Curious Knowledge: Diego Valadés’ Rhetorica Christiana as a Cabinet of Curiosity

Abstract

This essay examines Diego Valadés, a Franciscan missionary, as a Renaissance “curioso” whose life and work were driven by insatiable inquisitiveness and a desire to acquire knowledge. Through his Rhetorica Christiana, Valadés, much like collectors of cabinets of curiosities and Wunderkammer, celebrated the richness of indigenous cultures in New Spain. Following the Renaissance ethos of curiosity-driven exploration that fostered a global pursuit of knowledge, Valadés’ work functions as a textual cabinet of curiosity, reflecting his experiences in New Spain and incorporating indigenous flora, fauna, and cultural elements unfamiliar to European readers. His text, originally intended to be titled Suma de todas las ciencias, embodies a new and modern knowledge system that is encyclopedic and proto-scientific in nature. However, Valadés’ intellectual pursuits were constrained by the conservative court of Philip II, where intellectual freedom often faced scrutiny. His work bridges the Renaissance’s intellectual curiosity with mnemonic practices, illustrating how collecting and memory techniques were intertwined in expanding the global understanding of the natural world.

1. The Pilgrim Fish and the Early Modern Curioso

At the close of the sixteenth century, the Valencian painter Pedro Juan Tapia (1563–1597) immortalized a leatherback sea turtle (Dermochelys coriacea, “tortuga laúd” in Spanish) that had been found stranded in the port of Denia (see Figure 1). What makes this painting particularly striking is its accompanying inscription, which not only describes the turtle’s physical attributes but also situates it within the natural world as it was understood at the time.

“This pilgrim fish, captured in the tuna catch in Denia this year on August 28, 1597; of the same magnitude, color, and shape as it appears here, is the other species of Galapagos sea turtle called coriaceous by Latin authors because it is covered with a leather-like that of a turtle or also a mercury turtle, since it is said that Mercury invented the lute in its shape. The body tube is formed by its spine and ribs, and in its cavity, it contains everything that perfect animals usually have, so it belongs to the kind of fish that breathe and form a voice; it is amphibious, oviparous, and omnivorous”.1

This inscription highlights the fluidity of early modern natural classifications, where turtles were still considered part of the category of “fish”, and knowledge about them was shaped by both classical texts and direct observation. More than just a visual record, Tapia’s painting (Tapia 1597) reflects a broader intellectual culture that sought to document and categorize the natural world. The portrait was commissioned by the Marquis of Denia and Duke of Lerma, Francisco Gómez de Sandoval y Rojas (1553–1625) for El Escorial, specifically for Philip II’s cabinet of curiosities. When physical specimens were difficult to acquire, paintings often served as substitutes, helping to build vast collections of wonders (mirabilia and exotica), artificial creations (artificialia), and natural curiosities (naturalia). These collections, assembled by monarchs, nobles, and scholars, functioned as microcosms of the known world, bringing together rare and exotic objects to classify, compare, and display.2

The growing fascination with such collections in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries was fueled by imperial expansion, mercantile networks, and a renewed drive to systematize knowledge. Philip II’s collection stood as one of the most illustrious of its time, rivaling Rudolf II’s (1542–1612) Kunstkammer, known for its masterpieces by Albrecht Dürer (1471–1528) and Giuseppe Arcimboldo (1527–1593), as well as the monarch’s collection of scientifica, which included astrolabes and celestial globes. Among other prominent collectors were Samuel Quicchelberg (1529–1567), Ulisse Aldrovandi (1522–1605), Francesco I de’ Medici (1541–1578), and Ferrante Imperato (1525–1615)—the latter possessing a cabinet of 35,000 specimens. These cabinets not only reinforced princely authority but also shaped scientific inquiry by fostering a culture of observation, classification, and comparative study.3

The fervor for collecting not only enriched individuals from various professions, including physicians, apothecaries, lawyers, clergymen, and merchants, with “the marvels of the art and the secrets of nature”4 but also bestowed upon them recognition as refined individuals of good taste, granting them a privileged place in the intellectual circles of society. In Spain, figures like Captain Vicencio Juan de Lastanosa (1607–1682), a close friend of Spanish Jesuit writer Baltasar Gracián (1601–1658), epitomized this fascination of constant pursuit of knowledge fueled by curiosity. Lastanosa’s transformation of his childhood home in Huesca into a sprawling chamber of wonders, replete with books, medals, coins, and archaeological artifacts, attracted curious travelers from across the Iberian Peninsula.5 In his writings, according to William Eamon (Eamon 2010a), Lastanosa identified himself as part of a diverse community described as virtuosi or curiosi, characterized by their insatiable appetite for original, rare, or unusual specimens and objects. To be part of this select group of curious minds, as per Lorraine Daston and Katherine Park, one had to combine “a thirst to know with an appetite for marvels” (Daston and Park 1998, p. 218). As some of these cabinets developed into the first scientific collections and museums, curiosi rewove the fabric of empirical understanding and influenced the perceptions of intellectuals.6

The early modern “curious” impulse to collect, document, and classify knowledge in early modern Europe provides the broader intellectual framework for this study. During this period, cabinets of curiosity (Wunderkammern, studioli), encyclopedic collections, and visual documentation played a central role in shaping emerging epistemological and scientific frameworks. These practices reflected not only a growing impulse to catalog the natural world but also an intellectual landscape in which visual representation, memory techniques, and ethnographic inquiry intersected. This essay examines these intersections through the work of the Franciscan missionary, artist, and writer Diego Valadés (1533–1582) and his Rhetorica Christiana (1579), a richly illustrated text that functioned as both a cabinet of curiosities in textual form and a mnemonic system. Written after his return from New Spain in 1571, the Rhetorica Christiana integrates ethnographic detail with visual and rhetorical strategies to structure and preserve knowledge of the Americas. Originally intended to be titled Suma de todas las ciencias, the work incorporates “ejemplos tomados de sucesos de las Indias” [examples taken from events in the Indies], signaling its encyclopedic and proto-scientific ambitions (Valadés 2003, p. 25).7 Valadés’ firsthand experience in Nueva Vizcaya—encompassing present-day Querétaro, Zacatecas, and Durango—allowed him to offer a perspective rarely available to European readers. His detailed ethnographic account positioned indigenous culture within broader intellectual traditions, emphasizing aspects of daily life, architecture, and artistic expression. Having spent years preaching to the Aztecs and Chichimecas on behalf of the Spanish Crown and the Church, he deliberately incorporated descriptions of indigenous flora, fauna, and cultural traditions unfamiliar to European audiences. His text highlights the architectural grandeur of Aztec temples, intricate ornamentation, and finely crafted textiles, as well as the indigenous use of feathers, native stones, and sacred trees. He also documents musical and ritual practices, including polyphonic choirs and ceremonial dances, blending religious instruction with keen ethnographic observation.

Designed as more than a religious manual, Valadés’ work aligns with early modern intellectual traditions that sought to systematize knowledge through classification, visualization, and mnemonic aids. By combining ethnographic detail with mnemonic structures, the Rhetorica Christiana reflects a larger intellectual trend in early modern Europe—the integration of collecting practices with memory systems. As Lina Bolzoni has shown, early modern knowledge organization was deeply dependent upon the art of memory techniques, strategies that structured information visually and spatially to enhance retention and comprehension. Just as cabinets of curiosity sought to impose order on the unknown, mnemonic systems extended beyond conventional subjects to incorporate new discoveries from distant lands. In the sixteenth century, collecting practices across Europe—from Bavaria to Florence—mirrored the principles of memory theaters, reinforcing the idea that knowledge was most effectively preserved when arranged through systematic visual frameworks (Bolzoni 2001, p. 249).

Ultimately, the early modern drive to collect—whether through physical specimens, visual representations, or textual accounts—was part of a larger epistemological shift. The intersection of collecting, memory, and classification in works like the Rhetorica Christiana foreshadows the systematic methodologies that would later inform modern museums and scientific inquiry. As an ethnographic and mnemonic project, Valadés’ work embodies the era’s complex relationship with curiosity—a concept that straddled both intellectual virtue and potential transgression. While curiositas was celebrated as a thirst for knowledge that fueled discovery and classification, it was also viewed with suspicion, particularly when it challenged existing structures of authority. However, this intellectual pursuit of classification and visualization was not without tensions. In Philip II’s Spain, curiosity was both encouraged and restricted; while the Crown sought to expand its understanding of overseas territories, it also imposed strict controls on knowledge production. Missionaries and scholars like Valadés, who engaged deeply with indigenous traditions and mnemonic practices, navigated a complex intellectual terrain where knowledge was simultaneously a tool of empire and a potential threat to established authority. Valadés, operating within this tension, used Rhetorica Christiana to document indigenous cultures while adhering to the rhetorical and religious frameworks expected of him as a missionary. His work reflects the enthusiasm for cataloging the unknown as well as the constraints imposed on knowledge production in Philip II’s Spain. Just as Tapia’s painting of the leatherback turtle served as a record and a stand-in for the real creature, Valadés’ text functioned as a repository of knowledge about the Americas. In doing so, it helped shape how Europe understood the natural and cultural world beyond its borders, demonstrating how curiosity—both encouraged and restricted—drove the intellectual landscape of the early modern period.

Building on this foundation, the following pages will explore Rhetorica Christiana through the lens of early modern curiosity and its dual role as both an intellectual pursuit and a source of tension within structures of power. First, I will examine how Valadés embodies the enigmatic curiosity of an early modern mind, balancing missionary zeal with a scholarly impulse to document and categorize knowledge. Next, I will discuss the limits of knowledge and the concept of epistemic disobedience, analyzing how Valadés’ engagement with indigenous traditions subtly challenged European epistemological hierarchies. I will then turn to La Suma de todas las ciencias as a theater of knowledge, demonstrating how its visual and rhetorical strategies align with early modern mnemonic traditions and encyclopedic ambitions. Finally, I will analyze Valadés’ engravings as cabinets of curiosity, investigating how his representations of naturalia and artificialia parallel the collecting practices of the time and reflect broader intellectual efforts to systematize the wonders of the New World. Through this exploration, I will argue that Valadés’ work not only participated in early modern knowledge production but also foreshadowed later debates on the intersection of ethnography, memory, and imperial control over knowledge.

2. Diego Valadés and the Enigmatic Curiosity of an Early Modern Mind

Diego Valadés, a figure shrouded in historical ambiguity, embodies the essence of early modern curiosity in both senses of the term: as an individual deeply inquisitive about the world and as someone whose own life and work defied easy classification. His Rhetorica Christiana functions as a graphic cabinet of curiosities, blending mnemonic systems, ethnographic documentation, and missionary pedagogy. However, just as his book challenges conventional categories of knowledge, his own identity—marked by multiculturalism, polyglotism, and extensive engagement with indigenous cultures—places him outside the rigid binaries of his time. The limited biographical information available about Valadés only deepens the enigma surrounding his origins and early life. As scholars note: “su origen mestizo y los datos relacionados con los primeros años de su vida hasta su adolescencia han quedado envueltos en el misterio” [his mestizo heritage and the information related to the early years of his life up to his adolescence have remained shrouded in mystery] (Palomera 2003, p. viii). This uncertainty has fueled scholarly debate, with two dominant theories regarding his birthplace. One suggests he was born in Tlaxcala, Mexico, in 1533, the son of a Spanish conquistador of the same name and a Tlaxcalan woman. The other posits that he was born in Villanueva de Barcarrota, in Spain’s province of Badajoz. While the latter view has gained traction, the mystery surrounding the Franciscan’s birth intertwines with the enigmatic nature of his body of work, reinforcing his identity as an intellectual figure who does not fit neatly into traditional categories.

The Rhetorica embodies the reflections and encounters of an individual deeply immersed in diverse environments, serving as a dynamic bridge between disparate cultures. This hybridity extends to his writings, actions, and self-representation. Even his own recollections of his early experiences in New Spain emphasize the complex trajectory of his life: “Y no quisiera que esto lo tomasen como nacido solamente del afecto de la benevolencia por haber sido yo criado casi desde mi niñez en esa tierra, pues ésa es también la opinión unánime de varones muy autorizados que han visto las costumbres de muchos hombres y sus ciudades” [And I would not want this to be taken as born solely from the affection of benevolence, for I have been raised almost from my childhood in that land; for that is also the unanimous opinion of very authoritative men who have observed the customs of many men and their cities] (Valadés 2003, p. 451).8 Valadés’ assertion of his upbringing in Mexico has fueled the debates surrounding his birthplace, though ultimately, the question of his exact origin is secondary to his intellectual contributions. What remains crucial is how Valadés portrays himself in his writings—not just as a missionary but as a culturally hybrid intellectual, deeply engaged with indigenous traditions while firmly grounded in European humanist scholarship.

For Valadés, his assimilation into Mexican society from childhood forms the foundation of his perspective. His education in theology and philosophy at Mexico City’s Colegio de San Francisco, under the sponsorship of Flemish Franciscan Pieter van der Moere (Fray Pedro de Gante, 1480?–1572), shaped the intellectual framework that informed his Rhetorica. He continued his studies at the Colegio de la Santa Cruz de Santiago Tlatelolco before joining the Order of the Observants of San Francisco.9 In addition to Gante, he studied under Fray Juan de Gaona (1507–1560), Fray Francisco de Bustamante (1485–1562), and Fray Juan Focher (1497–1572)—all influential figures in the pedagogical and mnemonic methods developed by mendicant orders in the Americas (Palomera 2003, p. x). The brotherhood’s approach to education was deeply rooted in memorization and mnemonic techniques, a legacy that naturally shaped Valadés’ work. His Rhetorica Christiana functions as a mnemonic and organizational tool, designed not only to instruct but to systematize and transmit knowledge about the New World. His thirty years as a missionary among indigenous groups gave him firsthand experience in indigenous languages and customs: “[…] he morado entre ellos […] treinta años más o menos y me dediqué durante más de veintidós años a predicarles y confesarlos en sus tres idiomas: mexicano, tarasco y otomí” [I have lived among them for approximately thirty years, and I dedicated more than twenty-two years to preaching to them and hearing their confessions in their three languages: Mexican, Tarasco, and Otomí] (Valadés 2003, p. 419). Clearly, Valadés had a complex relationship with his own hybrid identity and upbringing. Significant gaps in the understanding of Valadés’ life, his interactions with indigenous communities, his dissatisfaction with Philip II’s policies, and his subsequent challenges to the prevailing social order have contributed to his portrayal as an anomaly within society—a figure who, rather than conforming, embodied the defiance of rigid classifications. Drawing on Barbara Benedict’s insightful analysis in Curiosity: A Cultural History of Early Modern Inquiry (Benedict 2001), it may be precisely this perplexing nature of Valadés that fueled his insatiable curiosity. Benedict sheds light on the inherent connection between curiosity and the defiance of societal norms. Her observation delves into the complexity of curiosity, highlighting how figures like Valadés represent more than mere personal intrigue—they actively challenge conventions and disrupt established categories. Curiosity, in this sense, is not merely about asking questions but about possessing traits or behaviors that deviate from accepted norms. These deviations, whether in behavior or physical appearance, disrupt rigid classifications and the structures that seek to contain them.

“People can be deemed ‘curious’ in this sense not because they inquire but because they have socially irregular aspects: behavioral or physical traits that seem to violate accepted norms of use. Human curiosities exhibited in newspapers, ethnographical writings, and fairs, and awful or natural wonders displayed in cabinets and museums escape both the taxonomies of the spectator and the ontologies of the subject. This escape is translated as the desire to violate cultural boundaries, the ambition to replace public values with idiosyncratic meanings”

(Benedict 2001, p. 3)

These words resonate with Valadés’ case: his mysterious origins, hybrid identity, and unconventional life trajectory defy societal norms. His story resists easy categorization, compelling us to reconsider our understanding of how cultural identity and societal expectations challenge knowledge acquisition. His journey embodies the idea that “Curiosity is seeing your way out of your place. It is looking beyond” (Benedict 2001, p. 2). In this sense, Valadés is not just a historical figure but a symbol of curiosity’s transformative power, urging us to embrace the unconventional and explore beyond the confines of established boundaries.

3. Epistemic Disobedience: Valadés, Curiosity, and the Limits of Knowledge

Valadés embodied the notion of the curious mind during his time, where curiosity took on multifaceted forms, each contributing to the intellectual dynamism of the early modern period. His life and work encapsulate the nuanced perception of curiosity, a notion that is reflected in the evolution and consequent ambivalence surrounding the term. Cesare Ripa’s emblem book, Iconologia (Ripa 1593), offers valuable insight into the prevailing concept of curiosity during the period. In Ripa’s depiction, curiosity is personified as a wild-haired, winged woman, her head keenly alert and hungry for knowledge, with arms outstretched as if to seize all that she desires to know.10 Adorned with ears and frogs on her garment, symbolizing human energy, Ripa’s text highlights that “curiosity is the unbridled desire of those who seek to know more than they should”.11 This portrayal resonates with the complex interplay between exploration, knowledge-seeking, and the boundaries of acceptable inquiry that characterized Valadés’ life and work. Just as curiosity propelled Valadés to explore the wonders of the New World and document them in his Rhetorica Christiana, Ripa’s emblem illustrates the allure and peril inherent in the relentless pursuit of knowledge beyond prescribed limits.

Ripa’s depiction also mirrors the ambivalent view held towards curiosity throughout history. On one hand, curiosity was regarded as a vice, echoing Saint Augustine’s interpretation from the fifth century, when it was associated with the original sin—Eve’s curiosity to taste the forbidden fruit.12 This negative perception persisted into the early modern period, exemplified by characters like Goethe’s Doctor Faustus, who famously made a pact with the devil to satisfy his insatiable curiosity. Although Faust is a later literary work, it reflects enduring anxieties about the pursuit of forbidden knowledge, a tension deeply embedded in early modern intellectual thought. Conversely, during the Renaissance, curiosity also began to be viewed in a more positive light. As Aemon notes, natural philosophers of the time hailed curiosity as “the Perpetuum mobile” of early modern sciences, recognizing it as the driving force behind wonder and the engine of discovery.13 This shift in perception marked a profound departure from the traditional wisdom encapsulated in Saint Paul’s admonition, “Noli alta sapere”, or “Do not seek to know high things”. This cautionary advice, rooted in a reverence for divine mysteries and humility before the unknown, was an especially useful message for the Church, which urged individuals to refrain from delving too deeply into matters beyond human comprehension. However, with the advent of the Renaissance and the pre-Enlightenment, a new ethos emerged, encapsulated in Horace’s more encouraging maxim, “Sapere aude”, or “Dare to know”. This rallying cry encouraged individuals to embrace intellectual curiosity and to boldly explore the realms of knowledge. It emphasized the importance of critical thinking, independent inquiry, and the pursuit of truth. The transition from Saint Paul’s caution to Horace’s encouragement symbolizes a broader cultural shift marked by humanism, rationalism, and scientific inquiry. It reflects a growing confidence in human intellect and a rejection of blind deference to authority. Instead of passively accepting received wisdom, individuals were urged to question, challenge, and seek understanding for themselves. As cities flourished, commerce expanded, and the printing press disseminated knowledge, curiosity gradually transformed from a perceived vice into a celebrated virtue, heralding an era of exploration, innovation, and intellectual expansion. Such an evolution of the term during Valadés’ time was a precondition of modernity, leading to scientific discovery and the emergence of new systems of knowledge.

The shifting characterization of the term “curiosity” stemmed from different ideological perspectives around its understanding and use. Sebastián de Covarrubias’ definition of the term “curioso” captures this ambiguity. Covarrubias describes a “curioso” as someone who attends to things with particular care and diligence, suggesting a positive connotation associated with meticulous attention to detail. However, he then explores its etymology, suggesting that it derives from the Latin word “cur”, (to inquire or ask questions) and the word “ociosidad” (idleness or leisure). This juxtaposition implies a more negative view, associating curiosity with idle questioning rather than genuine inquiry.

“CURIOSO, el que trata alguna cosa con particular cuidado, y diligencia, y de allí se dixo curiosidad, vel a curia, o del adverbio cur: porque el curioso anda siempre preguntando, porque es esto, y porque estotro. Yo digo, que la palabra curioso, o curiosidad, se deriva del adverbio cur, que es adverbio de preguntas, y del nombre ociosidad; porque los curiosos son muy de ordinario holgaçanes, y preguntadores como su maestro, que su primera palabra que habló fue quando dijo a Eva”.

[CURIOUS: One who deals with something with particular care and diligence, and from there came the word curiosity, either from ‘curia’ or from the adverb ‘cur’ because the curious one is always asking why this and why that. I say that the word curious, or curiosity, is derived from the adverb ‘cur’, which is an adverb of questions, and from the noun ‘ociosidad’ (idleness) because the curious are very often idle and inquisitive like their master, whose first word spoken was when he said to Eve]

(de Covarrubias Orozco 2006, p. 178)

Covarrubias’ definition reflects the duality of curiosity, recognizing its virtue in careful attention and diligent inquiry while also acknowledging its potential pitfalls, such as idle questioning and transgressive knowledge-seeking.

In a similar vein, Benedict delineates this dichotomy in perceptions of curiosity, emphasizing how conservatives and progressives viewed it differently. Conservatives associated curiosity with a “perverse” desire to know the forbidden, while progressives saw it as a means of improvement and advancement.

“For conservatives, curiosity retained its moral taint: as curious people showed a perverse desire—the desire to know the forbidden—so curiosities commodified a perverse pursuit. For progressives, curiosity promised improvement. Both kinds of thinkers, however recognized that as humanity’s traditionally insatiable appetite, curiosity is always transgressive, alleys a sign of the rejection of the known as inadequate, incorrect, even uninteresting. Whether scientists or performers, curious people seek and manifest new realities and reshape their own identities, and their products—curiosities—incarnate these new realities and identities as examples of ontological transgression. As they acquired these new identities, curious people and curious things destabilized the categories and identities of others”

(Benedict 2001, p. 4)

This tension between conservative and progressive thinking regarding curiosity can be seen in the relationship between Valadés and Philip II. The monarch, deeply Catholic and representing the conservative stance, approaches curiosity with suspicion, fearing its potential to undermine orthodoxy and challenge existing structures. His interest in collecting extraordinary objects, akin to the cabinets of curiosity of his time, reflects a controlled inquisitiveness tempered by traditional values. This conservatism is evident in his adherence to established norms and his reluctance to embrace unconventional pursuits. In contrast, figures like Valadés embraced curiosity as a means of advancement precisely because of its transgressive nature. Valadés’ pursuit and presentation of information about the reality of New Spain not only dismantles and challenges the limits of knowledge imposed by the Church and the monarchy but also integrates indigenous epistemologies, visual mnemonics, and rhetorical strategies that expand the frameworks of early modern knowledge production. This is evident in his detailed descriptions of indigenous education, spatial organization, and artistic practices, such as the use of amoxtli (painted codices) as pedagogical tools and mnemonic devices. For instance, in Rhetorica Christiana, Valadés illustrates a didactic model that fuses European memory arts with Mesoamerican forms of knowledge transmission, presenting a hybrid approach that subverts monolithic understandings of intellectual authority. These textual and visual examples demonstrate how Valadés negotiates the constraints of his time while preserving indigenous ways of knowing within the missionary context.

Benedict’s insight into curiosity as a mechanism for identity formation further clarifies Valadés’ role. Curious individuals like Valadés not only seek new realities but also reshape their own identities in the process. His defiance of societal expectations and willingness to challenge conventional narratives contributed to the disruptive influence he may have had on the perceptions and norms of his time, particularly in relation to figures like Philip II. Valadés’ intellectual pursuits, his interest in American nature, and his zeal to introduce Christianity to indigenous communities ultimately led to his punishment by Philip II, exposing the tensions between the Church–State agenda and the pursuit of knowledge. His Rhetorica Christiana, rather than reinforcing monarchical and ecclesiastical narratives, instead dismantles the limits of knowledge imposed by authority. In this sense, and as Benedict states: “[…] their curiosity constitutes an attempt to poach the status of their social superiors” as their “curiosity sometimes runs against cultural conservatism”(Benedict 2001, p. 18). Valadés’ life and work exemplify this dynamic, as his insistence on documenting the New World’s cultural and linguistic diversity directly contradicted the restrictive policies of Philip II’s Spain. His journey demonstrates how curiosity—whether feared or celebrated—remains a force of transformation, challenging hierarchies, reshaping identities, and expanding the boundaries of knowledge. In this instance, it is imperative to consider the context that sets the tone and objectives of Valadés’s Rhetorica upon his return journey to Europe and how his aspirations for a significant religious career in Rome would undergo a radical shift.

During his sojourn in Rome in May 1575, while participating in the General Chapter of his Order, Valadés was unanimously chosen to serve as the “Procurador General” of the Franciscans for the subsequent four years (Palomera 2003, p. xii). Meanwhile, influential figures within the Spanish Catholic hierarchy had started to scrutinize the early colonial Franciscan humanist social and pedagogical initiatives, including those that facilitated Valadés’s education.14 These reformist policies, once championed by missionaries in the Americas, now faced increasing resistance amid the anxieties of the Counter-Reformation.

This ideological shift led to severe institutional measures targeting specific segments of the population. For instance, during a synod convened by Archbishop Alonso de Montúfar in Mexico (1555–1565), amidst growing apprehensions over indigenous conversions and religious orthodoxy, the ordination of Blacks, mestizos, and indigenous peoples was officially prohibited. This exclusionary policy reflected a broader effort to regulate and control religious access in the Spanish Empire. It was only a matter of time before the Inquisition extended its reach to missionary-authored works in indigenous languages, scrutinizing them “to detect any possible contamination by indigenous religions”(Bolzoni 2001, p. 132).15 These restrictions also encompassed the manuals utilized by missionaries to teach Christianity to Native Americans, marking an escalation in censorship efforts.

By 1577, Philip II formally banned works documenting native traditions, reinforcing his broader strategy of controlling knowledge production about the Americas. This policy directly impacted Valadés—just two years after his appointment as Procurador General, he was dismissed from his position by Philip II, reflecting discrepancies in the ongoing discourse on indigenous evangelization. No longer aligned with the Spanish monarchy’s increasingly conservative stance, Valadés relocated to Perugia, where he published his renowned Rhetorica Christiana under the patronage of Pope Gregory XIII. Its publication, in defiance of Philip II’s restrictive policies, was not merely an intellectual endeavor—it represented a direct act of disobedience against monarchical control. In this way, Valadés exemplifies Benedict’s notion that curiosity entails a transformation of the self. By daring to question, explore, and challenge the status quo, Valadés sought not only to understand the world around him but also to redefine his own position within it. His journey serves as a testament to the profound impact that curiosity can have on individual identity and the broader social and cultural landscape of his time. Remarkably, Valadés’ curiosity stands out as one of the most powerful and strategic tools woven throughout his work. It enables him to challenge hegemonic discourses on various fronts, rendering the Rhetorica essentially a subversive work. His personal experience as a mestizo deeply rooted in European tradition undermines prevailing Eurocentric conceptions of universality. In this light, Valadés’ intellectual project aligns with what Walter Mignolo describes as “epistemic disobedience”—a deliberate act of unsettling dominant narratives in order to “unsettle art historical assumptions that some art is of higher quality than other art and chronological borders. (Mignolo 2000) This approach thus encourages intellectual rebellion against accepted discourse about the Renaissance” (Black Villaseñor and Álvarez 2019, p. 4). By documenting indigenous cultures and languages, Valadés actively disrupted the dominant structures of early modern European knowledge production. His Rhetorica challenges Eurocentric perspectives of expansion, resisting the tendency to marginalize non-European knowledge systems. In this sense, Valadés’ mnemonic art functions as both a method of preservation and resistance—a means of remembering indigenous cultural traditions while simultaneously rejecting the hegemonic historical narrative imposed by the Spanish Crown and the Church.

4. La Suma de Todas las Ciencias as a Theater of Knowledge

Valadés transcends conventional works and established formulas, producing a unique creation that reflects both European mnemonic traditions and indigenous ways of encoding and transmitting knowledge. His Rhetorica Christiana demonstrates an awareness of structured memory techniques, evident in the way he organizes information through hierarchical visual schemes and spatial arrangements that aid recollection. The text and its accompanying engravings not only serve as instructional tools for missionaries but also mirror indigenous mnemonic devices, such as the use of symbolic imagery and sequential ordering found in Mesoamerican codices. In this way, Valadés pioneers what can be recognized as the first mestizo art of memory, blending elements of ars memorativa with non-Western modes of preserving and conveying knowledge. This departure from the norm marks a significant shift in the literary landscape, as Rhetorica Christiana bridges distinct intellectual traditions, demonstrating the adaptability of mnemonic practices across cultural boundaries.

Valadés’ curious and innovative spirit emerges in the way he reconfigures conventional mnemonic techniques to reflect his hybrid cultural experience. Rather than merely replicating Western memory traditions, he transforms them, illustrating how mnemonic systems can serve as bridges between worlds rather than reinforcing rigid intellectual categories. His Rhetorica Christiana moves beyond conventional mnemonic treatises by integrating indigenous memory systems with European ars memoriae. His awareness of structured memory techniques is evident in his systematic organization of knowledge through visual and spatial arrangements. For instance, he describes how memory images (imagines agentes) should be arranged hierarchically within a structured space, akin to the mental of classical memory tradition: “Por medio de las imágenes que se nos imprimen de los lugares, podemos venir en conocimiento de lo que en esos lugares se encuentra” [Through the images imprinted on us of places, we can come to know what is found in those places] (Valadés 2003, p. 386). Yet Valadés’ innovation extends beyond European frameworks, incorporating indigenous mnemonic practices such as pictographic writing, color-coded symbols, and the structured use of materials like textiles, codices, and engraved stone. He explicitly draws parallels between indigenous communication systems and Egyptian hieroglyphs, underscoring their complexity and sophistication: “Tienen ellos de común con los egipcios el expresar también sus ideas por medio de figuras [jeroglíficos]. Y así representaban la rapidez por medio del gavilán; la vigilancia, por el cocodrilo; el Imperio, por el león” [They have in common with the Egyptians the practice of expressing their ideas through figures [hieroglyphs] as well. Thus, they represented speed by means of the hawk, vigilance by the crocodile, and empire by the lion] (Valadés 2003, p. 381). By aligning indigenous mnemonic techniques with revered European traditions, Valadés strategically legitimizes native ways of knowing within a broader epistemological framework. Moreover, his engravings function as mnemonic tools that visually encode indigenous knowledge, reinforcing its accessibility and durability: “Y porque hay algunos que no saben leer, o no tienen afición a la lectura, añadimos algunas láminas con el fin de que rápidamente se recuerden esas cosas, como también para que se conozcan debidamente y con claridad los ritos y costumbres de los indios” [And because there are some who do not know how to read or have no inclination for reading, we have added some illustrations so that these things may be quickly remembered, as well as to properly and clearly understand the rites and customs of the Indians] (Valadés 2003, p. 113). By employing visual memory techniques, Valadés not only preserves indigenous knowledge but also renders it comprehensible to European audiences. This strategic use of mnemonic imagery situates Rhetorica Christiana at the intersection of two intellectual traditions, challenging the Eurocentric monopoly on knowledge production. In doing so, Valadés pioneers a mestizo art of memory—one that resists erasure, bridges cultural epistemologies, and redefines the boundaries of mnemonic practice.

Valadés fully embraces this adaptation, recognizing the new perspective it lends to his work. His unconventional application of ars memorativa principles is made explicit in his dedication to Pope Gregory XIII, where he declares: “De donde he procurado, conforme a mis limitaciones, extraer un trigo ciertamente no nuevo si no que es el mismo trigo antiguo presentado nuevamente bajo otra forma y aderezado de distinto modo” [From where I have tried, within my limitations, to extract wheat that is certainly not new but is the same old wheat presented again in a different form and seasoned in a different way] (Valadés 2003, p. 9). This transformative process echoes Benedict’s assertion that curiosity catalyzes new literary forms. As Benedict suggests, curiosity often manifests in the ability to reshape preexisting knowledge into novel configurations. Valadés exemplifies this notion, as his liminal position between cultures allows him to reshape mnemonic traditions, adapting them to a new epistemological framework (Benedict 2001, p. 10). His work does not merely preserve knowledge—it reimagines the mechanisms through which it is structured, transmitted, and remembered.

Valadés’ contributions highlight curiosity as a driving force behind literary and artistic innovation, cultural synthesis, and intellectual transformation. His approach not only bridges distinct knowledge systems but also expands the very form in which knowledge is organized. In this sense, his work aligns with broader intellectual currents of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, where memory systems played a central role in shaping early modern scientific and philosophical inquiry. As Paolo Rossi argues in Logic and the Art of Memory (Rossi 2006), the mnemonic tradition was not merely a pedagogical tool but a fundamental methodology for structuring thought. Leading intellectuals of the period—including Francis Bacon (1561–1626) and René Descartes (1596–1650)—incorporated memory techniques into their conceptual frameworks, reinforcing the idea that memorization was essential to scientific reasoning and symbolic representation: “The Baconian viewpoint on the scientific method was fundamentally part of a culture and a broader dialogue that conceived of memorization as a foundational methodology for structuring knowledge and for developing symbolic means for representing scientific concepts” (Sarma 2013, p. 1). This integration of mnemonic practices into intellectual discourse is evident not only in the work of well-known intellectuals like humanists Rodolphus Agricola (ca. 1444–1485) and Pierre de la Ramée (1515–1572)16—the latter a contemporary of Valadés—but also reflects a broader concern with reforming methods of knowledge organization and education.17

Valadés’ Rhetorica Christiana should be examined within this intellectual framework. While his primary objective was theological instruction, the work simultaneously functions as a structured, encyclopedic repository of knowledge, aligning it with the mnemonic principles that underpinned early modern encyclopedic projects.18 His curiosity drives a comprehensive intellectual endeavor, one that shares the universalizing impulse of early modern pansophic projects. These encyclopedic aspirations, deeply intertwined with the art of memory, sought to construct a unified model of knowledge, as seen in the Llullian and Baconian traditions: “Like the ars generalis of the Llullian tradition, the Baconian project of a scientiae universalis, mater reliquarum scientiarum aimed to uncover the unity of knowledge which has its foundation and justification in the immanent unity of the world”(Rossi 2006, p. 111). The intended scope of Valadés’ project becomes clearer when he explicitly states that the title Rhetorica Christiana was imposed upon him due to constraints from his superiors and the Church.

“este libro debiera intitularse ‘Suma de todas las ciencias más excelsas’ ya que en él se habla sumariamente de casi todas las ciencias, sin embargo, por la desobediencia debida a mis superiores en la impresión de este libro, se le puso el nombre de Retórica cristiana, para que así se entienda que no se encuentra en esta obra nada que no apruebe y enseñe la Iglesia” [This book should be titled Sum of all the most sublime sciences since it briefly discusses almost all sciences. However, due to the obedience owed to my superiors in the printing of this book, it was given the name Christian Rhetoric, so that it is understood that there is nothing in this work that the Church does not approve of and teach]

(Valadés 2003, p. 25)19

Valadés’ use of the term desobediencia (disobedience) underscores his nonconformist nature as a curioso. His assertion that the book “discusses almost all sciences” is crucial for understanding the comprehensive scope of his work and its contribution to the advancement of the art of memory—a contribution that, I argue, serves as a precursor to the scientific method. His endeavor unfolds alongside burgeoning efforts to classify and disseminate knowledge, where memory played a pivotal role:20 “La memoria (que con razón es llamada tesoro de la ciencia) […]” [Memory (rightly called the treasure of science)] (Valadés 2003, p. 137). As I will develop below, the concept of the Suma de todas las ciencias presents a visible totality that functions simultaneously as a theater of images and a museum of wonders, both of which are dependent on memory. At the same time, Valadés’ Suma immediately evokes an encyclopedic vision, encapsulating the knowledge of the New World. Through this ambitious intellectual project, he not only integrates indigenous and European mnemonic traditions but also redefines the boundaries of knowledge itself.

Valadés’ extensive textual and visual catalog, which showcases the arts, sciences, and natural wonders of New Spain, echoes the theater of knowledge envisioned by Giulio Camillo (1480–1544) in L’Idea dell Teatro. Camillo, one of many early modern scholars devoted to the art of memory, influenced poets, painters, and architects across Europe. His Theatre of Memory was a remarkable system, blending architectural principles with esoteric knowledge drawn from Kabbalah, magic, Neoplatonism, Hermeticism, and rhetoric. This universal mnemonic system aimed to encapsulate all human knowledge, enabling its storage and retrieval at will—an early conceptualization of a memory machine (Bolzoni 1991, pp. 23–24).

Lina Bolzoni highlights Camillo’s enduring influence on the interplay between the art of memory and collecting, demonstrating how these two traditions converge. She draws an intellectual link between Camillo and Samuel Quicchelberg, the renowned collector often regarded as the father of German museology. In Inscriptiones vel Tituli Theatri Amplissimi (1565), Quicchelberg describes the museum as a theater, paralleling Camillo’s mnemonic system, which sought to encompass “all things in the world”. For Quicchelberg, both the museum and the memory theater shared a fundamental objective—aligning mental and physical spaces to structure and categorize knowledge. This convergence of memory and collecting finds eloquent expression in the words of Agostino del Riccio, a Dominican friar from Florence, in his Arte della memoria locale (1595):

“do as wealthy and powerful kings do with the many rooms in their palaces; in one room there will be antiques, in another tapestries, in another the silverware, in another the jewels, in another weapons of warfare, both offensive and defensive, in other rooms the provisions used to maintain the armies, etc. This is what you must do if you wish to be universal in your knowledge: have many rooms in which to place sermons, speeches, concepts, sayings, histories, and whatever you choose to profess”21

Del Riccio’s analogy of a palace’s rooms filled with diverse treasures mirrors the universality of knowledge advocated by both Camillo and Quicchelberg, emphasizing the need for multifaceted repositories to encompass the breadth of human understanding. Similarly, in the words of contemporary scholar Patrick Mauriès (Mauriès 2011), “the Wunderkammer attempted to capture all knowledge, the whole cosmos arranged on shelves. Some were as small as cabinets, others as vast as labyrinths of large rooms”.22 These definitions help establish a significant transition between the cabinets of curiosities and the art of memory, as evidenced by their shared terminology in referring to their structure and arrangement, as noted by Bolzoni and others:23

“The importance of collecting in the second half of the sixteenth and the seventeenth centuries, its specific characteristics, and its most significant manifestations give consistency and new credibility to the old metaphors of memory like the treasury, the archive, the universal library, and the coffer of knowledge. In a certain sense, those metaphors can now be taken literally”

(Bolzoni 2001, p. 245)24

Collecting, with its meticulous categorization and preservation of objects, mirrored the functions of memory systems in its quest for comprehensive understanding. The act of amassing and organizing diverse artifacts and specimens became a tangible manifestation of humanity’s relentless pursuit of knowledge—an effort to classify, preserve, and exert control over the world. This convergence of memory systems and collecting practices reflected a broader societal shift towards a more systematic and structured approach to understanding reality, setting the stage for the intellectual and scientific revolutions that followed.

5. Valadés’ Engravings as Cabinets of Curiosities: Collecting Naturalia and Artificialia

Valadés’ Rhetorica Christiana stands as a testament to his ability to merge mnemonic traditions, transforming conventional techniques into a mestizo art of memory that bridges indigenous and European epistemologies. His innovative approach does not merely replicate Western mnemonic systems but actively reconfigures them, demonstrating how memory serves as a means of both preservation and resistance. This hybridization is particularly evident in his engravings, which function as mnemonic tools that visually encode indigenous knowledge. As he states: “Y porque hay algunos que no saben leer, o no tienen afición a la lectura, añadimos algunas láminas con el fin de que rápidamente se recuerden esas cosas, como también para que se conozcan debidamente y con claridad los ritos y costumbres de los indios” [And because there are some who do not know how to read or have no inclination for reading, we have added some illustrations so that these things may be quickly remembered, as well as to properly and clearly understand the rites and customs of the Indians] (Valadés 2003, p. 113). By strategically employing visual memory techniques, Valadés ensures the transmission of indigenous knowledge while making it accessible to European audiences. His engravings, much like his textual content, transform the Rhetorica into a mnemonic theater of knowledge—an idea explicitly acknowledged in one of the commendatory poems preceding the text. “Que en sus grabados ante tus ojos/pone las proezas de las Indias” [Who, in his engravings before your eyes, presents the feats of the Indies] marks the beginning of one of the two commendatory poems preceding the Rhetorica. In this poem titled “En loa de la Retórica cristiana y de sus láminas sobre las Indias” [In praise of the Rhetorica Christiana and its illustrations of the Indies] (Valadés 2003, p. 5), the Italian Franciscan Giulio Roscio de Orte (1550–1591) compliments Valadés’ engravings for their power to bring the feats of the Indies to the readers’ eyes. The poem underscores the role of visualization as a principal means of rendering both tangible and intangible concepts perceptible, mirroring Quicchelberg’s insistence that his use of the term theatrum was not figurative but literal. The emphasis on physical presentation, accessibility, and visual impact aligns with Valadés’ engravings, which, much like cabinets of curiosities, translate knowledge into a structured, visual form.

Recognizing the power of images in knowledge transmission, Valadés deliberately presents his work in a visually engaging manner, resonating with a broad audience. Trained as a skilled draftsman under Pedro de Gante and later as a teacher, he understood the role of printing in the dissemination of knowledge. His awareness of how images could shape perception and reinforce memory is evident in his statement: “para ayudar gráficamente y en forma objetiva a la sólida formación del orador Sagrado” [to help graphically and objectively in the solid formation of the sacred orator] (Palomera 2003, xiv).

His twenty-seven copper engravings serve as visual mnemonic aids, embodying the three fundamental components of the art of memory: imagines agentes (potent images), loci (places), and ordo (order). Through these elements and the innovative spatial arrangement of the page, Valadés introduces new ways of structuring knowledge.25 One of his most striking engravings immerses the reader in a Neoplatonist Great Chain of Being (scala naturae), meticulously organizing living and non-living entities within a hierarchical structure that blends indigenous and European classification systems. This engraving exemplifies hybrid mnemonics, incorporating elements from ancient and medieval cosmography, Aristotelian physics, and Neoplatonic hierarchies while introducing indigenous groups to early modern European modes of classification:26 “ancient and medieval cosmography, Aristotelian physics and Neoplatonic hierarchies introduced natives to the concepts of the Great Chain of Being, the Genesis creation and the original sin” (Cañizares Esguerra 2021, p. 110). As Jorge Cañizares Esguerra has articulated, the mnemonic fusion depicted in this engraving placed Mexico at its focal point. In crafting this mnemonic landscape, Valadés also situated “Mexican crops (prickly pear and corn), fishes, animals, birds and natives along the central ascending axis of his global and preternatural hierarchies” (Cañizares Esguerra 2021, p. 110). Just as the art of memory trains the mind to navigate rooms and streets, the ascending structure of Valadés’ hierarchy becomes a mnemonic locus, making indigenous knowledge more familiar and comprehensible to European audiences. This system facilitates classification, memorization, and learning, reinforcing core principles of the art of memory.

The Great Chain of Being is not the only example of hybrid mnemonic visuals in the Rhetorica that make it a cabinet of curiosity adorned with elements and specimens from distant lands. As examined in recent studies by Linda Báez Rubí,27 Bolzoni, Alan Braddock, and Cañizares Esguerra, among other critics, the reader of the Rhetorica also can contemplate mnemonic alphabets in native languages. Depictions from Nahuatl, Tarascan, and Otomi28 served to teach the letters of the alphabet to the indigenous groups based on previous European models such as Ludovico Dolce’s (Venice, 1562); Aztec calendar wheels adorned with hieroglyphs and Nahuatl names delineate years comprising eighteen months and months consisting of twenty days, which also align with the European Julian calendar.29 This presentation not only introduces unique non-Western concepts of temporality but also demonstrates how mnemonic systems, with their distinct loci and imagines agentes, could accommodate diverse epistemologies.30

Similarly, as highlighted by Cañizares-Esguerra, Valadés transforms the city of Tenochtitlan into a mnemonic site—a locus filled with a plethora of objects acting as imagines agentes. These objects introduce novelty to the viewer, each forming part of a broader Aztec urban landscape (Cañizares Esguerra 2021, p. 107). This mnemonic landscape, meticulously rendered in engravings, includes the central pyramid and various examples from natural histories, as noted by Cañizares-Esguerra such as pisciculture, waterworks, and materia medica like cocoa, dragon’s blood, guava, liquid amber, balsam, maguey, tuna, acacia, and ahuehuete, alongside staples like Indian corn, pineapple, and banana trees. To familiarize European audiences, Valadés Latinized each name, ensuring accessibility while preserving indigenous knowledge. Further extending this mnemonic system, Valadés includes an Aztec tributary state diagram in which demons deliver tribute items, such as guinea pigs, quetzal and guajolote birds, and Peruvian llamas (Cañizares Esguerra 2021, p. 107). These depictions resemble a miscellanea, assembling a wealth of specimens that present distinct categories of artificialia and naturalia. By integrating these elements into his mnemonic framework, Valadés bridges the epistemological divide between the Old and New Worlds, mirroring the rising popularity of early modern cabinets of curiosity, studioli, and Wunderkammer—spaces designed for the curious mind (curioso).

6. Conclusions

Much like Pedro Juan Tapia’s leatherback turtle, displayed in Philip II’s cabinet of curiosities, Valadés’ Suma presents a vast collection of flora, fauna, and cultural artifacts gathered during his travels. Each engraving transports the reader beyond the myopic gaze of European observers and the rigid structure of traditional memory systems, offering a vision that challenges established epistemologies. Through these visual representations, Valadés assembled a catalog of the peculiarities of the New World, presenting them not merely as objects of study but as imaginative artifacts—each possessing a narrative that invites speculation, reflection, and intellectual engagement. His engravings function as mnemonic possessions, evoking the ownership of experience that collectors sought in their cabinets. However, this endeavor was not solely an exercise in religious indoctrination. Rather, it was a multifaceted intellectual project that blended artistic, ethnographic, and scientific objectives. Valadés sought to document not only the flora, fauna, and material culture of indigenous peoples but also the narratives embedded in these objects, allowing European readers to envision a world beyond their known reality. His work underscores his deep understanding of the power of images, particularly their ability to shape perception, spark curiosity, and reframe knowledge.

In many ways, Rhetorica Christiana parallels Philip II’s broader imperial efforts to catalog, chart, and categorize the realities of the New World. His project resonates with the Relaciones geográficas de las Indias (1577–1584), a meticulous survey encompassing geography, botany, agriculture, and mineral studies, reflecting the Crown’s desire for systematic knowledge production. His work also aligns with the early botanical and natural history investigations undertaken by figures such as Francisco Hernández de Toledo (1517–1587), whose exploration of medicinal plants laid the foundation for later pharmacological studies; Gonzalo Fernández de Oviedo (1478–1557), who wrote the first treatise on the natural history of the New World; and Nicolás Monardes (1493–1588), whose groundbreaking research on American materia medica introduced European audiences to the medicinal applications of New World flora.31. Like these endeavors, Valadés’ Suma functioned as a miscellanea, a collection of artificialia and naturalia that foreshadowed the emergence of seventeenth-century scientific discourse. His engravings and descriptions anticipated the utopian vision of knowledge that would later be encapsulated in Francis Bacon’s New Atlantis (1627), where vast halls filled with collections symbolized humanity’s pursuit of universal discovery (Ekman 2016, p. 152).32

As I have argued throughout this essay, Valadés’ curiosity was not merely an intellectual exercise—it was a disruptive force that unsettled the boundaries of knowledge and challenged societal norms. His hybrid identity, which some perceived as pseudo-mestizo, and his unorthodox intellectual pursuits positioned him as both an innovator and an outsider, drawing admiration and suspicion alike. His Suma de todas las ciencias, as he would have preferred to call it, became more than a compendium of knowledge; it was a vehicle for both discovery and defiance, transcending cultural, scientific, and artistic boundaries. Driven by an insatiable thirst for knowledge, Valadés bridged worlds, reimagined mnemonic traditions, and left a lasting imprint on early modern understandings of the New World’s natural and intellectual landscapes. His work stands as a testament to the power of curiosity—not only as a means of knowledge acquisition but as a force capable of reshaping intellectual traditions and expanding the horizons of human understanding.