Christianization's Impact on Atlantic Slavery

How did Christianization facilitate or limit slavery across the Atlantic?

The spread of Christianity was paramount to colonial efforts across areas of the New World and parts of Africa that later became known as the Atlantic. This process, known as the Christianization of European colonialism, took different forms across the colonies and institutions it created. Slavery, one of the primary institutions that fueled the creation of the modern Atlantic, also had its ties to Christian ideals spread by colonial forces such as the Spanish and Portuguese. Yet, these connections are much more complex than Christianity across the Atlantic condoning or refusing slavery. Upon further investigation, Christianity was used both as a uniting force and a measure against dissent across the Atlantic, with its presence acting as an institutional method of justifying slavery, while also bringing about objections among the slave communities it created.

In order to understand how Christianity was instituted alongside slavery, it is important to recognize how Christianity attempted to unite slaves in their religious behavior so as to organize enslaved peoples and enact a colonial institution around slavery, both to justify it and limit dissent. Whether or not slaves actually believed in Christianity is up to debate and varied based on the enslaved community. However, the institutional benefits and organization brought about by Christianity were used to both indoctrinate slaves and stifle revolution. The Portuguese campaign of Atlantic slavery, for example, had a religious justification, as Herman Bennett states that the papal bulls of Portuguese popes “had indeed already given the kings of Portugal the right to dispossess and eternally enslave Mahometans, pagans, and black peoples in general” (Bennett 83). This positions slavery itself as a religious mandate for Europeans entering and taking over lands, especially at the face of religious deviance, effectively “sanctioning the violent enslavement of those unwilling to submit to the Christian invaders” (Bennett 83). Aligning Christianity with enslavement seemed to allow colonial institutions across the Atlantic to both force slaves into conversion and create communities out of these groups that served the society. One of these communities were known as “ethnically specific lay brotherhoods” where Brazilian and some Spanish slaves “expressed their national identities” and did charity “directed toward the nation at large” which “formed a surrogate for the family left behind in Africa” (Thornton 324).

However, it was clear that these groups “were intended by the clergy to promote Christian life” rather than specifically promote the identity and status of slaves, as its presence was meant to limit dissent (Thornton 324). Ultimately, no matter how united Africans slaves were in these groups, they were still “subject to the parallel social organization imposed by their master, the estate”, which, under Atlantic slavery, was primarily a Christian colonial form of governance (Thornton 326). In addition, in examples such as the Portuguese occupation of Guinea, it is clear that the Christian ideals surrounding the institution of slavery were enough to stifle rebellion and consolidate power among colonial rulers. Certain Africans were divided based on their proximity to Chrisitianity, which informed the rights they were given in Christian society. By creating the institution of slavery and these slave groups, “the Church in tandem with African agency and Portuguese commercial motives curtailed wanton slave raids and established an institutional context through which some of Guinea’s inhabitants assumed the status of sovereign subjects” (Bennet 74). Those who did not fall under this classification “represented the sovereignless—both in the eyes of Africans and Europeans—and were ‘legitimately’ enslaved” (Bennett 74). While both groups in Guinea were technically enslaved, the promise of better treatment for those who adhered to colonial brotherhoods emphasizes efforts to build structure around slavery through Christian belief.

In Luanda, similar ties between Christian colonialism and slavery are seen in the fact that “Luanda religious institutions commonly owned and traded in slaves”, especially “the Jesuits” who “had become the largest slaveholders in Angola by accepting slaves as gifts” (Ferreira 93). It is clear that the religious institution itself was associated with the trade of slaves. In fact, the individual religious practice of African slaves was not seen as essential for their participation in brotherhoods, further emphasizing a larger purpose for these religious structures to legislate slavery rather than solely religion. As Ferreira mentions, “Christianity was only one dimension of the multilayered religious fabric of Luanda, and Africans who joined churches and brotherhoods” usually committed to “African religious beliefs” despite their allegiances (Ferreira 181). This furthers the idea that the Christian aspect of colonial Atlantic slavery transcended religious lines, working as its own mini-institution to reinforce loyalty among slaves. The notion that these slaves did not fully believe in Christianity yet participated in this brotherhood suggests institutional benefits for slaves for aligning their behavior with the Christian tradition. In fact, evidence suggests a consistent theological defense of indigenous religion, even in religious adoption. Thornton adds that “In Latin America and Catholic countries in general, where there was a good fit, there developed a satisfactory syncretism, and conversion (at least nominal conversion)”, but “Where the cosmologies differed, however, as in Protestant countries, Africans developed their own new cosmology out of their varying traditions”, and “only accepted conversion when this cosmos began breaking down over time” (Thornton 255).

Furthermore, the struggle between the morality of slavery and the reality of its institution among Christians, especially in Portuguese sources, is apparent. In Crónica de Guiné, a book written by Gomes Eanes de Zurara, a Christian Portuguese chronicler, the morality of the slave trade is discussed as it relates to the presence of slavery in Lagos and Prince Henry (another Portuguese navigator)’s efforts “increase support for the west African expeditions” (Newitt 148). While the author laments the brutality of slavery, Zurara ultimately concludes that it is justified for the “salvation of those [enslaved] souls that otherwise would have been lost” (Newitt 151). This again highlights the ties that sometimes existed between Christian thought and slavery to justify the colonial institution of it. Framing slavery as salvation as long as it was tied with Christianity seemed to allow the Portuguese and its chroniclers to rationalize Atlantic slavery under colonial institutions. Slavery was also seen as necessary to the colonial institution, overlapping religion, governmental structure and enslavement. It is noted that “the Portuguese crown had stripped power from the governors of Angola” and given it “to the junta das missões to promote missionary work in Angola” who worked with governors that “had openly and unscrupulously benefited from slaving in Angola through warfare and large-scale trade in internal markets (feiras)” (Ferreira 203). In these examples, the institutional aspects of Christian missionary work, the power of colonial governance, and the institution of slavery become difficult to separate, suggesting a complex reinforcement between these aspects of Atlantic societies post-colonization. Certain historians point to this binding effect as a critical aspect of keeping the institution of slavery together, as “even among chattel, the Church maintained some dominion—especially over their souls” that “imposed itself between masters and their property” (Bennett 60). In Saidiya Hartman’s Lose Your Mother, a memoir-travelogue of slave routes across Ghana and the Atlantic, this sentiment of a religious connection to slavery is also emphasized, with Hartman noting that “The crucifix and a cursory baptism had ushered [Africans] into slavery” and promised “the gift of consolation provided by faith” for slaves who suffered under their masters” (Hartman 55). Overall, Christianity seemed to be an underlying force behind the overall colonial institutions across the Atlantic, and with the institution of slavery, it soon became a tool used to justify or create social organization under the colony among the enslaved.

Yet, some sources do suggest that the communities created through Christian society sometimes offered protection for slaves and gave them their own agency to fight back against some of the plights of slavery. For example, in Luanda, in the ladino slave communities, the Portuguese allowed the enslaved to contract marriages and maintain families (Ferreira 90). In addition, “when slaves belonging to the Jesuit convent gave refuge to a runaway slave, the priests supported them against a police detail sent by the city to apprehend the escapee”, suggesting support from priests in favor of slaves (Ferreira 90). These aspects of slave life in Luanda also allowed for some legal protections, as “the Jesuits excommunicated a governor of Angola in the 1660s after an incident that led to the arrest of some of their slaves” (Ferreira 90). Furthermore, clear agency was taken by a government-backed brotherhood in Luanda that sent a letter to Rome complaining about discrimination from white residents of Luanda, citing that “We must all be equal in service to God” (Ferreira 91). This suggests some sort of authority granted to slave groups that were a part of colonies involved in the Atlantic trade. However, the ultimate authority among these groups still seemed to be vested in the colonial state, as many disputes arose when the complaints of slaves were ignored at the sale of their families and loved ones (Ferreira 92). As a result, the purpose of this agency given to slave groups seemed to still be bound by what served the interest of Christian institutions. Some historians also point to the sheer mobility of slaves across the trade routes of the Atlantic as a way for them to regain a semblance of control over their fate (Fisk and Nafafé 1). It is noted that mobility across the Atlantic as a slave “could offer liberatory possibilities” or even allow for marronage (escaping slavery) via brotherhoods (Fisk and Nafafé 3). Yet, as shown in previous examples, when these brotherhoods were state-legislated, they were ultimately at the whims of a larger colonial institution, backed by either religious justification or other political motives.

Accounts of the Atlantic slave trade do show a sense of guilt expressed by religious leaders at the sight of slavery, albeit on an individual rather than church-wide basis. For example, Francesco Carletti, a traveler on a slaving voyage to Cape Verde and the Spanish Indies, noted that branding slaves “does not fail to cause me sadness and trouble in my conscience, because, in truth Serene Lord, this traffic always appears to me to be inhumane and unworthy of the faith and piety of a Christian” (Newitt 156). This suggests a clear religious disdain for the subjugation of slavery, and a clash between Christian belief in the Atlantic and the institutions it propped up. However, this is subverted by the statement that “it is all the more shameful for one who has been baptized”, suggesting that there is some connection between being a Christian and one’s right to avoid enslavement (Newitt 156). In addition, Carletti acknowledges “that this business never pleased me”, but also makes religious critiques of slaves, writing that the slave men and women could have been naked due to “innocence or stupidity” and that their states reflects an original sin “more shameful than any other”, clearly suggesting a distinction in supposed moral slaves through a Christian lens (Newitt 157). As a result, the focus is moved away from the morality of slavery itself and is instead placed on the morality of enslaving Christians, emphasizing how centered slavery was around the provisions of Christian faith not only in one colony, but in various parts of the Atlantic route.

In the Portuguese colony of São Jorge da Mina in West Africa, this idea is further complicated. In this colony, An unusual amount of protection was given to African Christians, even in slavery. It is noted that while slaves sometimes “felt the sting of the lash, the Portuguese viewed most Africans, including the Christian converts, beholden to local laws” (Bennett 128). In one account of a dispute between a Portuguese commander and African subordinate, the king ordered the African to pay a fine to the church as his punishment, suggesting equal treatment under colonial rule, while also implying the institution of the church as the ultimate legal agent (Bennet 128). Interestingly, historians note that the complex, two-sided nature of slavery and African subordination in the Atlantic created a “savage-to-slave trajectory” in part inspired by Christian belief, while at the same time forming a rhetoric “derived from feudalism and Christianity” that spurred “a representational domain” for African slaves of both rights and repression (Bennett 129). As a result, the few liberties and recognitions of rights afforded to slaves in the Atlantic under Christian society were still restrained under the motives of colonial power, granting mobility to slaves and instilling suppression when it served a political benefit.

Reconciling the complex nature of slavery in the Atlantic under a Christian framework places the issue of slavery at the crossroads of theology, political control, and colonial expansion. Even when afforded liberties by the Christian state, whether it be through conversion, brotherhoods, or protections by colonial powers, Atlantic slaves were still subject to the political interests of their masters and the Christianization narrative justifying their enslavement. This blurs the lines between true belief, colonial motives, and the history of the enslaved throughout the Atlantic network of commerce, ideology, and subjugated peoples.