The Black Legend, Spanish Reforms, and Historical Perceptions

 

The Black Legend has significantly shaped Americans' perceptions of Spanish colonial history, and a correlation can be drawn with critical narratives about the United States. While abuses undoubtedly occurred in Spain’s colonies, the Black Legend often ignores or distorts Spain’s efforts to address these issues—just as critiques of U.S. history frequently overlook its attempts at reform.  

The Black Legend as Propaganda  

The Black Legend was largely a Dutch and English propaganda campaign aimed at discrediting Spain during the height of imperial rivalry. It exploited Spain’s openness to addressing problems within its colonies—such as slavery and the mistreatment of indigenous peoples—weaponizing these discussions to portray Spain as uniquely cruel and morally corrupt.  

Instead of commending Spain for its willingness to reform, rival nations used these self-critical debates to undermine Spanish influence. This narrative has endured, overshadowing Spain’s significant efforts to mitigate abuses, such as the Laws of the Indies and the advocacy of figures like Bartolomé de las Casas.  

Spain’s Commitment to Reform  

From the reign of Queen Isabella I, the Spanish Crown demonstrated a commitment to protecting indigenous peoples. Isabella declared in 1500, “The Indians are free and not subject to servitude,” aligning her policies with papal decrees like Sicut Dudum (1435) and Sublimis Deus (1537), both of which condemned slavery.  

A papal bull is a formal proclamation or decree issued by the pope. Named after the lead seal (or bulla) that authenticates it, papal bulls historically addressed significant matters of faith, governance, or social issues. In Sicut Dudum, Pope Eugene IV explicitly forbade the enslavement of indigenous peoples in the Canary Islands, calling for their liberation and threatening excommunication for those who violated the decree. Similarly, in Sublimis Deus, Pope Paul III reaffirmed the inherent dignity of all humans, declaring that indigenous peoples are rational beings with the right to freedom and property, attaching the same severe penalty for disobedience.  

These threats of excommunication were not taken lightly, especially by devout Catholic rulers like Isabella I, Charles V, and Philip II of Spain. As monarchs who saw themselves as protectors of the faith, ignoring such decrees could have jeopardized their spiritual standing and legitimacy in the eyes of their subjects and the Church. This strong moral and religious obligation influenced their policies and reforms, such as Isabella’s early declaration that “The Indians are free and not subject to servitude,” Charles V’s implementation of the New Laws of 1542 to curb abuses in the colonies, and Philip II’s enactment of the comprehensive Laws of the Indies in 1573, which integrated Christian principles into colonial governance and mandated the humane treatment of indigenous peoples.  

The Role of Bartolomé de las Casas  

Bartolomé de las Casas was instrumental in highlighting abuses in the colonies. His A Short Account of the Destruction of the Indies (1542) vividly depicted the suffering of indigenous peoples, using hypnotic and emotionally charged language to capture the attention of the Spanish Crown and the broader public. While some of his claims were exaggerated, this rhetorical approach was effective in spurring debates within Spain about colonial practices. However, it also became food for propaganda used by Spain's enemies, who weaponized his accounts to support the Black Legend narrative and portray Spain as uniquely cruel and oppressive.  

A Correlation with U.S. History  

The Black Legend serves as a historical precursor to what might be termed a "new Black Legend" directed at the United States. Just as Spain’s openness to self-critique was weaponized against it, the U.S. often sees its shortcomings emphasized in critical narratives while its reforms and efforts to address these failings are downplayed or ignored.  

For both Spain and the U.S., openness to discussing and correcting problems is a sign of moral courage and accountability, not weakness. In contrast, authoritarian regimes conceal abuses, avoiding external critique while failing to address internal issues. Ironically, the very openness to reform—a hallmark of free societies—becomes a vulnerability in the hands of propagandists.  

Balancing the Narrative  

Approaching history with nuance is essential. Acknowledging abuses is necessary, but so is recognizing the efforts to reform and the cultural and moral frameworks that enabled those reforms. In Spain’s case, the Laws of the Indies, the advocacy of figures like Bartolomé de las Casas, and the leadership of monarchs like Isabella, Charles V, and Philip II reflect a consistent intent to align colonial practices with justice, and Christian virtue, even if enforcement sometimes fell short.  

Similarly, critiques of U.S. history should not overlook the country’s ongoing commitment to addressing its failings. Both Spain and the U.S. illustrate that societies willing to grapple with their flaws are ultimately stronger and more just than those that deny or conceal them.  

If you’d like to explore these parallels or specific examples further, I’d be happy to continue the conversation. Balancing critique with acknowledgment of progress and reform is vital to understanding history and fostering a just society.

Gratitude, Mass, and Happiness

Throughout my life, I’ve encountered many different kinds of people, each bringing their own set of strengths, challenges, and insights. There are those who, in their quiet dedication to responsibility, seem to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders, never missing a beat in their work and obligations. I’ve met individuals who, with an effortless warmth, care more for the well-being of others than for their own, often to the point of self-neglect. There are others still, who are sensitive to the winds of their emotions, their thoughts constantly moving in waves of uncertainty. I’ve seen those who thrive in the world of social interactions, their energy flowing outward like a constant stream, and I’ve met those whose drive for power and self-preservation runs deep, shaping their every action with sharp precision.

As I reflect on these encounters, I realize how much the rhythm of gratitude, particularly through worship, speaks to each of these different personalities, offering peace in a world full of noise and demands.

For those who are conscientious, who carry the burden of responsibility with a stoic resolve, it’s easy to see how a life driven by the need to do things perfectly can lead to exhaustion and burnout. The constant striving for order can sometimes feel like a never-ending battle. And yet, when I think of the rhythm of Mass—the weekly commitment to pause and reflect—I realize how that very ritual serves as a grounding point. In the liturgical silence, there is an opportunity to lay down the weight of perfectionism at the feet of something higher, to simply be in the presence of God, free from the pressure of achievement. It is in that sacred moment of gratitude where the need to control and perfect can be replaced with a humble offering, a peace that doesn’t come from accomplishment but from surrender.

For those who are agreeable, whose hearts are so attuned to the needs of others that they often forget their own, the rhythm of worship offers a much-needed reminder. In the act of communal worship, I see how this regular practice allows for a deeper sense of belonging—not just to those around us, but to something transcendent. The Mass becomes a time to receive, to acknowledge that while giving to others is important, we too need the nourishment of gratitude and reflection. Through worship, these individuals can find a sense of balance—learning that to serve others effectively, they must first acknowledge their own worth and the goodness of God in their lives. In this sacred space, gratitude becomes not just a feeling but a commitment—a commitment to take care of the soul in order to serve others with a fuller heart.

Then there are those who, driven by the tides of emotion, find themselves caught in storms of anxiety or sorrow. For them, life often feels like an unpredictable sea. Yet, in the peaceful rhythm of Mass, they can find an anchor. The act of worship, with its deliberate pauses, prayers, and chants, becomes a sanctuary of stillness in the midst of turmoil. It’s in the act of gratitude, when the soul can give thanks for all that is good despite the chaotic winds of the world, that peace begins to settle in. Through worship, those with a more neurotic temperament can find a place to process, to reflect, and to surrender their anxieties to God. Gratitude becomes their refuge, a practice that invites them to step outside the emotional tides and trust in something greater than themselves.For the extraverted, who live in a world of constant interaction and social expectation, the act of worship offers a place to direct their energy inward. Mass becomes a space where their desire for external connection is met by a deeper, more intimate connection with the divine. The liturgical rhythm provides a structure in which their social energy can be channeled into something sacred. There is a moment of collective gratitude where the individual is not seeking approval or validation from others but is instead participating in the communal act of giving thanks. Here, the energy that typically flows outward is turned inward and upward, toward God. In this space, their need for external recognition is replaced by the peace of being known by God, loved for who they are, not for what they do.

And then, I think of those who have a more driven, perhaps self-serving nature—individuals whose ambitions are sharp and unyielding, whose pursuit of success or power is a constant force in their lives. For them, the rhythm of Mass offers an unexpected gift. The liturgy, with its focus on surrender, humility, and gratitude, is a direct challenge to their self-sufficiency. In the act of worship, there is an invitation to step away from the ego, to give thanks not for what they’ve achieved on their own, but for the grace that allows them to succeed in the first place. Gratitude in worship becomes an opportunity to acknowledge that life’s greatest gifts—love, strength, wisdom—are not self-made but given by God. It is in that act of recognizing God's provision that the drive for power can be tempered, leading to a more balanced life, one where success is no longer solely defined by personal achievement but by divine grace.

What strikes me most in all of these reflections is how the act of worship, particularly in the liturgical rhythm of Mass, ties these various personality types together. Each type, with its own strengths and vulnerabilities, can find peace in the commitment to gratitude. This regular act of thanksgiving, not just in thought but in action, reshapes the soul. It teaches us to focus on what is good, to acknowledge what is beyond ourselves, and to surrender to a rhythm that leads to deeper peace. For all of us—no matter our personality—it is in the worship of God, an act of gratitude, that we find a path to a healthier, more meaningful life. It is here that the noise of the world quiets, the soul rests, and the truth of divine love and grace give balance.

Rethinking Mexico City: A Vision for Resilience, Renewal, and Revolutionary Technology

Mexico City, a marvel of human achievement, stands as both a symbol of resilience and a reminder of the cost of thriving in a challenging environment. Built atop the ancient city of Tenochtitlán, it has weathered centuries of earthquakes, floods, and the relentless pressure of expansion. Yet, the city that has been called the "Heart of Mexico" now faces challenges that threaten its very survival. 

As its aquifers dry up, its buildings sink, and its residents struggle to breathe clean air, one question grows louder: How can we ensure a future worthy of this city’s rich past? New technologies like Liquid Fluoride Thorium Reactors (LFTR) could help write the next chapter of Mexico City's story—a chapter of renewal, sustainability, and innovation.

But solutions as bold as these demand vision, courage, and a willingness to let go of old ways in favor of what could be.

A PROTESTANT HISTORIAN CONVERTS TO THE CATHOLIC CHURCH

 

A. David Anders, PhD

Protestant Historian

I grew up an Evangelical Protestant in Birmingham, Alabama. My parents were loving and devoted, sincere in their faith, and deeply involved in our church. They instilled in me a respect for the Bible as the Word of God, and a desire for a living faith in Christ. Missionaries frequented our home and brought their enthusiasm for their work. Bookshelves in our house were filled with theology and apologetics. From an early age, I absorbed the notion that the highest possible calling was to teach the Christian faith. I suppose it is no surprise that I became a Church historian, but becoming a Catholic was the last thing I expected.

My family’s church was nominally Presbyterian, but denominational differences meant very little to us. I frequently heard that disagreements over Baptism, the Lord’s Supper, or church government were unimportant as long as one believed the Gospel. By this, we meant that one should be “born again,” that salvation is by faith alone, and that the Bible is the sole authority for Christian faith. Our church supported the ministries of many different Protestant denominations, but the one group we certainly opposed was the Catholic Church.

The myth of a Protestant “recovery” of the Gospel was strong in our church. I learned very early to idolize the Protestant Reformers Martin Luther and John Calvin, because they supposedly had rescued Christianity from the darkness of medieval Catholicism. Catholics were those who trusted in “good works” to get them to heaven, who yielded to tradition instead of Scripture, and who worshipped Mary and the saints instead of God. Their obsession with the sacraments also created an enormous impediment to true faith and a personal relationship with Jesus. There was no doubt. Catholics were not real Christians.

Our church was characterized by a kind of confident intellectualism. Presbyterians tend to be quite theologically minded, and seminary professors, apologists, scientists, and philosophers were frequent speakers at our conferences. It was this intellectual atmosphere that had attracted my father to the church, and his bookshelves were lined with the works of the Reformer John Calvin, and the Puritan Jonathan Edwards, as well as more recent authors like B. B. Warfield, A. A. Hodge, C. S. Lewis, and Francis Schaeffer. As a part of this academic culture, we took it for granted that honest inquiry would lead anyone to our version of Christian faith.

All of these influences left definite impressions on me as a child. I came to see Christianity as somewhat akin to Newtonian physics. The Christian faith consisted in certain eminently reasonable and immutable laws, and you were guaranteed eternal life provided you constructed your life according to these principles. I also thought this was the message clearly spelled out in the official textbook of Christian theology: the Bible. Only mindless trust in human tradition or depraved indifference could possibly explain anyone’s failure to grasp these simple truths.

There was one strange irony in this highly religious and theological atmosphere. We stressed that it was faith and not works that saves. We also confessed the classic Protestant belief that all people are “totally depraved,” meaning that even their best moral efforts are intrinsically hateful to God and can merit nothing. By the time I reached high school, I put these pieces together and concluded that religious practice and moral striving were more or less irrelevant to my life. It was not that I lost my faith. On the contrary, I absorbed it thoroughly. I had accepted Christ as my Savior and been “born again.” I believed that the Bible was the Word of God. I also believed none of my religious or moral works had any value. So I quit practicing them.

Origin of Life ?

 Are we getting closer to discovering how life first emerged?

Will scientists be able to create life in a lab in our lifetimes?

Dr. James Tour is a chemist and nanotechnologist who has been following origin-of-life research closely for years. Discusses these questions and more.

Did the Council of Trent Contradict the Second Council of Orange?

Editor's note:
Here is an excellent article comparing the Council Trent with the Second Council of Orange. Trent was an ecumenical council calling all the bishops of the Church to attend or with representatives and held as binding on all Catholics. The Second Council of Orange was a local council, but received papal approval by Pope Felix IV, making them binding on the Faithful.

Many Calvinists think the Second Council of Orange approved of their theology. This article explains how this is incorrect.

Just as a helpful note on "actual grace" or "helping grace" and "sanctifying grace":

In Christian theology, "actual grace" or "helping grace" and "sanctifying grace" are distinct concepts.

"Actual grace" or "helping grace" refers to the temporary assistance given by God to help a person to perform a specific good action or avoid a specific evil action. This type of grace is said to be "actual" because it refers to God's grace accepted by a person to help him to act according to His will, man is always free to reject such graces.

On the other hand, "sanctifying grace" refers to the state of grace in which a person is placed when they receive God's forgiveness for all their sins and are reconciled into Him in Baptism. This type of grace is said to be "sanctifying" because it transforms a person to be holy, remitting all sin, and transforming them from a state of sinfulness to a state of righteousness and making him or her an adopted child of God and incorporates one into the Mystical Body of Christ-- the Church.

While actual grace is temporary and specific to a particular situation or action; it is available before and after justification. Sanctifying grace (justification) is transformative, changing the very nature of the person into a child of God. Sanctifying grace can be lost by mortal sin (and regained through the sacrament of confession) but being a child of God can never be lost the soul is marked or sealed and this is permanent:
Ephesians 1:13
"having also believed, you were sealed in Him with the Holy Spirit of the promise"

In short, actual grace is a temporary assistance to help a person act in accordance with God's will, while sanctifying grace is a transformation that makes a person holy and righteous.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From:
calledtocommunion.com

by Bryan Cross

---

John Hendryx is a PCA member who studied at Reformed Theological Seminary and owns and edits Monergism.com, a well known Reformed website and online Reformed library and bookstore. He has posted an article claiming that the sixth session of the Council of Trent (AD 1547) is at odds with the Second Council of Orange (AD 529). Because the acts of the Second Council of Orange were approved by Pope Boniface II on January 25, in AD 531, if Hendryx’s claims were true, this would imply that at the Council of Trent the Magisterium of the Church rejected soteriological doctrines it had previously affirmed over a thousand years earlier, and would thereby strengthen the Reformed claim to have preserved the authentic soteriology of the early Church. Here I show two things: first, that the Tridentine canons Hendryx thinks are contrary to the doctrine promulgated by the Second Council of Orange are not only entirely compatible with the teaching of Orange but in full continuity with it, and second, that in multiple ways Reformed theology deviates from the soteriological doctrines taught at the Second Council of Orange.

Interior of the Cathedral at Orange, France

Hendryx quotes the following three canons from the Second Council of Orange.

CANON 5. If anyone says that not only the increase of faith but also its beginning and the very desire for faith, by which we believe in Him who justifies the ungodly and comes to the regeneration of holy baptism — if anyone says that this belongs to us by nature and not by a gift of grace, that is, by the inspiration of the Holy Spirit amending our will and turning it from unbelief to faith and from godlessness to godliness, it is proof that he is opposed to the teaching of the Apostles, for blessed Paul says, “And I am sure that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ” (Phil. 1:6). And again, “For by grace you have been saved through faith; and this is not your own doing, it is the gift of God” (Eph. 2:8). For those who state that the faith by which we believe in God is natural make all who are separated from the Church of Christ by definition in some measure believers.

Founding of Christendom : Constantine (part 1) post 26

 Chi Rho is one of the earliest Christian symbols.

 

 

 

We have finally reached the part of Christendom history that the fog begins to lift and history becomes more clear.

Pagan Rome will now be defeated by Constantine, and in my opinion with the help of his mother Helena. Helena was a woman of low birth and she was probably born around 248 AD. Living through three great persecutions of Christians by emperors: Decius (249 AD–251 AD) Gallus (251 AD–253 AD) Valerian (253 AD–260 AD).

HELENA MOTHER OF CONSTANTINE
St. Ambrose said she was a daughter of an innkeeper, and a Greek speaker in Turkey; she was probably a "stable-maid."  Her husband, Constantine’s father, Constantius Chlorus, was Serbian by birth. They met  while  Chlorus was still a soldier with no political rank. Helena and  Chlorus may have been married (about 270 AD), but it isn’t clear. Some refer to her as a concubine, with no legal marriage but also his wife. If Hellena were a secret Christian, they could have been married secretly by a Catholic priest, and never ratified by a pagan ceremony. This would clear up her being both.   Chlorus divorced her in 294, as a political move, most saying her humble origins were a liability, but more likely for political reasons.. They were married for more than 20 years. Constantine was born in 272 AD. Helena was banished, as a “concubine,” after the divorce and left to live alone near the court of Diocletian. She suffered like that for many years, but she was close to her son who also lived at the court.

Whether Helena was born to a Christian family and kept it secret, or whether she converted later in life, we don’t know. Church Historian Eusibius says she was converted by her son Constantine, after he became Emperor.