(2) Clem Fandango (@ColonyScotland) / X
In the Middle Ages, the seventh commandment "Thou shalt not commit adultery" became a lucrative business for churches of every denomination. The RCC, Presbyterians, and Episcopalians all benefited financially from imposing fines and confiscating goods and land from those found guilty of adultery, fornication, and incest.
In the 18th century, Episcopalians took it a step further, publicly shaming offenders by making them stand bare-legged in a tub of water at the church door as the congregation arrived. The Church of Scotland's Kirk Sessions, composed of ruling elders, disciplined members under the General Assembly's court, with "matrons" investigating intimate details when necessary.
Fornication, adultery, and incest were common charges, with the latter mainly referring to relationships with extended family members barred by the Bible. As a result, few Sundays passed in any parish without someone paying the penalty for these "crimes."
The churches' strict enforcement of moral codes translated into a steady stream of revenue, making morality a profitable venture.
In the not-so-distant past, the Church was seen as a beacon of morality, guiding its followers along the path of righteousness. However, beneath the surface of this supposedly equalizing institution, a stark double standard existed. While the common folk were held to strict standards of behavior, the gentry and their families could often buy their way out of trouble.
It was a common practice for those with means to contribute to church funds in exchange for leniency or even outright forgiveness. This meant that those who could afford it might not even have to face the consequences of their actions, let alone receive a public rebuke. They would instead be allowed to sit in their own private loft, away from the prying eyes of the congregation, and avoid the shame and embarrassment that came with public censure.
As the traditional folksong so poignantly puts it:
"Tam maun face the minister, And she maun mount the pillar, And that's the way that they maun gae For poor folk hae nae siller."
In other words, only the poor had to face the full weight of the Church's discipline, while the wealthy could literally buy their way out of trouble.
This glaring injustice is a sobering reminder that, even in institutions we trust, power and privilege can often trump fairness and equality. It's a lesson that still resonates today, and one that we would do well to remember as we strive for a more just and equitable society.
At Campsie, in July 1704, Janet Paul was cited as being guilty of fornication and she informed the Session that she was pregnant, naming one of the heritors as the father. She was rebuked and sat on the cutty stool on several Sundays. The accused laird was then challenged and faced the congregation in October. After his first appearance he repented and was absolved the following Sunday.
In contrast, all naval and military officers, under a rule of 1708, were ordered to be examples of virtue and were instructed to ensure that every man under their command submitted himself to the discipline of the Church.
In 16th century Scotland, the Kirk Session, a local church court, played a significant role in maintaining moral order within communities. When an individual committed a sin, they would be summoned to appear before the congregation, where the minister would ask if they repented of their actions. The shame of public exposure often led offenders to promise to reform, and their compliance would be recorded as "penitent and obedient to discipline".
Not all offenders were willing to submit to the church's authority, however. Those who refused to apologize or change their ways were labeled "obstinat" or unrepentant, and their cases were sent to a higher court for further judgment.
For persistent offenders, excommunication was a severe punishment. Without a testimonial from the Kirk Session, they would be unable to find employment, get married, have their children baptized, or even receive a Christian burial. Despite this, some individuals remained defiant, as seen in the cases of John Tulloch and James McKay. Tulloch nonchalantly told the Session, "Little do I care, ye can dae it the morn," when threatened with excommunication. McKay, a blacksmith, continued his illegal relationship with his mistress, even after being excommunicated 14 years prior.
In contrast, some men could not face their shame. In 16th century Edinburgh, a man named Robert Drummond, alias Doctor Handie, made a name for himself as a fierce hunter of Catholics. His zealous efforts to root out papists earned him recognition, but his personal life told a different story. Drummond's multiple offenses of adultery led to public humiliation and punishment. Initially, he was banished from the city, but his services against popery secured him a pardon, and he was brought back. However, he was soon found guilty of the same crime again. This time, he was sentenced to public exposure at the stocks at the Cross of Edinburgh, accompanied by his partner in crime. To add to his shame, he was also branded on the cheek.
As he stood at the stocks, surrounded by a large crowd, Drummond's anger and defiance boiled over. "What wonder ye?" he exclaimed. "I shall give you more occasion to wonder." With those words, he took out his own knife and stabbed himself three or four times near the heart. The shocking act proved fatal, and Drummond departed this life.
This done, the magistrates ''causit harl him in ane cart through the town, the bloody knife borne behind in his hand; and on the morn harlit in the same manner to the gallows on the Burghmuir, where he was buried on the second of April 1574.''
( Domestic Annals of Scotland, Volume 1. Robert Chalmers, 1874)
No spam or ads, just the latest posts and updates from Scotland's newest pro-independence blog.
.png)
