82: Crown, Cross, and Crisis: Spain's Inquisition and the Expulsion of 1492

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Edict of Expulsion of the Jews, 1492
“Whereas we have been informed that in these our kingdoms there were some wicked Christians who Judaized and apostatized from our holy Catholic faith, the great cause of which was interaction between the Jews and these Christians, in the cortes which we held in the city of Toledo…we ordered the separation of the said Jews in all the cities, towns and villages of our kingdoms and lordships... Furthermore, we procured and gave orders that inquisition should be made in our aforementioned kingships and lordships…and accordingly we are informed by the inquisitors…that great injury has resulted and still results, since the Christians have engaged in and continue to engage in social interaction and communication they have had means and ways they can to subvert and to steal faithful Christians from our holy Catholic faith and to separate them from it”


The year 1492 is one of the most significant in Spanish history. Christopher Columbus sailed west across the Atlantic, opening a new world to European exploration. Jews were forced to flee east, ending more than a thousand years of presence on the Iberian Peninsula. In January of that year, the Kingdom of Granada fell to Christian armies, thereby completing Spain's territorial unification: three events, driven by one unified vision.

The historian John Edwards notes that "no country in late medieval Europe had a more self-consciously Christian identity than Spain." This identity, he points out, was defined in opposition—Christians versus the "enemies of Christ." The cruel irony was that Jews and Muslims, the other two faiths in the family of Abraham, were simultaneously neighbors and enemies, woven into the fabric of Spanish society yet targeted by it. Spain's unique history explains this tension. Seven centuries of gradual Christian reconquest of territories held by Muslim rulers made religious difference inseparable from political identity.

For centuries, three faiths coexisted on the Iberian Peninsula. By 1478, however, this medieval religious diversity had become unacceptable to Spain's new rulers, Isabel of  Castile and Fernando of Aragon. How did a society with the largest Jewish population in Europe, where Jews had thrived for over a thousand years, shift to widespread persecution and complete expulsion in just twenty years?

The Spanish Inquisition, established in 1478, and the expulsion of 1492 were connected events, driven by Spain's strong Christian identity clashing with the reality of religious diversity. 

Jewish communities had existed on the Iberian Peninsula since Roman times, possibly even earlier. By the medieval period, they had become deeply rooted in Spanish soil, speaking local languages—Arabic in Muslim territories and Castilian in Christian kingdoms—and considered themselves Spanish rather than a separate people. They engaged in various professions, including agriculture, distinguished by religious practice rather than ethnicity.

A pivotal early moment occurred in the seventh century when Visigothic  King Recared's conversion to Roman Catholicism in 589 led to the implementation of discriminatory policies. By 638, King Chintila required all subjects to be Catholic. These persecutions explain why Jews welcomed the Muslim invasion of 711—it offered relief from Christian oppression.

Under the Córdoba caliphate, Jews experienced their "Golden Age." The liberal regime offered opportunities for progress in commerce, science, and administration. This prosperity persisted even after the Christian Reconquest began. Jewish scientists and writers shined at the court of Alfonso X of Castile in the thirteenth century. Jews almost monopolized the medical profession throughout Christian Spain.

But prominence came with a cost. Jews increasingly acted as financial administrators and tax collectors. Although Jews made up only about fifteen percent of tax farmers working for the Castilian crown between 1440 and 1469, the perception vastly exceeded the actual numbers. In people's minds, Jews became linked to fiscal oppression—a harmful association that would have deadly consequences.

Catastrophe struck in 1391. Anti-Jewish riots swept across the peninsula, starting in Seville and spreading to almost every major Jewish community. The violence was unmatched in its scale and brutality. Thousands were murdered. Thousands more, faced with the choice of death or baptism, converted to Christianity. Some conversions were genuinely sincere, but many were obviously forced, driven by terror rather than conviction.

The riots fundamentally changed Spanish Jewish society in several ways. First, they destroyed the major urban Jewish communities—Barcelona, Valencia, Palma, Seville, Toledo, and Burgos—all saw their aljamas, or Jewish quarters, damaged or significantly reduced. Second, they prompted Jewish migration from cities to the countryside, shifting the economic profile from one dominated by mainly urban merchants to one that included many farmers and agricultural workers. Third, they created what became known as the "converso problem"—a large group of converts to Christianity whose religious sincerity was constantly in doubt.

Who were these conversos, these "New Christians"? They were baptized Jews and their descendants, now officially Christians but suspected of secretly practicing Jewish customs. Many continued such practices—observing the Jewish Sabbath in secret, avoiding pork, celebrating Jewish holidays, and circumcising their sons. Some truly remained Jews at heart, forced into Christianity through violence. Others found it impossible to abandon their ancestral faith. Still, some found Christian rituals unfamiliar after a lifetime of Jewish observance.

However, many conversos were genuine converts, and their descendants—two, three, or four generations removed from Judaism—were familiar only with Christianity. This was the tragedy. Christian society treated all conversos as suspicious, regardless of their personal sincerity. Yet conversos quickly gained prominence. Conversion opened doors that were once closed. They entered local government, joined the clergy and religious orders, and controlled specific economic sectors, such as Burgos's international wool trade.

This success fostered resentment among "Old Christians." The growing accusation was that conversos were more dangerous than Jews because they were within Christian society, holding positions of power while secretly working against Christianity from inside. The term used was "judaizers"—those who practiced Judaism while claiming to be Christian. Whether the extent of judaizing justified the hysteria is debatable; what matters is that Christian authorities, especially from the 1460s onward, believed that conversos posed a real threat to religious orthodoxy.

The theological aspect made the situation especially challenging. According to Catholic canon law, baptism was permanent—even if administered through coercion. Jews who had never been baptized were considered non-Christians and outside the Church's authority. However, baptized converts who secretly practiced Judaism were viewed as heretics and apostates, subject to the Church's power to punish.

This created an impossible situation. Jews and conversos often lived in proximity, maintained family ties, and engaged in religious exchanges. Christian authorities argued that as long as practicing Jews stayed in Spain, conversos would be tempted to judaize. The solution that was developed was separation—physical walls around Jewish quarters, legal restrictions, and ultimately, expulsion.

Isabel and Fernando aimed for something unprecedented: a church institution under royal control. Several predecessors had tried to establish crown-controlled religious tribunals. King Enrique IV asked for papal approval for such an institution in 1461, but only received permission for a traditional papal Inquisition—one run by Rome, not the crown. 

Their motives were both religious and political, part of a larger effort to strengthen power over both church and government. But the immediate trigger was the converso situation, especially in Andalusia.

Reports reached the monarchs about widespread judaizing among conversos. Dominican friars provided evidence of heresies in Seville. Anti-converso riots between 1467 and 1474 demonstrated that widespread resentment had reached dangerous levels. The monarchs concluded that something had to be done. Initially, moderate advisers like Cardinal Mendoza and Hernando de Talavera—himself a converso and Isabel's confessor—urged persuasion rather than force. They suggested religious education for conversos, instruction in Christian doctrine, and pastoral care. For a short period, this strategy was attempted and failed, or was considered to have failed.

On November 1, 1478, Pope Sixtus IV issued a bull granting Isabel and Fernando the authority to appoint inquisitors, creating a hybrid institution—ecclesiastical in origin but secular in control, with inquisitors answerable to the crown rather than Rome.

The first inquisitors were appointed for Seville on September 27, 1480. What followed shocked those alive at the time. Between 1481 and 1488, in Seville alone, over seven hundred people were burned at the stake and more than five thousand were "reconciled"—forced to confess, do penance, and accept permanent civil disabilities. Many people were imprisoned. The brutality was systematic and dramatic, meant to inspire terror.

Even the pope, who had authorized the Inquisition, was horrified. In early 1482, Sixtus IV suspended the Spanish Inquisition and denounced its excesses. Fernando's response was clear: he refused to follow papal orders, insisting that only a crown-controlled Inquisition would be effective. Confronted with Fernando's stubbornness, Sixtus weakened. In February 1483, he allowed the Inquisition to continue.

That October, the Dominican friar Tomás de Torquemada became the chief inquisitor over all Spanish territories. In 1484, he issued a remarkable order: inquisitors were to reject papal documents that were prejudicial to the Inquisition. The Catholic Monarchs supported this with a decree that imposed the death penalty for using papal exemption letters without royal approval. The Spanish Inquisition had effectively gained independence from Rome itself.

The Inquisition's jurisdiction was clearly defined: it had authority only over baptized Christians. Jews who had never converted were outside its reach—at least on paper. In practice, Jews quickly realized they were very much in the line of fire.

The process began with an edict of grace, a period during which conversos could voluntarily confess to judaizing and receive relatively lenient punishment. After this grace period expired, the Inquisition began an active investigation. It relied heavily on denunciations, and these often came from Jews themselves. Jewish witnesses testified against conversos, sometimes voluntarily, often under pressure. The Inquisition used these testimonies to build cases of judaizing.

When sufficient evidence was available, the accused was arrested and jailed. The Inquisition's procedures borrowed from medieval inquisitorial practice developed for prosecuting heresy. Confessions were obtained through torture. The accused often did not know the charges against them or the identity of witnesses, making defense nearly impossible.

Those convicted faced various punishments. Some were required to confess publicly and wear distinctive garments. Their property was confiscated. Repeat offenders or those deemed obstinate were "relaxed to the secular arm"—executed at public ceremonies called autos-da-fé, spectacular rituals designed to demonstrate the Inquisition's power.

The Inquisition was self-funded through the confiscation of property, which created perverse incentives to target the wealthy. It also engaged in propaganda. The most notorious example was the La Guardia case of 1490-1491, where several conversos and Jews were accused of murdering a Christian child for ritual purposes. Modern historians recognize this as fabricated—such blood libel accusations were common throughout medieval Europe and almost always false. Yet the case served its purpose. A printed account circulated, fueling anti-Jewish sentiment just months before the expulsion decree.

The Inquisition's wider influence went beyond just its direct victims. It fostered a climate of suspicion that tainted Spanish society. Soon afterward, institutions started systematically excluding conversos. Religious orders, cathedral chapters, universities, and military groups demanded proof that the Inquisition had never targeted applicants and their ancestors. These "blood purity" laws, or limpieza de sangre, shifted discrimination from religion to ancestry. 

While the Inquisition targeted conversos, Jews faced increasing pressure. Isabel and Fernando repeatedly stepped in to shield Jews from local harassment—ordering towns to lift commercial restrictions, directing the construction of access gates in Jewish quarter walls, and intervening against municipalities trying to shut down Jewish business activities.

Yet at the same time, they implemented segregationist measures. The Cortes of Toledo in 1480 enforced strict separation, restricting Jews to walled quarters. This legislation, while presented as protective, allowed for persecution by physically isolating communities.

The monarchs' contradictory policy—protecting individual Jews while imposing segregation, using Jewish financiers but allowing expulsions—exposes their true priority: religious-political unity over economic interest. Isabel declared in 1477 that all Jews were under her protection, yet partial expulsions started by 1482, justified by claims that Jews influenced conversos to judaize.

After ten years, local expulsions had failed to stop converso heresies. The crown reached a crucial decision: only total expulsion could resolve the issue. This choice was unprecedented considering the size and integration of Spanish Jewry—while England and France had expelled their smaller Jewish populations, Spanish Jews numbered in the hundreds of thousands.

The final catalyst occurred with the conquest of Granada. The last Muslim kingdom fell to the forces of Isabel and Fernando in January 1492. Jews took part in celebrations, dancing in the streets alongside religious processions, unaware of what was coming. With territorial unification complete, religious unification became a feasible goal.

On March 31, 1492, Isabel and Fernando issued the edict of expulsion. Jews were given until August 2 to convert or leave. The decree's language was clear: Jews corrupted conversos, instructing them in Jewish rites and practices. The presence of Jews made the problem with conversos unsolvable. Therefore, Jews had to leave.


Estimates vary significantly, but perhaps 165,000 Jews were expelled, although the actual number may be half that. Not all Jews emigrated—many, possibly a third or more, converted at the last minute. The wealthy and intellectually prominent were especially likely to convert. Among those who chose baptism was Abraham Seneor, chief rabbi of Castile and royal treasurer. Isaac Abravanel, a well-known financier, was one of the few who refused to leave and instead helped with emigration.

For those who chose exile, the journey was brutal. They were not allowed to carry gold or silver and had to sell their property for minimal gains: "a house for an ass, and a vineyard for a little cloth or linen," as chronicler Andrés Bernáldez noted. Ships were overcrowded and poorly managed, with storms forcing some to return to Spain, where they were compelled to undergo baptism. Those who reached North Africa faced theft and murder. A rabbi, whose father was an exile, wrote: "Some of them the Turks killed to take out the gold which they had swallowed to hide it; some of them hunger and the plague consumed."

Most refugees headed to Portugal, but in 1497, as a condition of King Manuel I's marriage to Isabel, the daughter of Isabel and Fernando, all Portuguese Jews were forced to convert. Navarre followed suit in 1498. Only the Ottoman Empire welcomed Jewish refugees with charity.

Provisions permitted Spanish Jews to return until 1499 if they accepted baptism. Many chose this option, preferring familiar surroundings over the hardships of exile. The tragic irony was that the expulsion worsened the very problem it aimed to solve, doubling the converso population overnight and maintaining crypto-Judaism for centuries.


Why did Isabel and Fernando expel the Jews? Historians remain divided. One interpretation highlights religious conviction, especially Queen Isabel's personal piety. This view considers the expulsion as motivated by genuine religious devotion—a readiness to sacrifice everything for faith.

A more sophisticated interpretation places expulsion within the context of modern state formation. Isabel and Fernando were primarily monarchs and politicians. The expulsion was a crucial step in establishing a state that required uniformity and social cohesion. Sharing a faith built solidarity among subjects beyond territorial boundaries. The timing supports this—expulsion occurred three months after the fall of Granada. With territorial unification completed, religious unification became essential. This pattern was not unique to Spain; throughout Western Europe, confessional uniformity was becoming a defining feature of the modern state.

Economic factors played a role but were probably not the leading cause. By 1492, Jews were economically weakened. The crown stood to lose revenue—Fernando acknowledged this. What is certain is that the monarchs' actions were not primarily driven by racism or greed. Jews and conversos held important positions before, during, and after the Inquisition. Talavera, a converso, was Isabel's confessor and became the first archbishop of Granada. The rulers aimed not for the complete elimination of Jews but for their assimilation and the eradication of Judaism.

The most persuasive interpretation combines these elements. Religious conviction and political calculation were closely intertwined in the minds of fifteenth-century monarchs. Isabel and Fernando sincerely believed in the importance of Catholic orthodoxy and spiritual unity, while also recognizing that maintaining unity supported their political strength. When the Inquisition failed after fourteen years to resolve the converso issue solely through prosecution, expulsion appeared to be the logical next step.


We return to John Edwards's comment about Spain's deliberately Christian identity, shaped by opposition to the "enemies of Christ." The Inquisition and expulsion were logical, horrific extensions of this identity. By 1492, medieval coexistence had become impossible in a more unified Spain. Religious uniformity became the cost of political unity.

But the project was incomplete. One more "enemy of Christ" remained—the Kingdom of Granada. While the Inquisition pursued conversos and Jews faced increasing pressure, Isabel and Fernando fought their final war of Reconquest. Granada fell in January 1492, just two months before the expulsion decree was issued. The timing was deliberate. Territorial and religious unity were integral to the same plan.

For Jews, the cost was devastating—Sephardic culture was destroyed, families were torn apart, and communities were scattered. For Spain, it meant cultural impoverishment and the creation of a permanently suspicious converso class that would haunt Spanish society for centuries. The Inquisition lasted until 1834, more than three hundred years later, showing the expulsion's failure to meet its intended goal.

The fourteen-year span from 1478 to 1492 illustrates how a deeply ingrained Christian identity could justify widespread persecution. It serves as a warning about what happens when religious conformity becomes a political rule, when diversity is viewed as a threat rather than reality, and when the desire for sameness overrides the acceptance of difference.

Next time, we will explore the other part of this story: the conquest of Granada. How did that same Christian identity, shaped over seven centuries of Reconquest, fuel the final military campaign against Islam on Spanish land? The year 1492 marked Spain's transformation into a thoroughly Christian nation—at a devastating cost to those forced out or compelled to convert. It signaled the end of medieval Spain's religious diversity and the start of a modern state built on religious uniformity, maintained by the machinery of the Inquisition.

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