, 38–9, 42–7, 49, 52, 57–63, 67, 71–5, 78, 80, 164, 167–8, 183

202

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visitas 62, 65–6, 70, 77, 91, 94, 96, 102, 137, 149 Xuárez, Fray Alonso 172–3

Zacchaeus 39–41 Zumárraga, Fray Juan de 1, 44, 46, 63, 66, 71, 77–80, 90–92, 102, 107, 109, 113, 164–5, 167