In the wake of the 1848 revolutions, archives across Europe became available to scholars, who discovered documentary evidence that changed the nature of historical inquiry in the latter nineteenth century. Research in these archives dramatically altered the outlook of historians like Ignaz von Döllinger and his aristocratic disciple, John Dalberg Acton. In 1864, Acton and Döllinger visited numerous libraries and archives in Vienna and Venice. Acton described the impact of their discovers on his mentor in this way:
Conventional history faded away; studies of a lifetime suddenly underwent transformation; and his view of the last six centuries was made up from secret information gathered in thirty European libraries and archives. As many things remote from current thought grew to be certainties, he became more confident, more independent, more isolated. (“Döllinger's Historical Work,” The English Historical Review 5 [1890], 734)
Much later in life, Acton summed up what he and his mentor came to believe: “To renounce the pains and penalties of exhaustive research is to remain a victim to ill informed and designing writers, and to authorities that have worked for ages to build up the vast tradition of conventional mendacity” (Damian McElrath, Lord Acton: The Decisive Decade, 1864–1874, Essays and Documents [New York: Humanities Press, 1970], 139–140).
These reflections came to mind while reading Ulrich Lehner's slim but provocative introduction to a field of research that, until his study, had been virtually unexamined: early modern monastic prisons and torture chambers. While affirming the essential validity of the received historiography of post-Tridentine Catholicism—which emphasizes reform of the religious orders and reinvigoration of spiritual discipline among priests and religious orders—Lehner reveals evidence that tempers these received accounts of early modern religious life. A byproduct of his Enlightened Monks: The German Benedictines 1740–1803 (Oxford: Oxford Univesity Press, 2011), this book project was pursued with some reluctance, and described by the author as “a personal challenge and an unpleasant experience.” He credited colleagues in the Theology Department of Marquette University for encouraging him “to pursue the quest for historical truth” (x). We must be grateful for his perseverance.
This book is intended as an opening venture into the study of criminal law in monastic settings, church and state conflicts over criminal cases, and an analysis of how sexual offenses were managed by religious superiors. Perhaps the greatest contribution of this volume is the extensive collection of footnotes with lengthy quotes from criminal regulations of religious orders and canon law, and the procedures established to prosecute them. Archival evidence of individual cases, while reportedly sparse, opens a window onto events that sometimes read like narratives found in Protestant and anticlerical polemics of the early modern and modern period. Lehner acknowledges that this may be one of the reasons why monastic prisons and torture chambers have gone largely unexamined. Yet in the context of the last thirty years in the Roman Catholic Church—with the clerical sexual abuse crises, the Magdalene laundries scandal in Ireland, and more—it is important that candor about past scandals be examined by Roman Catholic scholars. As a fellow Roman Catholic historical theologian, I find Lehner's work responsible, honest, and unflinching.
This work may seem overly focused on the Franciscan orders, and the Capuchins in particular, but this is due to currently available evidence, rather than a reflection of a particularly Franciscan “problem” in the early modern period. Lehner does note that while Jesuits did not have prisons, the Society of Jesus had a much more selective approach in recruitment, a longer period of formation, and the option to expel members for aberrant conduct. While female religious had fewer problems with criminal conduct, their religious orders did maintain containment chambers and prison cells within convent walls. It appears that the regulations of most religious orders in this period mandated space for the confinement of those found guilty of criminal conduct.
Perhaps the most striking finding—especially in the context of events in recent decades—was Lehner's discovery that religious orders in this period required superiors to obfuscate and, if need be, lie about the criminal conduct of its members, to avoid scandal and to maintain the reputation on the order. These regulations demonstrate a concern that these matters be handled internally, rather than expose them to the world. But they also had the undesirable effect of creating a “tradition of conventional mendacity” around matters that might damage respect for priests and regard for religious.
Because religious superiors oversaw criminal proceedings, the process was open to abuse when their self-interest was at stake. One German Capuchin was imprisoned when he attempted to report to the General in Rome his provincial's violations of their rules of poverty. He remained in prison from 1721 until his death in 1750. Though he escaped twice and sought protection from the local bishop, he was returned to his provincial, and suffered further hardships, including extreme whippings. Because he refused to receive the sacraments, when he died his body was interred under the garden compost rather than in hallowed ground; and because the key to his shackles had been lost, his hands and feet were severed to remove the chains. When civil authorities became involved, the order claimed he was insane and had received gentle care (58–60).
The official penalties prescribed for criminal offenses could be severe, but Lehner's evidence indicates that these were not carried out with consistency. One extreme case involved a sub-prior who sodomized young boys over a period of years, was repeatedly admonished by his previous superiors, but had continued his criminal behavior. Not until state authority became aware of his pedophilia was the penalty of perpetual detainment imposed (78–80).
While this work is “impressionistic,” rather than a detailed systematic analysis of large bodies of evidence, enough has been presented to warrant further research and scholarly attention. Lehner deserves gratitude for shining light on one of the darker corners of the Christian past.