The Catholic Historical
Review
VOL. LXXXVIII

JULY, 2001

No. 3

RULE AND IDENTITY:
THE CASE OF THE MILITARY ORDERS
BY

JAMES W. BRODMAN*

During the High Middle Ages, a number of new religious orders developed in Palestine, in Spain, and along the northeastern frontier of
Latin Europe for the defense of Christian lands, not with the more typical monastic weapons of fasting and prayer, but with the sword and
lance. These subsequently became known as military orders, and they
developed, alongside the mendicants and caritatives, as a distinctive
subset of the religious life in the High Middle Ages. In light of the inherent pacifism of Christianity, the prevalence of contemporary peace
movements, and the canonical prohibitions against the shedding of
blood, or even the carrying of weapons by the clergy, the genesis of this
variety of the religious life is a fascinating subject.1 Recently, a leading
scholar of monastic spirituality has argued that the institution of the
military orders, alongside that of lay brothers, was the most important
innovation of the twelfth-century reform movement. These orders, he
argues, all grew from the same root—that of monasticism—onto which
was grafted the military life.2 This observation typifies the conventional
*Dr. Brodman is a professor of history in the University of Central Arkansas.This article
is part of a broader study on the origins and character of the opera caritatis in Europe between the eleventh and fifteenth centuries.
1
While canonists debated the details, the general rule was that clerics could not take
up arms, and if they did so they lost the privileges of the clergy. The topic is taken up in
Gratian C. 23, q. 8, and in the Decretals X 5.25.
2
Giles Constable, The Reformation of the Twelfth Century (Cambridge, 1996), pp. 75,
169. In agreement is Luis García-Guijarro Ramos, who argues that the military orders belonged to the tradition of reformed monasticism that sought to broaden the monastic life
of contemplation to include works of charity, the ransoming of captives, and military ac-

383

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RULE AND IDENTITY: THE CASE OF THE MILITARY ORDERS

wisdom, namely, that whatever circumstances led to the creation of a
particular military order, all of them came to practice a common vocation.
A closer examination of individual exemplars of that tradition, however, reveals some fundamental differences among military orders. The
most basic is one of Rule. In the twelfth century, there were two broad
categories of religious observance within the Western Church.The first
is monastic and was reflected in variant interpretations of the Rule of
St. Benedict.The second is canonical, and it found expression in various
versions of the Rule of St. Augustine. Unlike monks, whose primary focus is upon inner perfection, canons have a more public apostolate in
service to churches or various caritative causes. Several military orders,
such as the Orders of the Temple or the Spanish Order of Calatrava, followed customs that are monastic in derivation,while others,such as the
Order of St. John and the Spanish Order of Santiago, proceeded from
the canonical tradition. A few orders, most notably the Teutonic Order,
combined the two rules in some fashion. Because of the two the canonical tradition of this era is more closely associated with the works of
mercy—feeding the poor, sheltering the homeless, ransoming captives,
etc. Perhaps some clue to the underlying significance of this difference
in Rule might be had from an examination of the charitable apostolates
pursued by individual military orders. In other words, did the practice
of a canonical Rule impose a larger charitable commitment than that
accepted by orders that followed monastic customs? One test of this
supposition can be the relative weight given in these orders to the
establishment and maintenance of shelters and hospitals.
Anthony Luttrell, a prominent historian of the Order of St. John, argues that all military orders had a hospitaller function.3 But, even if he
is completely correct on this point, Luttrell’s observation does not render our investigation moot because attitudes are sometimes more important and revealing than mere actions.Caroline Walker Bynum argues
persuasively in her Docere verbo et exemplo that the fundamental difference between monks and canons in the twelfth century was not one

tivity. See his “Exemption in the Temple, the Hospital and the Teutonic Order: Shortcomings of the Institutional Approach,” in The Military Orders, Vol. 2: Welfare and Warfare,
ed. Helen Nicholson (Aldershot, 1998), p. 290.
3
Anthony Luttrell,“The Hospitallers’ Medical Tradition, 1291–1530,”in The Military Orders: Fighting for the Faith and Caring for the Sick, ed. Malcolm Barber (Aldershot and
Brookfield,Vermont, 1994), p. 65.

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385

of work, because there are numerous examples of both monks and
canons preaching, praying and doing good works. The distinction is
rather one of attitude and focus.The canon sees his mission to teach by
word and by example, whereas the monk sees himself as essentially a
learner. The one focuses upon the improvement or edification of society, the other upon his own individual emotional and spiritual growth.
The monk was more likely inclined toward sharing the plight of the
poor, rather than ameliorating it. Indeed, Giles Constable argues that reformed monasticism in the twelfth century sought to reduce the social
role of monasteries to tend to the personal religious needs of monks.
Thus, while monks and canons often exhibited similar patterns of behavior, they did so for different ends.4
The task here is to examine whether the caritative and hospitaller activities of the military orders also reflected different ends, and whether
Bynum’s dichotomy between canons and monks also applies to military
orders that derived from the two separate traditions. One place to begin is with the two military orders that served as prototypes for those
that followed:the Order of the Temple and the Order of St. John.The latter traces its origin to a pilgrim hospice already in existence when Jerusalem was captured by the Crusaders in 1099;in 1113,the xenodochium
in Jerusalem, as well as others in Italian towns, were placed under papal
protection. Around the middle of the century, by which time the Hospitallers had become a truly international Order, a Rule was promulgated by the Master, Raymond du Puy, acting as the “servant of Christ’s
poor and the warden of the Hospital of Jerusalem.” While all agree that
the Order began to assume military duties at some point during the administration of Master Raymond, the suggested dates have spanned his
entire regime from 1120 to 1160. While these military functions are not
delineated in his Constitutions, which are thought to have been promulgated around mid-century, the best estimate for their onset is the
1130’s, when the king of Jerusalem began to assign newly constructed
castles to the Order.5 These constitutions were augmented with the

4
Constable argues that, while any absolute distinctions between monks and canons are
impossible, a series of slight differences added up to a major division. Constable, op. cit.,
pp. 57, 74, 108, 304, 319; Caroline Walker Bynum, Docere verbo et exemplo: An Aspect of
Twelfth-Century Spirituality (Missoula, Montana, 1979), pp. 1–5, 181–197; Marvin Becker,
Medieval Italy: Constraints and Creativity (Bloomington, Indiana, 1981), p. 28. See also
Martha G. Newman, The Boundaries of Charity: Cistercian Culture and Ecclesiastical
Reform, 1098–1130 (Stanford, 1996), pp. 236–237.
5
Alan Forey, The Military Orders: From the twelfth to the early fourteenth centuries
(Toronto, 1992), pp. 2–23.

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RULE AND IDENTITY: THE CASE OF THE MILITARY ORDERS

Statutes enacted by Roger des Moulins in 1181, by which time St. John
is fully recognizable as a military order.
The Order of the Temple, like that of St. John, was organized in the aftermath of the First Crusade to provide protection for the growing traffic in pilgrims, but unlike its contemporary institution has no clear
hospitaller antecedents. Its first master, Hugh de Payns, was given a version of the Cistercian Rule at the Council of Troyes in 1128, and in the
following years the Order received a ringing endorsement from the Cistercian abbot, Bernard of Clairvaux, who penned the De laude novae
militiae in its support and defense.
A comparison between the primitive rules for both orders has its limitations because both documents give precedence to matters of internal governance and discipline over issues of mission and function. Yet,
within the Templar Rule, the rhetoric is military: the brethren are
knights, the founding members the Poor Knights of Christ, the organization the Poor Knighthood of the Temple.The terminology in the Hospitaller Rule, by contrast, is one of service: “I, Raymond, Servant of
Christ’s Poor.”“And their clothing [i.e., of the brethren] should be humble, because Our Lord’s poor, whose servants we confess ourselves to
be, go naked.” “When the sick man shall come there, let him be received . . . there as if a Lord, each day before the brethren go to eat,
[and] let him be refreshed with food charitably according to the ability
of the House.”In the entire primitive rule of the Hospitallers of St. John,
there is not a single reference to knights, swords, lances, or combat.6
Does this rhetoric of service cease or change in any fashion in the
legislation of 1182, by which time the Hospitallers had clearly accepted
military obligations? In short, the answer is no. These later statutes, in
the main, ignore the Hospitallers’ new responsibilities as castellans and
focus instead on the details of the operation of the Hospital of St. John
in Jerusalem, an establishment which contemporaries credited with an
inmate population of between one and two thousand individuals. Even
after allowing for some exaggeration, this institution was the largest of
its type in all of Latin Christendom. Roger himself acknowledges that
the Hospital was currently dispensing a thousand cloaks, made of thick
sheepskin, to the poor every year. Thus, the emphasis in 1182 is upon

6
The Rule, Statutes and Customs of the Hospitallers, 1099–1310, ed. and trans. E. J.
King (London, 1934), pp. 20, 26; The Rule of the Templars:The French Text of the Rule of
the Order of the Knights Templar, trans. J. M. Upton-Ward (Woodridge, England, and
Rochester, New York, 1992), nos. 4, 8.

BY JAMES W. BRODMAN

387

the reception of patients, the provision of physicians and medicines,
and the details of care and supply.7
It is not until the Statutes of 1206 that any reference is made to
“brothers-at-arms,” to “the equipment, mounts, and arms and all the
other things that appertain to chivalry,” and to the reception of knights
into the Order. Detailed provisions concerning military activities do not
appear before the Chapter General of 1262, which then does address
the issues of battle, capture, and garrison duty. This thirteenth-century
legislation was undoubtedly necessary, and motivated by the dire straits
in which crusaders found themselves in the decades prior to their final
expulsion from Palestine in 1291. It does not signal, however, the abandonment of the Hospital’s earlier caritative apostolate. Indeed, the Rule
of St. John was taken as a model by European institutions devoted entirely to charity, and thus was widely imitated by others. Among such
examples are the Order of the Holy Spirit, which cared especially for
women and abandoned children, and the network of municipal hospitals, or Hôtels-Dieu, that sprang up in thirteenth-century France.The Order of St. John itself, albeit on a limited basis, provided shelter and a
modicum of medical care within its larger priories located throughout
western Europe, and until the sixteenth century maintained a hospital
for pilgrims at the current site of its headquarters.8 Indeed, Timothy

7
Independent testimony verifies the continuing commitment among the Hospitallers
to charity. In 1183, Godfrey III, Duke of Lorraine, visited Jerusalem and left this description of the Order’s hospital:“seeing in it the indescribable anointings of the Holy Spirit,
which are poured out and humbly bestowed on the poor and imbecile and infirm.” See
Helen Nicholson, Templars, Hospitallers and Teutonic Knights: Images of the Military
Orders, 1128–1294 (Leicester, 1993), p. 63. For a description of the hospital and a description of its services to the poor, see Benjamin Z. Kedar,“A Twelfth-Century Description of the Jerusalem Hospital,” in Military Orders: Welfare and Warfare, pp. 3–26, and
Susan Edgington,“Medical Care in the Hospital of St. John in Jerusalem,” ibid., pp. 27–33.
8
For example, when Jerusalem fell, a hospice, operational at Acre since at least 1155,
supplanted the institution lost in Jerusalem. The one at Acre may have been replaced by
another at Limassol, on Cyprus, and then when the Convent moved to Rhodes in 1310 a
hospital was established in an existing structure, and moved to a new structure in 1314.
A continued commitment to this work is evidenced by the dedication of some 7.5% of the
headquarter budget to its operation, and by its renewal through a new structure in the
mid-fifteenth century. In thirteenth-century Europe, the Order maintained hospices along
routes of travel like Alpine passes, routes to Rome and Santiago de Compostela, and to
Italian ports where pilgrims embarked for the East. There were other hospitals in southern France, Germany, and England. While the straitened circumstances of the fourteenth
century, and growth of civic charity in the West, diminished the Order’s hospitaller commitment, it never entirely died out. See Luttrell, op. cit., pp. 68–78. The same thing happened in the Teutonic Order. When its main hospital at Acre was destroyed in 1291,it was

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RULE AND IDENTITY: THE CASE OF THE MILITARY ORDERS

Miller has argued, furthermore, that the example of the Hospital influenced the introduction of medical care into European hospitals during
the thirteenth century.9 Thus, even the adoption of military terminology and customs in the Order’s thirteenth-century legislation does not
demonstrate a fundamental transformation of the institution, but rather
the establishment of a second, parallel activity that now coexisted beside the first.
Is this association between Rule and mission merely a coincidence
occasioned by the particular circumstances of St. John’s foundation, or
does it provide a key to a larger pattern? In surveying the wider field, it
is evident that, like the Templars, several other military orders, such as
the Iberian orders of Calatrava and Montesa or the Livonian Swordbrothers, had no discernible hospitaller antecedents, while others, such
as those of St. Lazarus, St. Thomas of Acre, and the Teutonic Order, began, as did the Order of St. John, as caritative associations that eventually also acquired military functions.
Let us begin by examining not only the hospitaller antecedents of the
canonical military orders but also the nature of their continued commitment to this apostolate after their acceptance of military duties. The
clearest Palestinian example is the Teutonic Order or formally the Hospital of St. Mary of the German House in Jerusalem, which grew out of
a fraternity that was founded during the siege of Acre in 1190, at the
time of the third crusade, to deal with wounded and sick German crusaders. After the western occupation of the city, in 1193, it was given
some responsibility for the defense of a section of Acre’s wall; in 1198
the brethren began to accept military responsibilities and so decided
that they would follow the Rule of the Hospitallers of St. John with regard to the care of the poor, and adopt the regulations of the Templars
for knights and other brothers.10 Like the Knights of St. John, and in adeventually relocated to Marienburg in Prussia, the new seat of the master: Klaus Militzer,
“The Role of Hospitals in the Teutonic Order,” in Military Orders: Welfare and Warfare,
pp. 52–53. On the growth of municipal charity in the fourteenth century, see my Charity
and Welfare: Hospitals and the Poor in Medieval Catalonia (Philadelphia, 1998), pp.
130–132.
9
See his,“The Knights of St. John and the Hospitals of the Latin West,” Speculum, 53
(1978), 720–722; Anthony Luttrell, however, disputes this contention: op. cit., p. 65.
10
Udo Arnold,“Eight Hundred Years of the Teutonic Order,” in MIlitary Orders: Fighting
for the Faith, pp. 223–224; Militzer, op. cit., pp. 51–52. The prologue to the Order’s Rule
states that one of the founders, the Duke of Swabia, wrote to his brother the emperor to
petition that Pope Celestine “grant to the sick the rule of the Hospital of St. John and to the
knights, the order of the Templars:”“The Rule and Statutes of the Teutonic Knights,” trans.
Indrikis Sterns, http://orb.rhodes.edu/encyclop/religion/ monastic/tk_rule.html.

BY JAMES W. BRODMAN

389

dition to their military pursuits in Palestine, Hungary, and Prussia, these
brothers continued their caritative work in the thirteenth century. For
example, in Sicily in 1197 the Order was given the Hospital of St.
Thomas of Barletts by the Emperor Henry VI, as the result of what
James Powell sees as an active effort to solicit such gifts and privileges.11
Thereafter, and despite the limitations upon the acceptance or foundation of new hospitals that were imposed by the Rule,12 the Order continued to receive additional hospitals in Germany, many under the
patronage of St. Elizabeth of Hungary, whose own foundation at Marburg was posthumously donated to the Teutonic Order. The Order’s
hospitaller tradition, like that of the Order of St. John, has survived into
the twentieth century.13
In Spain, the genesis of the Order of St. James, or of Santiago, is somewhat different. Unlike the Teutonic Order, whose antecedent was the
German hospital of Acre, Santiago and indeed all of the other Hispanic
military orders were established directly and purposefully to fight
against the Islamic Almohad state that had united southern Iberia at
mid-century. While some of the Hispanic orders, most notably the Order of Calatrava, took as a model the Order of the Temple, with its Cistercian affiliations, others like Santiago imitated the example of the
Order of St. John.
The initial members of what would become the Order of Santiago,
the so-called brothers of Avila, in 1172 pledged “to fight in order to defend the Church against the enemies of Christ’s Cross just as a true militia,” and expressed the hope that, once the Saracens have been driven
11
James M Powell,“Frederick II, the Hohenstaufen, and the Teutonic Order in the Kingdom of Sicily,” in Military Orders: Fighting for the Faith, p. 237.
12
Section 4 of the Rule mandates the existence of a hospital in the principal house of
the Order. Elsewhere, the consent of the provincial commander is necessary prior to the
acceptance of any previously existing hospital, and that of the master before the Order
could establish any hospital on its own initiative. See “The Rule and Statutes of the Teutonic Knights.”
13
By 1230,the Order had accepted at least twenty-six hospitals in Germany,and in 1242
the papal legate in Prussia placed all hospitals in that district under its tutelege. In the
later Middle Ages, the Order seems to have specialized in care of children of the aristocracy and in that of corrodians. See Arnold, op. cit., p. 229; Klaus Guth,“Patronage of Elizabeth in the High Middle Ages in Hospitals of Teutonic Order in the Bailiwick of
Franconia,” ibid., pp. 246–250; Militzer, op. cit., pp. 54, 57. Ironically, St. Elizabeth bequeathed her hospital to the Order of St. John, but her brother-in-law persuaded Pope
Gregory IX to cede it to the Teutonic Order. Nicholson, op. cit., p. 118.

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RULE AND IDENTITY: THE CASE OF THE MILITARY ORDERS

from the lands of Spain, they could be pursued across the Mediterranean to Morocco.14 The Rule, written three years later, gives this explanation for the Order’s foundation:
At the time of their conversion, then, the Church was tossed about in the
storm amongst the Spaniards. Kings were fighting one another . . . and
with the kings in such disagreement a multitude of Saracens came from
beyond the sea to lay waste the lands of the Christians and destroy the
Church of God. The aforesaid knights, inspired by the Holy Spirit and seeing the great peril that threatened the Christians,imprinted on their chests
the cross in the shape of a sword with the ensign and invocation of
Blessed James to stop the hostile advance of the enemies of Christ, defend
the Church, and expose themselves to the fury of the infidel.15

Thus, in stark contrast to the Rule of the Hospitallers, the tenor of the
Jacobin Rule is military; the prologue says nothing of service to the
poor. The rest of the Rule, likewise, deals with the minutiae of community life and governance, and topics appropriate to military brethren.
Then, standing alone but within the context of doing good deeds, there
is chapter 38:
Let the clothes and beds of the deceased brethren be well stored, and, by
the command of the Master or his deputy, be distributed among the hospitals of the Order, some of which are along the frontier, others on the
road of the Blessed James.16

As far as can be determined, the Order had begun to acquire during the
previous year, i.e., in 1174, or only four years after its initial foundation,
a number of hospitals in northern Spain along the pilgrimage route to
Santiago de Compostela.17 Between 1180 and 1227, furthermore, the
Order developed an additional network of seven ransoming hospitals,
located along the Castilian frontier in places like Toledo, Cuenca, and
its headquarters town of Uclés; two others, at Zamora and Salamanca,
were established in the Kingdom of León. Three additional ransoming
houses, at Saragossa, Teruel, and Castiel, were founded within the Kingdom of Aragon. While some of the ransoming institutions became deca-

14
Jose Luis Martín, Orígenes de la Orden Militar de Santiago (1170–1195) (Barcelona,
1974), pp. 226–227, no. 33.
15
The Rule of the Spanish Military Order of St. James (1170–1493), ed. and trans. Enrique Gallego Blanco (Leiden, 1971), p. 79.
16
Ibid., p. 117.
17
By 1195, there were four of these, in León, Las Tiendas, San Miguel del Camino, and
Sispiazo: Martín, op. cit., p. 31.

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391

dent in the thirteenth century, others continued to function as houses
of charity into the sixteenth century.18
The history of two other canonical orders is more problematic. One,
the Order of St. Lazarus, was founded in Jerusalem during the 1130’s as
a confraternity that cared for the sick and lepers; subsequently, Malcolm
Barber argues, the Order became an honorable refuge for Latin colonists
in Palestine who had contracted leprosy. Evidence for its internal organization is scanty but papal bulls of the mid-thirteenth century inform
us that its Rule was canonical, i.e., that of St. Augustine. In the twelfth
century, the Order was purely hospitaller in that it cared for its own
members who were lepers as well as for lepers who transferred from
the Templars,who presumably lacked facilities for the long-term care of
sick brothers. Unlike the Hospitallers of St. John or the Teutonic Order,
there is only scant evidence that St. Lazarus ever undertook wider responsibilities for the care of lepers in Palestine or in Europe. Barber argues that the Order’s close association with the Templars drew it into
combat during the 1240’s,just prior to catastrophe at La Forbie in 1244.
Evidently the military career of these leper knights was brief and inglorious. Barber explains Pope Clement IV’s abortive attempt in 1265 to
give the Order charge of all leper communities in Europe as an effort to
revive the Order at a time of continued military danger in the east, but
it might equally be seen as a futile effort by the pope to reorient St.
Lazarus as a hospitaller organization in the wake of its evident failure as
a military institution.19
Another Palestinian order is that of St. Thomas of Acre. Also founded
at Acre during the third crusade, its function presumably paralleled that
of the German institution but in service to the community of English
crusaders. Initially, the hospital was staffed by a community of canons
regular who served the poor, buried the dead, and ransomed captives.
In 1213, the earl of Essex in England conferred upon St. Thomas two
hospitals in Berkhamsted, one of them for lepers. In the late 1220’s, the
18
See my “Military Redemptionism and the Castilian Reconquest, 1180–1250,” Military
Affairs, 44 (1980), 24–27; Regina Sáinz de la Maza Lasoli, La Orden de Santiago en la
Corona de Aragón (Saragossa, 1980), pp. 123–128. Hospitals continued to function at
Alarcón, Cuenca, Toledo, and Talavera early in the reign of Charles V: see Pedro Andrés
Porras Arboledas, La Orden de Santiago en el siglo XV (Madrid, 1997), pp. 230–232,
238–239.
19
Malcolm Barber,“The Order of Saint Lazarus and the Crusades,“Catholic Historical
Review, 80 (1994), 439–456; John Walker, “Crusaders and Patrons: the Influence of the
Crusades on the Patronage of the Order of St.Lazarus,”in Military Orders: Fighting for the
Faith, pp. 327–329.

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RULE AND IDENTITY: THE CASE OF THE MILITARY ORDERS

community was reorganized into a military order by the warrior bishop
of Winchester in England, Peter des Roches, and placed under the Rule
of the Teutonic Order, because that rule accommodated both a military
and hospitaller function. Thereafter, albeit on a small scale, the Order
continued to accept minor hospitals in England and Ireland while maintaining a token military presence in Palestine and then in Cyprus until
at least 1367. Thereafter it continued to function in England until the
Henrician dissolution as a hospitaller organization,again under the Rule
of St. Augustine, providing shelter to its wealthy patrons and wardship
for their children.20
Returning to Anthony Luttrell’s belief that all military orders had a
hospitaller function, let us now turn and examine the charitable activities of those Orders which followed a monastic Rule: the Templars, the
Spanish Order of Calatrava and its affiliates, the Order of Mountjoy, and
the Livonian Swordbrothers. Aspects of their practice of charity appear
to be an outgrowth of Cistercian spirituality. Walter Map, archdeacon
of Oxford at the end of the twelfth century and admittedly an enemy
of the Cistercians, provides us with this trenchant characterization of
the Order of Cîteaux’s attitudes toward the needy: “Oh, they say that
they love them [i.e., the poor] in the Lord; and loving them in the
Lord they define as wishing for the salvation of the souls of their neighbors—every aid to his body they exclude!”21 Map’s comments do not
apply strictly to military orders like the Templars, but the latter’s charity did have a monastic cast in that its acts contained a purpose more
symbolic than real.22 For example, any house in which the master was
in residence became obligated to feed five paupers daily; that of a commander was to feed three. Whenever a brother died, a pauper was to receive his ration for forty days, or in the case of a secular knight in
temporary service to the Order, seven days. In memory of a deceased
master, a hundred poor were to receive refreshment. On Holy Thursdays, the master or other brothers were to wash the feet of thirteen

20
A. J. Forey,“The Military Order of St Thomas of Acre,” English Historical Review, 92
(1977), 481–482, 486–502.
21
Quoted by Newman, op. cit., p. 239. Cîteaux’s great rival, the monastery of Cluny, also
showed signs of this sort of tough love, complaining of oblati with physical handicaps
who were given to the monastery to free parents of responsibility for them:Constable,op.
cit., p. 100.
22
For a discussion of symbolic or ritualistic charity, see my Charity and Welfare, pp.
1–2, 150–151. Of the twelfth-century reform monks, only the Carthusians saw any form of
almsgiving to the poor as being improper for monks: Constable, op. cit., p. 149.

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393

paupers, who were then to be given bread, new clothing, and a small
sum of money.23 In all of these instances the charity is given in response
to the spiritual needs of the giver, not the material need of the pauper.
As for the Order of Calatrava,its earliest constitutions that date from the
first half of the fourteenth century lack any references to charity, ritualistic or practical.24
There are, of course, examples of a more public form of charity
among the “monastic” military orders. The Latin conquest of Constantinople in 1204 led to the consignment of the Sampson hospital to the
Order of the Temple, but one wonders with what success since there is
some indication that the institution was transferred to the Hospitallers
before it disappears entirely from the sources. The Templars also received from King Alfonso II of Aragon in 1196 the ransoming Hospital
of the Holy Redeemer in Teruel, which had been in the possession of
the Order of Mountjoy, but there is also no evidence for its continued
functioning as a hospital. Mountjoy itself was a Cistercian affiliate
founded around 1174 in Iberia, where it garrisoned a number of castles
in the district around Teruel. In 1188, King Alfonso united the Order
with Holy Redeemer not so much to achieve a synergy of effort between the two organizations, but to prop up Mountjoy whose eventual
union with the Templars the king was trying to forestall.25 The Order of
Calatrava established in 1182 a hospital at the castle of Guadalerzas, but
because it served only wounded members of this and other military orders, its charity was thus more akin to that of a monastic infirmary than
a public hospital. In any case, its existence was brief since Guadalerzas
was lost to the Muslims in 1195 after the battle of Alarcos. There is also
some evidence that Calatrava possessed two ransoming hospices at the
23
The Rule of the Templars, nos. 94, 98, 62, 65, 129, 199, 346, 347. This is similar to the
custom of Cluny where, under Peter the Venerable, the monastery provided food and
drink daily to fifty paupers in memory of deceased monks: Constable, op. cit., p. 93.
24
See Joseph F. O’Callaghan,“The Earliest ‘Difiniciones’ of the Order of Calatrava,”in his,
The Spanish Military Order of Calatrava and Its Affiliates (London, 1975),VII, 255–284.
25
Timothy S. Miller, The Birth of the Hospital in the Byzantine Empire (Baltimore,
1997), pp. 190, 192.The hospital is listed by Jacques de Vitry as one known for its honesty
and piety; his editor notes the transfer to the Hospital: Jacques de Vitry, The Historia occidentalis of Jacques de Vitry:A Critical Edition, ed. J. F. Hinnebusch, O. P. (Fribourg, 1972),
pp. 149–150. The Templars evidently established a convent within the precincts of the
former hospital according to notices of 1221 and 1250. A. J. Forey,“The Order of Mountjoy,” Speculum, 46 (1971), 251–259; idem, The Templars in the Corona de Aragón (London, 1973), pp. 104, 384.

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RULE AND IDENTITY: THE CASE OF THE MILITARY ORDERS

beginning of the thirteenth century, but their clientele is unknown, as is
any evidence of their continuing existence.26 Thus, it would seem that
the evidence that the Temple or Calatrava operated hospitals is scant
and perhaps the best reason for this is that such institutions were
ephemeral, short-lived establishments that never formed part of the
core apostolate.
The example of the Hospitallers of St. John and the subsequent decisions made by the founders of the Jacobin and Teutonic Orders suggest
that the twelfth century produced two distinct models of what a military order was: a military-monastic model and another that is militaryhospitaller. The first, composed of the Templars, the Iberian Orders of
Calatrava, Montesa, Mountjoy and Alcántara and the Livonian Swordbrothers, among others, are outgrowths of the Cistercian tradition. The
second, which includes the Hospitallers of St. John, the Orders of St.
Lazarus, St. Thomas, and St. James, and the Teutonic Order, derives from
the same canonical tradition that also spawned such contemporary
non-military caritative orders as the Orders of the Holy Trinity, the Holy
Spirit, St. Anthony, and Our Lady of Mercy. The experience particularly
of the Order of Santiago suggests that something beyond mere expediency explains the character and configuration of the second model for,
as we have seen, Santiago initiated its caritative works posterior to its
foundation.The fact that the Knights of St. John,the Teutonic Order,and
the Order of St. Thomas27 all maintained a hospitaller tradition far beyond the era of their foundation also belies the idea that one type of religious association was transformed into another. Santiago, like virtually
all its Iberian counterparts, could have accepted the model and Rule derived from the Templars, but for some reason did not.28 The Teutonic
Order elected to follow both models, as did the Order of St. Thomas before it reverted back to the Rule of St. Augustine in the late fourteenth

26
Francis Gutton, L’Ordre de Calatrava (Paris, 1955), p. 43; O’Callaghan, op. cit., II, 3; III,
6; James William Brodman,Ransoming Captives in Crusader Spain:The Order of Merced
on the Christian-Islamic Frontier (Philadelphia, 1986), p. 10.
27
A few of the Order’s English hospitals survived into the sixteenth century: Forey,“St.
Thomas of Acre,” p. 501.
28
The Order of Calatrava, a close contemporary, was an affiliate of Cîteaux and thus tied
closely to the Templar tradition. The Order of Alcántara, even before its union with Calatrava, had received the usages of Cîteaux. When James II of Aragón established the
Order of Montesa in 1312 as a replacement for the Templar Order in his realms, it was
given the Rule and customs of Calatrava. See O’Callaghan, op. cit., IV, 473, 480–481; X,
213–214.

BY JAMES W. BRODMAN

395

century.29 How, then, can we explain the coexistence and persistence of
these two different models?
The place to begin is not with ideas of holy war, but with the notion
of service that grew out of the Gregorian Reform movement,and which
delineated in the canonical life a new religious vocation distinct from
that of the monk. While initially aimed at reforming and reinvigorating
the diocesan clergy by establishing within cathedral chapters a form of
the common life, its real effect was in the establishment of independent
communities of canons,and ultimately of religious orders,who preached
and who tended to the unfortunate. The thirteenth-century historian,
Jacques de Vitry, describes them in his Historia occidentalis:
There are moreover others, both men and women, who have renounced
the world and who live in a regular fashion in houses of lepers and in hospitals for the poor,living in all regions of the West,without estimate or certain number, ministering humbly and devotedly to the poor and the sick.
They, moreover, live according to the rule of St. Augustine, without their
own property, and in common under obedience to a superior, and, having
accepted a canonical habit, they promise perpetual chastity to the lord.30

This movement of reform gave birth to ascetics like the Premonstratensians, to hospitallers like the Brothers of St. Anthony, to mendicants like the Franciscans and Dominicans, and—to focus on the
question before us—to the military orders.
The military orders are thus counted among the so-called “new orders” which grew out of the Gregorian reform movement. Indeed, Giles
Constable argues that the institutions of the military orders and of lay
brothers for the first time opened up the possibility of the consecrated
life to laymen. To one degree or another, all of the new orders shared
three objectives: service to others, voluntary poverty, and interior spirituality. These aims, however, were conditioned, shaped, and directed
within two fundamentally different institutional contexts:the monastery
and the chapter. Anselm, a twelfth-century bishop of Havelburg in Germany and himself a canon regular, marveled at the “diverse forms of the
religious life” in his own day, but ultimately reduced them all to either

29
The Order initially followed canonical customs but when militarized accepted the
Teutonic Rule; in the late fourteenth century, by which time it had abandoned its last military outpost on Cyprus, it reverted back to the canonical tradition: Forey,“The Order of
St. Thomas,” pp. 486–487, 500.
30
Jacques de Vitry, op. cit., pp. 146–147, cap. 29.

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RULE AND IDENTITY: THE CASE OF THE MILITARY ORDERS

monastic movements under the Rule of St. Benedict or canonical under
the Rule of St. Augustine.31
This distinction between monk and canon may well be the key factor
in understanding why some knights were hospitallers, and others were
not. While all of the military orders, as “new orders,”shared a number of
common ideals, particularly a devotion to apostolic and voluntary
poverty, institutionally they derive from two roots. In one way or another,all exemplars of the military-monastic tradition are tied to the Cistercian Order. In 1128, at the Council of Troyes, St. Bernard, abbot of
Clairvaux, played a major role in authoring the original Rule of the Temple and subsequently promoted and defended the new order. The Order of Calatrava was established in 1157 by Raymond, abbot of the
Cistercian monastery of Fitero (Navarre), and in 1158 was accepted by
the General Chapter as an affiliate of the Cistercian Order. The Livonian
Swordbrothers were organized at the instigation of Theodoric, the abbot of the Cistercian monastery of Dünamünde, who himself had been
inspired by St. Bernard. The Rules of hospitaller groups like the Knights
of St. John and of Santiago, on the other hand, are Augustinian in derivation, just as are those of most canonical communities established in
the twelfth century.32
An examination of the introduction to the earliest Rules of the Temple and the Hospital, will illustrate this difference. The first reflects the
interiorism of the monastic vocation:
We speak firstly to all those who secretly despise their own will and desire
with a pure heart to serve the sovereign king as a knight and with studious
care desire to wear . . . the very noble armor of obedience. . . . Above all,
whoever would be a knight of Christ, . . . you in your profession of faith
must unite pure diligence and firm perseverance . . . that if it is preserved
untainted for ever, you will deserve to keep company with the martyrs
who gave their souls for Jesus Christ.33

In contrast to this vision of personal salvation, the Hospitaller Rule
states:
Firstly, I ordain that all the brethren, engaging in the service of the poor,
should keep the three things with the aid of God, which they have
31
See his “Dialogi,” in Patrologia latina, ed. J. P. Migne (Paris, 1841–1864), vol. 188, cols.
1141–1142.
32
For the Templars, see The Rule of the Templars, pp. 4–5; for the Hospital, Rules of the
Hospitallers, p. 2; for Calatrava, O’Callaghan, op. cit., I, 178–182; for Santiago, Rule of Santiago, p. 59; on the Livonian Swordbrothers, see William L. Urban, The Baltic Crusade
(Dekalb, Illinois, 1975), pp. 43–44.
33
Rule of the Templars, p. 19.

BY JAMES W. BRODMAN

397

promised to God:that is to say,chastity and obedience . . . and to live without property of their own: because God will require those three things of
them at the Last Judgment.34

The one focuses, then, on interior development; the other, while not
avoiding the issue of salvation, casts everything within the context of
service to the poor. Elsewhere, the Templar Rule refers to the brethren
themselves as “the poor” while the Hospitallers consistently see others,
in whose service they are, as “the poor.” The Templar ceremony of initiation reflects an essentially interiorist spirituality; it stressed three reasons for becoming a brother; to leave the sin of this world, to serve the
Lord, and to be poor and do penance.35
There is evidence that the papacy recognized the existence of the
two different models. One indication is from the vita of Rodrigo Alvarez, a Leonese noble who had entered the Order of Santiago in 1171.
In 1174 he wished to leave and so appealed to the tradition that approved such transfers for those who wished to switch to a stricter form
of life. Because the monastic regimen of Cîteaux seemed more severe
than the canonical traditions of Santiago, the papal legate, Cardinal Deacon Hyacinth, approved Rodrigo’s departure. He subsequently went on
to become founder of the military Order of Mountjoy, which was an affiliate of the Cistercian Order.36 Another sign, although one not entirely
consistent with the previous example, is in the advice given to the
Hospitallers of St. John by Pope Alexander III in the early 1170’s. Approaching financial collapse after their participation of King Amaury of
Jerusalem’s disastrous campaigns in Egypt, the Order evidently contemplated abandoning one of its ministries. If pushed to that extreme,
the pope advised the Hospitallers to abandon fighting because their service to the poor and sick was the more meritorious in the eyes of
God.37
Popular perception, more difficult to judge, also shows some recognition of a fundamental distinction between Templars and Hospitallers.
Michael Givers, for example, argues that in England during the twelfth
Rule of the Hospitallers, p. 20.
Forey,“Recruitment to the Military Orders,” p. 167.
36
Forey,“Order of Mountjoy,” pp. 250–252.
37
Cluniacs also took up this theme. Peter the Venerable, in a letter to Pope Eugenius, argued that Templars practiced a lesser form of the religious life than canons, monks or hermits, and so, indirectly at least, distinguished between the Templars and Hospitallers.
Another Cluniac, Guiot of Provins, in the early thirteenth century chastised the Hospitallers for neglecting their original purpose of charity. Nicholson, Templars, Hospitallers
and Teutonic Knights, pp. 23, 38, 40.
34

35

398

RULE AND IDENTITY: THE CASE OF THE MILITARY ORDERS

century the former were more successful in gaining property and patrons, including royal support, precisely because they were seen as being more military than the Hospitallers of St. John.38 A similar distinction
has been discovered in literature by Helen Nicholson, where the Templars, to a degree significantly greater than the Hospitallers, were associated with the idea of romantic love. This, she argues, is because the
Temple had never been a hospital, which the public saw as respectable
but colorless. The Hospitallers, for their part, seemingly suppressed any
tales of scandal and romance in order to maintain a popular image of
caregivers to the poor. Furthermore, until the fall of Acre in 1291,
Nicholson argues, the Templars were praised for their military prowess
much more often than the Hospitallers, even at battles where both orders seemingly acquitted themselves with comparable bravery.39
Finally, to some degree the orders representing the two models saw
themselves as being different. Apart from the language contained in
their Rules, which has already been noted, this can be seen through an
examination of how each sought to justify itself to the Church and to
the external world. The military-monastic model was forced to reconcile contemplation with the sword, while the military-hospitaller model
had to reconcile warfare with welfare.
The focus of the controversy surrounding the military model was not
the juxtaposition of war and peace because pacifism as an argument
was generally rejected by most twelfth- and thirteenth-century
thinkers. Rather, the concern was the possible incompatibility between
the military vocation and monastic vows. Hugh the Sinner, perhaps the
first master of the Temple,Hugh de Payns,felt obliged to respond to this
charge by attacking any such doubts about the spiritual validity of the
military vocation as the work of the devil.40 Despite this assurance,however, there was some debate among the founders of the Spanish Order
of Calatrava about the compatibility of monastic vows and the sword,
and the Cistercian chapter in 1174 hesitated for a year before it agreed
to accept yet another military community under its wing.41
38
Michael Gervers,“Pro defensione Terre Sancte:The Development and Exploitation of
the Hospitallers’ Landed Estate in Essex,” in Military Orders: Fighting for the Faith, pp.
3–6, 19.
39
Helen Nicholson,“Knights and Lovers:The Military Orders in the Romantic Literature
of the Thirteenth Century,” in Military Orders: Fighting for the Faith, pp. 344–345; see
also her “The Templars, Hospitallers and Other Military Orders.”
40
Hugh the Sinner,“Letter to the Knights of Christ in the Temple at Jerusalem,” trans.
Helen J. Nicholson, http://orb.rhodes.edu/encyclop/religion/monastic/Hughssin.html.
41
O’Callaghan, op. cit., I, 182; Forey,“Order of Mountjoy,” p. 251.

BY JAMES W. BRODMAN

399

For the Order of St. John, the crisis of conscience occurred in the
1160’s and 1170’s and seems to have been occasioned more by the disastrous consequences of its participation in King Almaury’s Egyptian
campaign than by any sense that welfare and warfare were incompatible.42 Ideology here was less of an issue because garrison duty and hospital service were two forms of protection. This is easier to see if we
carefully define what medieval people meant by a hospital. This was
first and foremost a shelter, and in medieval western Europe the earliest
examples were guesthouses maintained by monasteries and, beginning
in the eleventh century, by bishops and cathedral chapters. The impression is that, at first, these hospitals housed visitors and pilgrims; in
the twelfth century, they welcomed local residents who also had need:
old and sick people who often came to die, orphans and abandoned
children, and those simply without means. Also, during this century,
shelters that catered to particular categories of the needy, like lepers or
former captives, appeared. Two points need to be made about these
twelfth-century shelters: first, they were, for the most part, the work of
canons; secondly, they were generally not providers of medical care.
Thus, hospitals were a manifestation of the same canonical tradition,
from which the Rules of St. John and St. James derived, and their initial
purpose was the provision of protection, not care. Hospitallers, in the
twelfth-century, saw themselves as protecting the poor, not curing the
sick.43 The knights of St. John and St. James both operated hospices for
the protection of pilgrims en route to a major shrine; arguably their activities as garrison troops could be viewed as an extension of these duties of protection. In the thirteenth century, and for all of the exemplars
of the military-hospitaller tradition, the works of charity lagged far behind the deeds of war. Yet each worked to maintain their hospitaller traditions, if only in symbolic ways.44 Anthony Luttrell believes that for the
knights of St. John this was done out of ideology as well as for public relations, i.e., as a way to justify its continued privilege even after its
forced retreat from the Holy Land.45
Phillips,“Archbishop Henry of Reims,” pp. 84–85.
Despite a staff of four physicians and several surgeons,the hospital placed its primary
emphasis on prayer, comfort, and diet, to ameliorate the effects of exhaustion and malnutrition upon pilgrims who might also be suffering from a chronic disease or just old age:
Edgington, op. cit., pp. 26, 33.
44
Notably the only two Hospitallers canonized in the thirteenth century, St. Ubaldesca
of Pisa (d. 1206) and St. Hugh of Genoa (d. 1230), were not knights but rather gained renown for their humility, piety and good works: Nicholson, Templars, Hospitallers and
Teutonic Knights, pp. 119–120.
45
Luttrell, op. cit., p. 73. Helen Nicholson cites several examples from the twelfth and
thirteenth century of the Hospitallers’ habit of emphasizing whichever aspect of their
42
43

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RULE AND IDENTITY: THE CASE OF THE MILITARY ORDERS

There is little evidence that the members of the Orders of St. John or
St. James saw any contradiction in the two facets of their vocation. As
products of the canonical tradition, they accepted an obligation of service toward the poor, and in the twelfth century such service was of a
protective nature. Both Orders are closely associated with the idea of
pilgrimage, which Carl Erdmann46 and others have associated with the
beginnings of the crusade movement. While for us the chasm might
seem gaping, for them the difference between providing overnight accommodations for a pilgrim, and guaranteeing security along the roads
to Jerusalem or Compostela does not appear to have been very great.
Both were stated objectives of Gregorian reformers.47
While hospitallerism would not be the major focus of any of the military orders in the late Middle Ages, the efforts of the canonical orders
to keep alive the tradition of hospitality,even in symbolic ways,suggests
that their Rule, with its overtones of outwardly service, created an identity that permanently set these brethren apart from their militarymonastic compatriots. The character of this self-image seemingly
motivated the brothers of Santiago to establish hospitals subsequent to
their foundation as a knightly order, and the Order of St. Thomas to return to hospitals as a major focus after its withdrawal from the Levant.
This identity survived the collapse of crusading itself and reasserted itself in the modern era as the descendants of the Knights of St. John and
the Teutonic Order recreated themselves as charitable organizations
dedicated to the support of hospitals.

work, war or charity, would best appeal to a particular constituency: Templars, Hospitallers and Teutonic Knights, p. 121.
46
See his Origins of the Idea of Crusade, trans. Marshall Baldwin and Walter Goffart
(Princeton, 1977).
47
See James Brundage, Medieval Canon Law and the Crusader (Madison, 1969), pp.
13–14.

A PEARLE FOR A PRYNCE:
Jerónimo Osório and Early Elizabethan Catholics
BY

MATTHEW RACINE*

At the end of 1562, Jerónimo Osório, a Portuguese Humanist, sent a
copy of his Epistola Hieronymi Osorii ad Serenissimam Elisabetam
Angliae Reginam (1562) to Queen Elizabeth of England.1 This letter
employed theologically based rhetorical arguments to persuade Elizabeth to rejuvenate Catholicism in England and drive all heretics from
her kingdom. It was the first of four works in a twenty-year long polemical battle, a battle in which John Foxe, the famous martyrologist, eventually became involved. Additionally, this was the first controversy
regarding the Elizabethan religious settlement initiated by a non-English
writer.2 In March, 1565, Richard Shacklock, an exiled English Catholic
living in Louvain, published A Pearle for a Prynce, his translation of
Osório’s Epistola. By this date, Osório’s letter had been in circulation for
nearly two and one-half years, and Walter Haddon’s reply to it, Gualteri
*Mr. Racine is a doctoral student in the Department of History in the University of California at Santa Barbara. He wishes to thank Dr. Francis Dutra, Dr. J. Sears McGee, Dr. Jeffrey Russell, Peter McDermott, Kathleen Hasselblad, and the anonymous referee selected
by the Catholic Historical Review, for reading and commenting on earlier drafts of this
article; Jim Emmons and José Valente for reviewing the Latin; and Mark Emerson for first
mentioning Osório’s Epistola to him.An earlier version of this paper was presented at the
XXth Symposium on Portuguese Traditions at the University of California at Los Angeles
in April, 1997, under the title,“A Pearle for a Prynce: Jerónimo Osório and the English Reformation.”
1
Jerónimo Osório, Carta à Rainha da Inglaterra, trans. Sebastião de Pinho (Lisbon:
Biblioteca Nacional, 1981). This edition contains a facsimile of the original Latin publication, a modernized version of the original Latin, a facing translation in Portuguese, notes,
and commentary. The Epistola was translated into English in 1565 by Richard Shacklock
as A Pearle for a Prynce (STC 18887) and is available in facsimile in D. M. Rogers (ed.),
English Recusant Literature, 1558–1640, Vol. 329 (London: Scholar Press, 1977). Quotations will be taken from Shacklock’s translation. All page number citations refer to the
Scolar Press edition. Throughout this article, I have modernized spelling in all quotations.
2
A. C. Southern, Elizabethan Recusant Prose, 1559–1582 (London, 1950), pp.
119–125; Peter Milward, Religious Controversies of the Elizabethan Age (Lincoln, Nebraska, 1977), pp. 18–19.

401

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A PEARLE FOR A PRYNCE: JERÓNIMO OSÓRIO AND EARLY ELIZABETHAN CATHOLICS

Haddoni pro reformatione Anglicana epistola apologetica ad Hier.
Osorium, Lusitanum (1564), had been in print for one.3 An examination of the content of Osório’s letter, which angered Elizabeth and was
perceived by her Secretary of State, William Cecil, as an act of lèsemajesté, will explain why it appealed to Shacklock and why he chose to
translate it. Furthermore, the printed version of A Pearle, the means by
which Shacklock’s translation was conveyed to his audience, reveals
much about the ideology of exiled Catholics during the first few years
of Elizabeth’s reign.
Although some Europeans of the time indeed may have followed the
debate between Osório and Haddon because of “the commanding reputations of both men as Latin stylists,”4 the reason for continued interest
within England and its significance for historians of this period has
more to do with the translation and appropriation of Osório’s Epistola
by exiled English Catholics. The use of Osório’s work was part of a
larger program to sustain “survivalist Catholicism” within England by
publishing Catholic works and smuggling them into the kingdom.5 Indeed, if “the English Reformation was a revolution of the book, a replacement of books in Latin by books in the vernacular,”6 then the
Catholic exiles were willing to fight a counter-revolutionary action on
the same terms.
By looking at Osório’s Epistola more evenhandedly than others have
looked, this study increases our knowledge of this period of religious
change in England.The English-speaking world has been inclined to dismiss or belittle Osório’s Epistola as well as the entire Osório-Haddon
debate.This attitude began in the sixteenth century as Englishmen loyal
to Elizabeth quickly declared their opinions on the merit of Osório’s letter. Thomas Smith, the English ambassador to France who eventually
3
No original of Pro reformatione seems to have survived, but it can be found with
many other works by Haddon in his Lucubrationes, ed. Thomas Hatcher (London, 1567;
STC 12596), pp. 210–268. The letter is available in English as A Sighte of the Portugall
Pearle, trans. Abraham Hartwell (London, 1565; STC 12598). All page number citations
refer to the Hartwell translation. Some authorities give the year of publication of Haddon’s work as 1563 because it was first printed in March, 1563/4.
4
Lawrence V.Ryan,“The Haddon-Osorio Controversy (1563–1583),”Church History,22
(1953), 142.
5
Christopher Haigh, English Reformations (New York, 1993), p. 252; A. G. Dickens, Reformation Studies (London, 1982), pp. 159–183; Peter Holmes, Resistance and Compromise: The Political Thought of the Elizabethan Catholics (New York, 1982).
6
John N. Wall, Jr.,“Reformation in England and the Typographical Revolution,”in Gerald
P.Tyson and Sylvia S. Wagonheim (eds.), Print and Culture in the Renaissance: Essays on
the Advents of Printing in Europe (Newark, Delaware, 1986), p. 211.

BY MATTHEW RACINE

403

succeeded in having Haddon’s reply to Osório printed in Latin in Paris,
wrote to William Cecil in 1563, declaring that Osório’s letter showed
“eloquentiae satis, theologiae nihil.”7 Francis Bacon was later to state
that Osório’s style suffered from a “vanity of words.”8 This judgment did
not change as the Osório-Haddon controversy receded. In the eighteenth century, the historian John Strype said that Osório’s Latin “was
the only thing that recommended his book”and called his arguments—
but not those of Haddon—“weak and childish.”9 Edward Nares, the
nineteenth-century chronicler of the life of William Cecil, said that
Osório’s letter was “written in a good style” but that it had tried to persuade Elizabeth not by theology but “by libeling the proceedings of her
government and people.”10 A contrasting and somewhat more positive
assessment of this controversy appeared in Reverend George Townsend’s
“Preliminary Dissertation” in a nineteenth-century edition of John
Foxe’s Acts and Monuments. Townsend said that the controversy “may
even now be interesting to the theological student. It relates to that
most agitated of all questions,the justification of the soul before God.”11
Of course, this statement, made by a Protestant, tacitly judges Haddon
the victor. At the beginning of the twentieth century, Walter Howard
Frere continued the now established tradition of criticizing the controversy for its lack of content.After giving it significance as “the first spontaneous attack upon the action of the English Church,” he dismissed its
theological implications, saying that “the contest remained to the last
more notable as a rivalry of classical scholarship than as a controversy
of divinity.”12 Lawrence Ryan,the first Anglo-American historian to make
a more detailed investigation of the entire controversy, used many of
these same authors as sources for his 1953 article. He concluded that
the Osório-Haddon controversy “attracted a great deal of attention in
its time because of the commanding reputations of both men as Latin
7
“Much eloquence but no theology.”Cited in Léon Bourdon,“Jerónimo Osório et les humanistes anglais,”in Luís de Albuquerque (ed.),L’Humanisme portugais et l’Europe.Actes
du XXI e colloque international d’études humanistes (Tours, 3–13 Juillet 1978) (Paris,
1984), p. 312.
8
Ryan, op. cit., p. 153.
9
John Strype, Annals of the Reformation (1728; reprint, New York: Burt Franklin,
1964), I(2), 69.
10
Edward Nares, Memoirs of the Life and Administration of the Right Honourable
William Cecil, Lord Burghley (London, 1830), II, 305–306.
11
Rev. Stephen Reed Cattley (ed.), The Acts and Monuments of John Foxe (London,
1841),p.209.Also see Nicholas Tyacke,“Anglican Attitudes:Some Recent Writings on English Religious History, from the Reformation to the Civil War,” Journal of British Studies,
35 (1996), 142.
12
W. H. Frere, The English Church in the Reigns of Elizabeth and James I (1558–
1625) (London, 1911), pp. 81–82.

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A PEARLE FOR A PRYNCE: JERÓNIMO OSÓRIO AND EARLY ELIZABETHAN CATHOLICS

stylists” and that the debate was “more notorious than theologically
significant.”13 Peter Milward and A. C. Southern mention the OsórioHaddon controversy, but their summaries of it are skeletal.14 The most
judicious account of the entire controversy is that of French historian
Léon Bourdon in his article,“Jerónimo Osório et les humanistes anglais.”
Osório’s Epistola, written in the elegant Latin for which he had
earned the sobriquet “the Portuguese Cicero,” was first printed in Lisbon in late 1562. When this letter was received in the English court, it
evoked much displeasure, and Elizabeth’s Master of Requests, Walter
Haddon, whose Latin was very elegant in its own right, responded with
his Pro reformatione. Apparently Haddon restrained his anger while
writing because he claimed that he had “expunged the cutting remarks,
reserving them for another debate” should Osório decide to reply.15
Events proved Haddon wise. Osório, upon receiving word in 1566 that
someone had proffered a reply to his letter, obtained a copy of Haddon’s book and then published his response, sending a copy personally
to Haddon at the hands of the English ambassador to Portugal, Thomas
Wilson.16 Haddon received Osório’s second work in 1567 and began a
reply, but he died in 1572 before he could finish it. John Foxe eventually
completed the reply in 1577.17 In large part, this second round of the
controversy simply repeated the arguments of the first round, only in
greater detail and with more ad hominem attacks. In addition to these
participants, several others became involved. A Portuguese bishop resident in Flanders, Manuel de Almada, defended Osório in a lengthy work
of 1566, complete with poems and an engraving that showed Osório
Ryan, op. cit., pp. 142, 153.
Milward, op. cit., pp. 18–19; Southern, op. cit., pp. 119–125.
15
Haddon to Thomas Smith, January 9 [1564], in Haddon, Lucubrationes, p. 292. Lucubrationes contains several letters in which the controversy is mentioned, though usually briefly: pp. 279–282, 287–292, 293–295, 302–307, 308–312, 312–316, 316–317,
317–319.
16
Amplissimi atque doctissimi viri D. Hieronimi Osorii, episcopi silvensis, in Gualterum Haddonum, magistrum libellorum supplicum apud Clarissimam Principem
Helizabetham, Angliae, Franciae et Hiberniae Reginam, Libri tres (1567). This was
translated into English by John Fen under the title A learned and very eloquent treatie
[sic] written in Latin by . . . Hieronymus Osorius (1568; STC 18889).All page number citations refer to the Fen translation.
17
This co-authored work is Contra Hieronimum Osorium ejusque odiosas invectationes pro Evangelicae Veritatis necessaria defensione responsio apologetica (1577; STC
12593). It was translated by James Bell with the title Against Ierome Osorius . . . (1581;
STC 12594). This translation was printed in Reverend Legh Richmond (ed.), Fathers of
the English Church (London, 1812). Lawrence Ryan says that Haddon wrote all of Book 1
and Book 2 until fol. 70r, while Foxe completed Book 2 and wrote all of Book 3. Ryan, op.
cit., p. 151.
13

14

BY MATTHEW RACINE

405

riding triumphantly on a chariot pulled by dogs who represented Martin Bucer, Peter Martyr, and Haddon.18 Another English Protestant reply
was published in 1570, with its authorship “doubtfully attributed to the
publisher, Dionis Emilie.”19
The two central participants in the Osório-Haddon controversy were
both well-qualified for their polemical tasks. Walter Haddon was not as
well known in Europe as Osório, but he was at home among the intellectual and political elite of England. Born in 1516, Haddon studied at
Eton, subsequently entering King’s College, Cambridge, in 1533, where
he received a B.A. degree in 1537. He obtained an M. A. degree in 1541,
read lectures on civil law for about three years, and eventually earned a
doctorate of laws from Cambridge in 1549. Haddon counted Martin
Bucer, Matthew Parker, and Peter Martyr among his friends. After 1549,
Haddon, along with John Cheke, began a project to reform the ecclesiastical laws of England. However, the death of Edward VI interrupted
this project, and the resulting work, Reformatio Legum Ecclesiasticarum, was not published until 1571. Elizabeth made Haddon a Master
of the Court of Requests in 1558, and Haddon sat in the House of Commons during the Parliament of 1559. In 1565 and 1566, Haddon was
one of the English ambassadors to the Netherlands. Aside from the controversy with Osório, Haddon used his facility in Latin to compose poems, funeral orations, and epitaphs for notables. He died in January,
1572.20
Jerónimo Osório was born in Lisbon in 1506. At the age of thirteen,
he attended the University of Salamanca, where he perfected his Latin
and added a profound knowledge of ancient Greek to his linguistic
skills. In 1525, he entered the University of Paris where he studied philosophy and became an intimate companion of Pierre Favre, one of Ignatius Loyola’s first followers. Osório may even have known Loyola
himself. After 1533, he studied theology and Hebrew at Bologna until
1537 when King D. João III appointed him to the chair of Scripture at
the newly reorganized University of Coimbra. Shortly thereafter, he became secretary to Infante D. Luís and then tutor to Luís’s bastard son,
18
Bourdon reproduces the engraving and the poems and discusses Almada’s Epistola
adversus Epistolam Gualteri Haddoni contra Hieronymi Osorii Lusitani Epistolam
nuper editam (Antwerp, 1566), op. cit., pp. 285–289, 318–320. Also see Diogo Barbosa
Machado, Bibliotheca Lusitana (4 vols.; 1747; reprint, Coimbra, 1966), III, 168.
19
Milward, op. cit., pp. 18–19; Southern, op. cit., pp. 119–120.
20
“Haddon, Walter, LL. D.,” DNB; Walter Haddon, The Poetry of Walter Haddon, ed.
Charles J. Lees, S.M. (The Hague, 1967), pp. 11–79; Norman Jones, Faith by Statute: Parliament and the Settlement of Religion, 1559 (Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey, 1982), pp.
71–72.

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D. António, the future prior of Crato and exiled king of Portugal. When
Luís died, in 1555, Cardinal Infante D. Henrique became Osório’s patron. Henrique, the archbishop of Évora, made Osório the archdeacon
of his diocese in 1560. In 1564, Osório became the bishop of Silves, in
southern Portugal. Osório wrote many successful books in Latin, including De Rebus Emmanuelis (1571), his famous history of the reign
of D. Manuel I. In 1577 and 1578, Osório tried, without success, to dissuade young King D. Sebastian from embarking upon his unhappy military adventure to Alcácer-Kebir. Osório died in 1580, suffering from
complications sustained after falling from a mule.21
At the time of his death,Osório’s works had been published in seventyfive editions. By the eighteenth century between 174 and 225 editions
of his works had been published in nine countries.22 In addition, other
evidence demonstrates the popularity and respect that Osório earned
from his fellow humanists. Perhaps Osório’s most famous correspondent was the Polish humanist and cardinal, Stanislaus Hosius. Both
men “communicated to each other with a similar attachment to
Catholic orthodoxy and with the same militant aversion regarding the
Lutheran and Calvinist heresies and all their innumerable sequels.”23
Montaigne called Osório “the best Latin historian of our era.”24 Osório’s
reputation was in no need of augmentation by a polemical battle.
Osório’s letter to Elizabeth was more than a vain attempt to display his
latinity. In fact, evidence suggests that Cardinal Infante D. Henrique,
great uncle of D. Sebastian and later king of Portugal, was the impetus
behind Osório’s letter. In the 1592 edition of Osório’s Opera Omnia,
compiled and edited by his homonymous nephew, the introduction to
the Epistola claims that Cardinal Henrique “manifested the desire that
Jerónimo Osório, whose singular eloquence and art of explanation and
persuasion he well knew, send a letter to her [Elizabeth] and seek, by
such weight of his words and reasons as he may, to bring her to the
restoration of the religion of her grandparents and the condemnation of
the very worthless sect.” Osório’s nephew also reported that when his
21
“Osorio, D. Jeronymo,”Portugal: Diccionário histórico, chorográphico, heráldico, biográphico, bibliográphico, numismático e artístico (Lisbon, 1904–1915); Aubrey Bell,
“The Humanist Jeronymo de Osorio,” Revue Hispanique, 73 (1928), 525–556; José V. de
Pina Martins,“Nota Introductiva” to Carta à Rainha da Inglaterra. For a list of Osório’s
publications, consult Bibliotheca Lusitana, II, 514–516.
22
Pina Martins, op. cit., pp. 9, 11.
23
Léon Bourdon, Jerónimo Osório et Stanislas Hosius: D’après leur correspondance,
1565–1578 (Coimbra, 1956), p. 22.
24
Michel de Montaigne, The Complete Essays of Montaigne, trans. Donald M. Frame
(Stanford, 1958), p. 36.

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407

uncle wrote the Epistola, Elizabeth “as yet was deceitfully showing herself to be amiable and moderate toward her Catholic subjects,”and thus
there was still hope that true religion would defeat heresy.25
To many observers developments in early-1560’s England seemed to
indicate that Elizabeth was “soft on Catholics.”26 For example, it is well
known that early in her reign Elizabeth maintained at least the façade of
interest in a marriage to a Catholic prince, such as Philip II of Spain or
the Archduke Charles of Austria.27 In the religious settlement of 1559,
Elizabeth “made some small concessions to her Catholic subjects without antagonizing the Protestants, . . . [keeping] the peace by avoiding
precise and divisive definitions.”28 In fact, some of her Catholic subjects
“thought Elizabeth might yet return to the Catholic fold, a thought
shared by evangelical Protestants, who were terrified by it.”29 For example,she retained remnants of “popish”liturgical practice in her personal
chapel, and as late as August, 1561, considered prohibiting clerical marriage until her Secretary of State, William Cecil, dissuaded her.30 In the
period May–June, 1560, and again in the period February–May, 1561,
Elizabeth appeared to show interest in sending English bishops to the
upcoming session of the Council of Trent, though neither time was she
ever near dispatching a representative.31 Nevertheless, Cecil feared any
effort to get Elizabeth to return to the Catholic fold. Cecil, apparently as
a direct response to the papal nuncio’s attempt to cross into England
and invite Elizabeth to send delegates to Trent, commissioned the theologian John Jewel, in May, 1561, to write Apologia Ecclesiae Anglicanae.This was published on January 1,1562,and quickly disseminated
abroad.32 It was in this context that Osório sent his letter to Elizabeth,
25
D. Jerónimo Osório, Opera Omnia (Rome, 1592), II, 2v–3v, as cited in Carta à Rainha
da Inglaterra, pp. 240–243.
26
Christopher Haigh, Elizabeth I (New York, 1988), p. 36; Patrick Collinson, The Elizabethan Puritan Movement (New York, 1990), pp. 29–44.
27
Wallace MacCaffrey, Elizabeth I (New York, 1993), pp. 64–65, 71; Jones, op cit, pp. 11,
58–60.
28
Jones, op. cit., p. 188.
29
Norman Jones, The Birth of the Elizabethan Age: England in the 1560s (Cambridge,
Massachusetts,1993),pp.18–19,25–27.On Elizabeth’s religious views,see MacCaffrey,op.
cit., pp. 7–8, 48–59.
30
Jones, Elizabethan Age, p. 33: The cross and candles she kept on her communion
table raised the concern among some bishops that “these seemingly innocent objects
were the fulcrum of the lever of idolatry that would let conservatives move the church
away from purity and back to superstition.”
31
Frere, op. cit., pp. 73–75; Jones, Elizabethan Age, p. 36.
32
Jones, Elizabethan Age. p. 71. It seems, however, that Osório never read Jewel’s
Apologia, though he had knowledge, at least by 1567, of its existence. In fact, he thought
that Haddon had written it. See Osório, A learned, p. 239r-v.

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hoping to save her from the abyss of schism, for in the eyes of the
Church, Elizabeth officially remained a Catholic until her excommunication by Pius V in 1570.
Osório’s Epistola was not a shot in the dark. Before he composed the
letter, Osório knew, through his correspondence with her former tutor,
Roger Ascham, that Elizabeth respected his work.Although Ascham had
admired Osório since he first read his De gloria libri quinque (1549)
during the 1550’s, it was not until 1561 that he began corresponding
with him.33 The opportunity arose when one of Osório’s relatives,
Manuel de Araújo, arrived in England to negotiate a settlement to the repeated and, from the Portuguese point of view, illegal English interference on the west coast of Africa. When Araújo departed England on
May 4, 1561, Ascham gave him a letter to deliver to Osório. In his letter,
Ascham praised Elizabeth’s learning and Osório’s writings, but he also
said that he was “disturbed” by what he had heard regarding Osório’s
upcoming work, eventually published as De justitia caelesti (1574), in
which Osório treated the issue of justification by faith.34 Osório replied
to this letter on December 13, 1561, thanking Ascham modestly for
praising his writings and telling him: “You inspired my soul so that I
more willingly might pay my respects to her [Queen Elizabeth], as I previously contemplated doing, with a letter.”35 It is impossible to know if
Osório had in mind the letter he eventually sent or if his only intention
at this time was to send nothing more than a letter of admiration to a
learned monarch. Regardless, when the letter of 1562 finally arrived at
the English court, Ascham remained respectful of Osório’s linguistic
ability, though he later lamented that Osório had not turned his great
linguistic skills to the translation of Demosthenes from Greek into
Latin.
Osório began his Epistola with praise for Elizabeth. He told her how
much he respected her wit, her knowledge of Greek and Latin, and the
joining of her “princely dignity with liberal learning and knowledge.”36
Moreover, he marveled that, despite her sex, she had ruled her kingdom

33
The information in this paragraph comes from L. Bourdon,“Jerónimo Osório et Roger
Ascham,” Miscelânea de Estudos em Honra do Prof. Hernâni Cidade (Lisbon, 1957), pp.
22–47, and “Ascham, Roger,” DNB.
34
John Foxe later wrote a critique of Osório’s De Justitia entitled,De Christo gratis justificante (1583; STC 11234).
35
The full Latin text of these letters is given in the appendix to Bourdon, “Jerónimo
Osório et Roger Ascham.”
36
Osório, A Pearle, A6 r.

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409

admirably and had such prudence, temperance, and modesty.37 Indeed,
if she successfully confronted the challenge before her (the Protestant
heresy), her deed would “overshadow and darken the great acts of most
mighty princesses.”38 Having complimented Elizabeth and shown his
goodwill,Osório explained why Elizabeth should listen to his words,despite the fact that he was a “foreigner.”He appealed to the unity of Christendom and the need of all Christians to aid one another:“I think no
Christian Prince a foreigner or a stranger.”39 Osório presented himself as
Elizabeth’s humble servant who only wanted her to realize that Protestantism was a grave mistake and that she had the power and the ability
to return to the proper faith;he did not want to anger her or dispute her
princely right to rule. Osório’s deference to Elizabeth became a concern for Osório’s nephew when he edited his uncle’s Opera Omnia in
1592. He excused the seemingly heretical respect that Osório showed
for Elizabeth:“If he had known all her crimes, he would never have tempered his style to call that woman, so illegitimately conceived and repeatedly condemned . . . , Most Serene Queen.”40 In 1562, Osório
genuinely had believed that he could change Elizabeth.
Unswayed by Osório’s protestations of respect for Elizabeth, the English response was immediate and harsh. William Cecil resolved to answer him swiftly in order to defend the honor of the queen and of
England. Furthermore, with France in the midst of a religious civil war,
Cecil feared that if the Catholics won in France, it would be a signal for
the Catholics to rebel in England.41 This was not the time to let a
Catholic address the queen unanswered. Walter Haddon, who had
helped write Dialogus contra Papistarum tyrannidem in 1562, was
chosen by Cecil to write the official response.42 In November, 1563, after Haddon completed his manuscript, Cecil wrote to Thomas Smith,
the English ambassador to France, to request that he try to have it published in Paris or elsewhere in Europe. Cecil desperately wanted Haddon’s reply printed, and should Smith fail, he planned to send the
manuscript to England’s ambassador to Germany, Christopher Mundt,

Ibid., A8 r.
Ibid.,A8v-B1r.
39
Ibid., B2v-B3r.
40
Osório, Opera Omnia, II, 2v-3v, as cited in Carta à Rainha da Inglaterra, p. 242.
41
Joseph Stephenson et al. (eds.), Calendar of State Papers, Foreign, Elizabeth
(1863–1950; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein, 1966), Vol. V, #337, 435 [henceforth, CSP];
Jones, Elizabethan Age, p. 18.
42
Bourdon,“Les humanistes,” pp. 276–277; Ryan, op. cit., pp. 143–145.
37

38

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to have it printed in Strasbourg.43 On January 24, 1564, Smith wrote to
Cecil, informing him that he planned to have 500 copies of Haddon’s
book printed and to make a French translation. However, the French
government refused to grant a privilege to the book; so it would have to
be distributed surreptitiously.44 Despite the permission Smith had obtained, Haddon’s manuscript was seized by one Monsieur DeVal sometime before March 6, 1564. The manuscript was returned three days
later by the Chancellor of France, Michel l’Hôpital, with an apology
from Catherine de Medici that Osório’s book had been published in
France as well as her request that Smith send her a copy of Osório’s
book.45 Smith obliged her, but he was forced to send a French translation of the Epistola because all 500 copies of the Latin version had
been sold. The popularity of Osório’s work likely added to the urgency
of having Haddon’s reply printed. Smith continued to importune
Catherine for the privilege to print and distribute Haddon’s work
openly, arguing that with Osório’s work circulating freely,“it is but fair
that the other side be heard.”46
On April 14, 1564, Smith sent Cecil several hundred copies, if not all
five hundred, of Haddon’s book and reported that a privilege had still
not been granted. Smith suggested that Cecil send 100 copies of Haddon’s book to Louvain or Antwerp while he supposed that “200 will be
enough for England.” These numbers suggest not only that the Elizabethan government believed the Low Countries to be a source of support for English Catholics but also that Osório’s work was circulating to
some extent in England itself. Furthermore, Smith reported that the explosive religious politics in France were the cause of Catherine’s reluctance to grant the privilege, for she feared both the Pope and Philip II if
she appeared to favor the Huguenots. In fact, after declaring Charles
IX’s majority in March, 1564, the royal household began a two-year
progress through France to win support for the king and the compromise peace signed between the Catholics and the Huguenots at Am-

43
Conyers Read, “William Cecil and Elizabethan Public Relations,” in S. T. Bindoff, J.
Hurtsfield, and C. H. Williams (eds.), Elizabethan Government and Society: Essays Presented to Sir John Neale (London, 1961), p. 26.
44
CSP,VII, #99(3).
45
CSP,VII, #221, 229; Bourdon,“Les humanistes,” pp. 312–314; Haddon, Lucubrationes,
pp. 312–317.
46
CSP,VII, #238; Bourdon,“Les humanists,”p. 314; Haddon,Lucubrationes, pp. 317–319.
The French government granted Osório’s work a privilege on June 22, 1563. It was then
printed in Latin in July and in French in September (Bourdon,“Les humanistes,” p. 275 n.
53).

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boise in 1563. Her desire to keep French religious factions from renewed war combined with the entreaties from the English ambassador
resulted in Catherine’s taking a middle ground by allowing the private
possession of Haddon’s book while ordering it confiscated if found at a
printer or bookseller.47 The French never did grant a privilege for Haddon’s book. The refusal to grant one combined with the English desire
to ship as many copies as possible to the Low Countries and England resulted in Haddon’s book remaining almost completely unnoticed in
France.48 Moreover, there is no evidence that Smith’s desire to translate
Haddon’s work into French was ever achieved.
If Osório had written no more than praise of Elizabeth and a brief
suggestion that she consider returning to Catholicism, then Cecil’s response may have been unwarranted. However, Osório discussed the
theological and political mistakes that Elizabeth had allowed to occur
in England.49 Osório presented most of his religious views in the form
of a fictitious dialogue between himself and a group of unnamed representatives of the Protestant faith. Humanists of the time agreed that dialogue was “the most flexible form for discussing issues of all sorts”
because it “could bring to life and dramatize with persuasive effect the
actual process of exposition, analysis, and debate appropriate to the
matters under discussion.”50 In Osório’s dialogue, the Protestants claim
that ceremonies and works had nothing to do with the sanctity of justification, which “all together resteth in the grace and mercy of Christ.”51
Osório replied that he did not doubt that justification “was to be imputed to the mercy of God, and the most holy merits of Christ,” but he
added that the sacraments were instituted by “the same author of our
salvation”in order to “make us more fit to be partakers of his divine benefits” and to remember always “the pains which he [Christ] suffered for
us.”52 Indeed, sacramental ceremonies and works of piety must be performed so that God “might more plentifully [in]still into our hearts the

47
CSP,VII, #327(1–3); Bourdon,“Les humanistes,” p. 315. Mack P. Holt, The French Wars
of Religion, 1562–1629 (New York, 1995), pp. 55–63.
48
Bourdon,“Les humanistes,” pp. 281–282.
49
Although I discuss only the content of Osório’s Epistola in detail in this article, readers interested in how Haddon responded to Osório’s various accusations may check the
references to Haddon in the footnotes. Summaries of the entire debate in Bourdon,“Les
humanistes,” Ryan, Lees, and Strype are also helpful.
50
Hanna H. Gray, “Renaissance Humanism: The Pursuit of Eloquence,” Journal of the
History of Ideas, 24 (1963), 512.
51
Osório, A Pearle, F4 r-v.
52
Ibid., F4v-F5 r.

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dew of his grace.”53 Osório’s vision of faith, much like his vision of kingship, was one of a web of obligation: believers must give “proper attention” to the “sacred mysteries . . . ordained and instituted by Him” in
order to receive God’s grace.
In another section of the Epistola, the Protestants are made to say:
As for men’s works, though they be done with never so godly a zeal, yet as
a man would say, they be so rotten at the root, and so deeply stained with
soaking filthiness, that they can never be scoured or made clean. We therefore considering these things wisely, by no means do acknowledge our salvation to stand in weeping, or in deeds of charity, but in faith only.54

Osório responded to this argument by appealing to the authority of
Christ:
The son of God himself doth say plainly, that all they which refuse to do
penance, shall utterly perish, and forwarneth us, that they which will do
good works, shall enter into everlasting life, but they which work wickedness, shall be tormented with everlasting fire . . . , [and therefore our faith
knows] that they only deserve the great mercy of God, which repent them
of their former filthiness, & with earnest affection do renew themselves
up to the following of God his law.55

Osório hoped to win Elizabeth back to the Roman Confession by simple comparison of the two faiths, using rhetorical persuasion to enhance the truth of Catholicism and expose the deceit of Lutheranism.
Osório could not believe that the same men who claimed to desire a
return to the virtues of the Apostolic Church would destroy convents
and monasteries, since these institutions were “much to be marveled at
in the primitive church, and . . . contained the image of heavenly pureness.”56 Osório argued that when people conquered their lusts, as did
the virginal or celibate nuns and monks, they were able to contemplate
God’s glory with a clarity unmatched by those distracted by corporeal
pleasures. Osório claimed that the destruction of the convents and
monasteries in England was reminiscent of what Athanasius, patriarch
of Alexandria in the fourth century, experienced in dealing with the

Ibid., F5 r.
Ibid., G1r.
55
Ibid., G1v-G2 r. For some of Haddon’s response see Haddon, A Sighte, D1r-D3r.
56
Osório, A Pearle, F1r.

53
54

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413

Arian heresy.57 Comparing the Protestants with the Arians gave Elizabeth a concrete example of how very wrong the doctrine of the Protestants was.
In the 1560’s, the Spaniard Pedro Juan Parpiña (1530–1566), the Jesuit master of rhetoric at the Collegio Romano, argued that a central goal
of eloquence was to defend the respublica christiana.58 Osório reflected a similar belief in his attempt to persuade Elizabeth to return to
the Catholic Church by demonstrating to her (using biblically-based arguments and exegesis as his rhetorical foundation) that the prophets of
the new Protestant religion were false prophets. He asked Elizabeth to
“consider what difference [there] is between the old professors of the
Gospel and these [new ones] which bear men in hand that they follow
their footsteps.”59 Osório made a series of six brief comparisons demonstrating that these new evangelists were not inspired by the word of
God.The preachers in apostolic times received inspiration from God so
that they might preach his holy doctrine to mankind, set a righteous example, exhort men to humbleness and patience, treat men to fear God
and do penance, drive men away from lusty pleasures, and, finally, join
all men together in the bonds of peace, mutual love, and friendship.The
new, demagogical preachers invented a doctrine of their own, set a vain
and licentious example, taught their followers to be proud and cruel,
instructed men that penance was unnecessary and thus filled them
with sin, did not discourage enjoyment of bodily pleasures, and split
mankind into warring factions by the creation of innumerable sects.60
Osório quoted from Jeremiah to support his assertion that all Protestants were false prophets: “Give no ear . . . to the Prophets, which
prophesy unto you pleasant things, and indeed do deceive you. For they
tell you but dreams of their own head, and not of the word of God.”61
Osório argued that because these Protestants freed men from all worry
of sin and repentance, having told them that there was no free will and
57
Ibid., F2r. Athanasius described many of the crimes committed by the Arians against
holy virgins. For example, the Arians pushed virgins into a raging fire and only pulled
them out if they confessed to the Arian faith. Meanwhile, the virgins awaiting the fire
were stripped naked and beaten to such an extent that their faces often were unrecognizable. Saint Athanasius, Apologia de fuga sua, cum a Syriano duce persecutionem pateretur, 6, in J.-P. Migne, Patrologiae cursus completus, series graeca,Vol. 25, col. 651.
58
Frederick J. McGinness, Right Thinking and Sacred Oratory in Counter-Reformation
Rome (Princeton, 1995), p. 14. My thanks to Dr. Kenneth Gouwens for this reference.
59
Osório, A Pearle, G7 v.
60
Ibid., G7v-H1r.
61
Jeremiah 23:16–17. Osório, A Pearle, H3r.

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that God caused them to do all of their actions, they clearly were demagogues ( populares), who told men “pleasant things” in order to gain
power over them. Osório cited Jeremiah once more—“Which of them
was ever of counsel with God, and hath seen or heard him speak?”—
and concluded that “it is certain, that these words do mark out the
Prophets of our time” as false prophets.62
Osório was not only arguing against the theological doctrine of these
demagogues, but against the political implications of their doctrine. In
his Pro reformatione, Haddon demanded that Osório explain his use of
the term “demagogue” in more detail. Osório obliged him in his second
book, saying that demagogues were those who used “flattery and counterfeit virtue” in order to get,“not what standeth most with the king’s
profit and honor, but what they most covet.”63 He referred to the civil
discord and civil war incited by German populares.64 Likewise, he mentioned the now expansive French Wars of Religion, the “tempest in
France,” as an example of the problems that Protestant demagogues
caused for civic order.65 In fact, Osório warned that the Protestants
would take Elizabeth’s kingdom from her by force if she allowed them
to continue worshiping in their innovative and heretical way.66
Osório believed that it was the duty of government to maintain order
so that liberty of action was possible. What Osório meant was that men
needed an orderly community in which to live and work toward proper
Christian behavior that would gain them entrance into heaven; a stable
state enabled such a community to exist.67 For Osório the best form of
government to maintain order was hereditary monarchy, because a king
founded his kingdom on justice, and both justice and kingship were instituted by God.68 Indeed, Osório saw the Lutheran heresy and internal

62
Jeremiah 23:18. Osório, A Pearle, H3v. For Haddon’s response to accusations of demagoguery see, for example, Haddon, A Sighte, B3v, C1r-v, E2r-E3v.
63
Osório, A learned, pp. 46-47.
64
Ibid., pp. 49v-51v.
65
Ibid., p. 33r.
66
“This sect . . . is all together popular, and for the peoples’ pleasure . . . it armeth them
against officers, against their King’s authority and regiment, and hardeneth the hearts of
the multitude. . . .” Osório, A Pearle, I3v-I4r.
67
Francisco Elías de Tejada,“Las doctrinas políticas de Jerónimo Osorio,” Anuario de
historia del derecho español, 16 (1945), 349–351. For a more thorough discussion, especially of Osório’s De regis institutione (1571), see Nair de Nazaré Castro Soares, O
Príncipe Ideal no Século XVI e a Obra de D. Jerónimo Osório (Coimbra, 1994).
68
Tejada, op. cit., p. 368.

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415

disharmony as the worst enemies to order, and it was precisely these
two problems that Osório believed were occurring in England at this
time.69 Because Osório felt that true wisdom consisted in knowing God
and resulted in peace being brought to one’s endeavors, he hoped to
steer Elizabeth back toward his idea of the correct notion of God so
that she might reign with true justice in England.70 For Osório theological purity led to political success.
In the first part of his Epistola Osório discussed the responsibilities
of civil government. He told Elizabeth that God was the “father of justice. By whose grace, all wholesome and profitable laws be enacted, by
whose procurement they be kept and preferred.”71 But with the rise of
the Lutheran heresy in England, Elizabeth had moved toward a disordered and reckless system of government invented by men. Osório believed that a political leader could not be successful without integrating
morality into his political behavior to create “an ethical as much as intellectual perfection which unfailingly distinguishes between the
bonum and malum.”72 Still, Osório did not lay the blame for the heretical shift on Elizabeth. He argued, in time-honored fashion, that it had
been her selfish and greedy advisors who had persuaded her to move
away from the true faith. Nevertheless, she was the monarch, and it was
now her responsibility to choose the good over the bad or suffer the
consequences. This situation is similar in many ways to that which
prompted Osório to compose his De regis institutione (1571) for King
D. Sebastian. In the early 1570’s, Sebastian’s arrogance and the influence
of courtiers and flatterers on him caused increasing discontent among
political elites in Portugal.This disturbed Osório (among others), and in
his De regis institutione he advised Sebastian that a good king needed
good counselors in order to maintain proper royal dignity and, conse69
Osório was far from alone in this opinion. Perpiña and other humanists at the Collegio Romano believed that sacred rhetoric must be used “as a defense of the Church
against heretics bent on breaking the ‘peace and tranquillity’ (pax et tranquillitas) and
‘the bond of charity’ (nexus charitatis) in Christian society.” See McGinness, op. cit., p. 14.
70
P. João Ferreira, O. F. M.,“A Noção de Sabedoria em Jerónimo Osório,” Itinerarium, 5
(1959), 399, 403.
71
Osório, A Pearle, C4v.
72
R. O. W. Goertz,“Jerónimo Osório’s Political Thought,” Studia, 40 (1978), 275. These
are Goertz’s words in reference to De regis, I, 28; III, 84. Castro Soares, op.cit., p. 381:“A política, unida à moral, ciências humanas por excelência, vai ter o seu espaço privilegiado no
De regis institutione, no De nobilitate civili et christiana, na Epistola ad Serenissimam
Elisabetam Angliae reginam, e são desenhadas com nitidez ao longo de toda a sua obra,
mas de modo especial no De gloria e no De iustitia.”

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quently, his realm. Indeed,“excellence of virtue” should be the only criterion used when choosing counselors and companions of the king.73
In the Epistola Osório argued that only a wise monarch could be a
successful monarch.74 As he later wrote in his De vera sapientia
(1578), true wisdom consisted in knowing God, and one arrived at this
knowledge by devoting oneself to God’s discipline and allowing the
Holy Spirit to become one’s teacher.75 According to Osório, only the
Catholic faith led to a true knowledge of God and therefore to true wisdom, which meant that Elizabeth needed to be a Catholic in order to
reign successfully in England.76 Near the start of his Epistola Osório
sternly warned Elizabeth of the consequences of her current religious
path:“Either you must win great honor with the safety of your whole
realm, or become a laughing stock with the overthrow of your commonwealth.”77
Finally, it is illuminating to compare Osório’s definitions of good religion and good government to see the close relationship between theological purity and political success. First, his definition of good religion,
given in his Epistola:“True religion do beat down arrogance, overcome
anger, bridle filthy desires, restrain intemperance, scrape out the spots
of the mind, preserve shamefacedness and modesty, breed the fear of
God, make subjects faithful to their Princes, establish peace, fasten
men’s minds in amity, and inflame them with the desire of heaven.”78
Second, his definition of good government, epitomized in the good
monarch, given in De regis institutione:
The office of the king consists not only in attending to the well-being and
preservation of the kingdom, or in repelling enemy forces from the borders of the kingdom with great and bellicose encounters, but much more
so in parting from libidinous passions, curbing impudence, pulling up the
roots of iniquity and injustice, beautifying the entire kingdom with adornments of honesty and making it strong with the support of all of the
virtues.79

Virtue, of course, is central to both definitions. Good religion keeps
all believers from “filthy desires” and a good king keeps himself from “liCastro Soares, op. cit., pp. 396–397.
Osório, A Pearle, C3v.
75
Ferreira, op. cit., pp. 399–400.
76
Ibid., pp. 399, 403; Osório, A Pearle, C4r.
77
Osório, A Pearle, B1v.
78
Ibid., I3r.
79
De regis institutione, Osório, Opera Omnia, I, 262.23–30, as cited in Castro Soares,
op. cit., p. 404.
73

74

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bidinous passions.” It is the burden of the king to ensure that his kingdom is openly virtuous and adorned with honesty. The relationship between the king, the governed, and God is one in which all participants
must fulfill their role. Indeed, the ruler’s own life served as an example
to “guide everyone toward ethical self-renewal and instilment of a
spirit of responsibility in the family, community, and in the church
which, far from being exempt from the obligations and sacrifices, [became] an important instrumentum regni.”80 According to Osório, Elizabeth needed only to make the decision to return to Catholicism, and
her kingdom would then follow her example and all would be well.
It is clear that Osório located himself in the humanist tradition of
mirror-for-princes literature that advised princes on how to rule effectively and properly. Common themes of this genre included the goal of
maintaining a well-ordered monarchy, the importance of having good
councilors, the ability to distinguish between true and false friends, and
the belief that the worst political danger was individualism and faction.
Nearly all of these writers claimed that a ruler could only have political
success if he endeavored to promote virtues such as justice, fortitude,
temperance, and wisdom. Many of these authors, such as Erasmus, argued that only the attainment of complete virtue made one fully Christian and, consequently, able to rule more effectively. Osório modified
this assertion, arguing that in order to attain complete virtue, one must
first be Catholic.81
The English Catholic exiles at Louvain agreed with Osório that Elizabeth was not setting a good example; so they chose to translate his
work into English and spread knowledge of his letter to a wider audience. The community at Louvain began to coalesce within a year after
the coronation of Elizabeth. By 1561, there were enough Catholics in
the Low Countries that Margaret of Parma wrote to Philip II, who had
been king of England only three years earlier, asking for his help in providing pensions for some of the exiles and in erecting religious establishments.82 During this same year, William Allen, the most famous
Catholic exile, left Oxford and came to Louvain, becoming one of the
leaders of the exiles. In 1562, a severe illness forced Allen to return to
England. He lived in Lancashire and then near Oxford, where he tried to
keep Catholics from conforming with the English Church. Perhaps he
Goertz, op. cit., p. 276.
Quentin Skinner, The Foundations of Modern Political Thought (New York, 1978), I,
212–243.
82
Peter Guilday, The English Catholic Refugees on the Continent, 1558–1795 (New
York, 1914), pp. 4, 7.
80

81

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spent some of his time making connections through which Catholic
writings from abroad could be disseminated in England.Allen went into
permanent exile in 1565.83 The consistency of political tone in the early
writings and translations from the Louvainists indicates that Allen and
others had helped create a regulated and organized community, which
included the formation of two houses of study nicknamed Oxford and
Cambridge.84 Nearly all the Louvainists argued that it was wrong to
rebel against Elizabeth politically. According to the exiles, the only matter on which a Catholic subject of the queen had a right to disagree was
religious conscience. In fact, it was common for the Louvainists to portray Protestants as the true rebels, using Queen Mary’s reign as a prime
source of examples. Many Catholic exiles believed that Protestant doctrine by its very nature led to sedition. The few Louvainists who discussed the idea of papal political power as above temporal political
power did so briefly and in abstract. It was not until 1569 that exiled
Catholics made it a common practice to call for political rebellion, a
practice sustained by Pope Pius V’s excommunication of Elizabeth in
1570.85
It is very logical then to see the Louvainists choose to translate
Osório’s Epistola, because Osório expressed many similar ideas about
political non-resistance. The Louvainists probably had several years to
consider the merits of Osório’s work because the Louvain printer, Ioannis Bogardi, had printed a Latin edition of the Epistola in 1563, perhaps
for export to England, to distribute to students at Louvain, or both. It is
possible that the publication of Haddon’s refutation of Osório gave the
Louvainists the idea to translate Osório. After all, the English government believed this book dangerous enough to merit publishing a response and dispersing it among Catholics at home and abroad. Richard
Shacklock, an exiled English Catholic studying at Louvain, was chosen
to make the translation. The publication of Shacklock’s translation in
March, 1565, coincided with a great surge of pro-Catholic writings by
exiled Englishmen, motivated primarily by Elizabeth’s apparent equivocation on religious issues.86 In the years between 1564 and 1568, these
exiles published forty-six books in English about Catholicism.87 Because
the Elizabethan government did not severely restrict the importation of
83
A. L. Rowse, The England of Elizabeth (Madison, Wisconsin, 1978), p. 441; Eamon
Duffy,“William, Cardinal Allen, 1532–1594,” Recusant History, 22 (1994), 269–270.
84
Duffy, op. cit., p. 271.
85
Holmes, op. cit., pp. 12–24, 69.
86
Haigh, Elizabeth I, p. 33.
87
Haigh, English Reformations, p. 254.

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419

Catholic books until 1565, and only began to draft such laws in earnest
in the late 1560’s, it is possible that many of the books printed by Louvainists made their way into England and the hands of readers. For example, the English government searched the library of a London
resident, John Stow, for papist literature on February 24, 1568, revealing
nine suspect books. Eight of these books had been written or translated
into English by Louvainists, during the period 1564 to 1568, and Shacklock’s translation of Hosius’ De origine haeresium nostri temporis
(1559), retitled The Hatchet of Heresies (1565), was among them. The
correspondence of Philip II of Spain confirms the power of the Louvainist works. Upon learning from his ambassador to England, Guzman
de Silva, of the influence of the Louvainist writings, Philip II told him, in
a letter dated June 6, 1565, to further the distribution of the books without compromising the relationship between Spain and England.88
John Bossy states that the Louvainists “were not unduly worried
about the future” but were concerned mainly with “examining and purifying traditional doctrine . . . and defending it against heretics.”89
Shacklock’s initiative to translate a Latin work that had already been answered and as yet had not provoked any reaction from its author indicates that the Louvainists were also wiling to resuscitate or broaden a
controversy if it served their polemical needs; they were willing to take
the offensive. Acting as a church government in exile, the Louvainists
“bombarded their co-religionists at home with advice and instruction,
Elizabeth and her councilors with threats and promises, and the English
Protestants with great tomes of theological controversy.”90 A. F. Allison
and D. M. Rogers’ The Contemporary Printed Literature of the English
Counter-Reformation between 1558 and 1640 reveals that 1565, the
same year A Pearle for a Prynce was published, was the peak of this
bombardment.91 Twenty-one works in English were printed by the
Catholic exiles that year,with fourteen printed in Antwerp:seven by Jan
Latius, the first printer of Shacklock’s translation, and seven by Gilles
van Diest, the second printer of Shacklock’s translation.92 (Both printings of A Pearle were completed in 1565, indicating that the book sold
very well or perhaps that the first edition was seized by authorities in
Southern, op. cit., pp. 33–34, 38–39, 112–115.
John Bossy,“The Character of English Catholicism,” Past & Present, 21 (1962), 44.
90
Haigh, English Reformations, p. 254; Holmes, op. cit., pp. 4–5.
91
A. F. Allison and D. M. Rogers (Scolar Press, 1994), II, 227.
92
Both printers were active in Antwerp, Van Diest from 1563 to 1565 and Latius from
1564 to 1566. See Allison and Rogers,“Index of Printers, Publishers and Booksellers,” II,
219–225.
88

89

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England.) Nearly all of these publications, whether original works or
translations, concerned matters of Catholic doctrine, defense of the
Catholic faith, and reproof of the Protestants; Osório’s work fit perfectly
with these themes.
Richard Shacklock echoed these concerns in his own writings that
he appended to A Pearle. In addition to revealing his own thoughts,
these writings attempted to create a prescribed reading of A Pearle that
was favorable to the promotion of English Catholicism.93 For example,
Shacklock included a prefatory poem to explain the title he gave to his
translation:
Ceylon an Isle of flourishing fame
With prettious pearls was wont to excel,
But now it hath lost that notable name,
And Portugal for pearls beareth the bell.
All spiritual goldsmiths can witness this well,
That this pearl sent from Portugal ground,
Surmounteth all pearls which in Ceylon are found.
This pearl of great price Osorius hath sent
To the pearl-less Princess our excellent Queen
Elizabeth of England most Royal regent,
God grant her grace take it as the giver did mean
These prettious pearls plenty shall in England be
If counterfeit pearls being set apart,
This Catholic pearl take place in her heart.94

With this poem, Shacklock did two things. First, he hoped to brunt any
anger that Englishmen might feel toward him or Osório,asking that Elizabeth take this letter as friendly, pious advice rather than a brazen personal insult or political attack. Because Shacklock had read Haddon’s
Pro reformatione, he knew that those near to Elizabeth had not received Osório’s letter well. (Cecil had called it a “slanderous epistle.”95)
Second, Shacklock did not blame Elizabeth for bringing the heresy to
England but placed the onus for destroying it squarely on her shoulders. If only she should take to heart the pearls of Catholic wisdom sent
by Osório, then all would be well.
93
On the issue of how the manner in which a text is presented to an audience can affect the way it is read, see Roger Chartier,“Texts, Printing, Readings,” in Lynn Hunt (ed.),
The New Cultural History (Los Angeles, 1989), pp. 154–175.
94
Osório, A Pearle, A1v.
95
Cecil in a letter to Thomas Smith, November, 1563, cited in Read, op. cit., pp. 25–26.

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In his preface,“To The Reader,” Shacklock gave three reasons justifying his translation of Osório’s Epistola into English. First, he hoped that
it would help Englishmen to recognize “the great flames of heresies,
which daily burn their souls” and realize that the Catholic Church was
the true church. Next, he explained that he was offering the translation
as praise to God for the Catholic scholars abroad, Osório among them,
who devoted themselves to the destruction of the English heresy. For,
“the eyes of them which dwell in England, cannot perceive those furious fires [of heresy] . . . as they dwell in the misty vales of heresies.” Finally, he desired that his translation “stir up all devout Catholics not
learned in the Latin tongue to pray for the Queen’s majesty, that as she
hath good councilors abroad in far countries, so she may have good
councilors at home in her court” and a change of heart in religious matters. This is important because it shows that Osório’s assault upon Elizabeth’s councilors gave English Catholics a means—the use of prayer—to
stay loyal to their queen politically while not compromising their religious beliefs. This concept of “political non-resistance” was very common among the first generation of exiled English Catholics.96 After
Shacklock apologized for having been unable to write any original contribution to promote the re-establishment of the Catholic Church in
England, he informed the reader that Osório’s Epistola “seemed . . . to
contain [a] most speedy remedy and reparation” for the damaged state
of Catholicism in England. Consequently, Shacklock felt secure in
adding it to the “many works in Latin, . . . being translated in to English”
at that time.97 Near the end of his preface, Shacklock addressed the
reader directly:“Only, gentle Reader, I desire thee, diligently to read this
epistle, in reading it to learn, in learning to live according as it doth
counsel.”98 There was no call for rebellion here, as there was no call for
rebellion in Osório’s own words. Shacklock then called for a return to a
more orderly existence, to the way things used to be. He hoped that, by
reading and studying Osório’s letter,“Princes thereby may learn to rule,
subjects may learn to obey, waverers in religion may be stayed, wanderers may be brought in to the right way.”99 Shacklock agreed with Osório
that theological purity led to political success.
Like many of the historians who have studied this controversy, Shacklock commented on the eloquence of both participants. Although he
admitted that the “base tongue” of English “could not attain to the
Holmes, op. cit., pp. 11–22, 63–77.
Osório, A Pearle, A2r-A3v.
98
Ibid., A4v.
99
Ibid., A4v-A5r.
96

97

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majesty of Osorius his Latin,” he nevertheless translated the work because of the “divineness of the matter.” Shacklock granted that Haddon,
despite his unsuccessful attack on Osório’s work, was a man of “handsome eloquence” but still only a “candle under a bushel” in comparison
to the “glittery stars” of the Catholic Church and especially Osório.100
Nevertheless, this is certainly not evidence to sustain the assertion of
Ryan and other historians that this debate was interesting to contemporaries primarily due to each participant’s Latin skills. In fact, the very
act of translating this letter into English in order to disseminate Osório’s
thoughts more widely to a less-educated audience shows that sharing
the beauty of Osório’s Latin was not at all primary in Shacklock’s mind.
Nevertheless, Shacklock could not resist deprecating Haddon’s latinity
or threatening Haddon. In a brief postscript, entitled “To M. Doctor Haddon,” Shacklock compared Haddon to the Emperor Valens, an Arian
heretic, who, upon trying to write the order to banish St. Basil, had his
pen run dry and his hand cramp.These were signs of God’s displeasure,
and Shacklock warned Haddon to desist in his attacks on Osório lest
similar judgments befall him.101
Shacklock’s attempt to convince his audience of the proper way to
read A Pearle is most apparent in the preface and the afterword. However, the way in which he translated from Latin to English is an invisible
influence on the reader. Although comparing the Latin and the English
versions of Osório’s letter lies beyond the scope of this article, one example serves to illustrate my point. In one section of the Epistola,
Osório lamented the destruction of ceremony by the Protestants and
asked rhetorically: “Quid enim aliud immanes hostes christiani nominis facerent?”(“Indeed, what other thing would the cruel enemies of
the Christian name do?”). However, Shacklock took some liberties with
this phrase: “For what other thing would the Turk and other infidels
do?”102 While the use of “the Turk”to describe English Protestants would
have been a very powerful metaphor in sixteenth-century England, it is
not a faithful translation of Osório’s words.
But Shacklock appeared not to have been the only one attempting to
influence the reader to see Osório’s words in a specific way. Numerous
marginal notes were printed in the English translation, despite the fact
that there was not even one such note in the original Latin edition of
1562. Because one of the notes is written in the third person, implying
that Shacklock may not have been its author, we can speculate that the
Ibid., A4r-v.
Ibid., K6v-K8r.
102
Ibid., F4r. For the Latin, see Osório, Carta à Rainha, p. 190.

100

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notes may have been added by the publisher or by a person or group in
charge of reviewing all material before publication in order to keep a
consistent tone in Louvainist works.103 Abraham Hartwell, the English
Protestant who translated Haddon’s Pro reformatione, strengthens this
speculation.In the preface to his translation,Hartwell sought to damage
Shacklock’s and the Louvainists’ reputation, by marveling at “who is
master of the works of Louvain,that suffereth every prating pioneer and
inferior laborer to use his tongue as a pitchfork.”104 Other than his scorn,
this quotation reveals Hartwell’s belief that a single man—the “master
of the works”—had control over all the publications issuing from Louvain.
Broadly, the marginal notes in Shacklock’s A Pearle fit into two categories. The first category comprises aids to understanding. For example, one note alerts the reader that Osório is about to give “4 notable
arguments for the [papal] supremacy”and the numerals 1 through 4 appear duly in the margin.105 The design of a pointing finger appears three
times in the margin, emphatically directing the reader to (apparently)
crucial information. The first of these pointing fingers appears next to
Osório’s discussion of the responsibilities of a monarch where he argues that a king cannot “assuage other men’s lusts, . . . [when] he cannot temper his own.”106 The other two pointers appear near the end of
A Pearle. One points to the phrase “I am afraid to tell you what will become of you, and all yours,” which occurs at the start of Osório’s warning about the consequences of Elizabeth and England of remaining
Protestant.107 The other points to a portion of the letter where Osório
claimed that there are “more [men in England] which favor the Catholic
religion . . . than there be which incline to these new found learnings.”108 That is, Osório told Elizabeth that God and the majority of Englishmen were on her side should she choose to return to the Catholic
Church.
The second and largest category of notes set forth pithy summations
of or additional commentary on what Osório had written. Many seek to
add strength to Osório’s arguments:“A strong proof that the heretics of
103
Osório, A Pearle, A2v. The note reads:“causes of his [Shacklock’s] translation” and is
placed in the margin next to the list of Shacklock’s three reasons for completing his translation.
104
Haddon, A Sighte, A3r.
105
Osório, A Pearle, F5v-F6r.
106
Ibid., B4r
107
Ibid., K2r.
108
Ibid., K3v.

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our time be not men of God as they would seem.”109 These notes are also
used to emphasize the respect that Osório, and the Louvainists, had for
Elizabeth:“The spoil of religion in England is not to be imputed to our
gracious Elizabeth,” or,“There is cause of good comfort in our sovereign
Queen.”110 Other marginal notes attempt to persuade the reader of the
potency of Osório’s argumentation:“A catholic consideration containing an excellent quip,” or, “A question insoluble and able to choke all
heretics.”111 Next to Osório’s defense of the sacrament of penance, there
is a note that comments on the religious situation at English universities:“O Osorius if you were fellow of Trinity college in Cambridge, you
should lose your fellowship, as I know who did, for saying so in a disputation.”112 This may refer to Shacklock himself, as he had been elected
a fellow at Trinity in 1559.113
This examination of Shacklock’s A Pearle for a Prynce demonstrates
that, far from simply translating a mass of Catholic works and shipping
them to England with the hope that their inertial force would win the
kingdom back for Catholicism, the Louvainists sought to influence the
way in which these books were read and interpreted. The preface, afterword, and marginal notes sought to create a prescribed reading for A
Pearle: a reading in which the doctrinal arguments of Osório would
take center stage and by which the possibility of misinterpreting
Osório’s warnings to Elizabeth as threats to her kingdom would be minimized. Shacklock had created a picture of himself as a man defending
true religion while remaining loyal to his “excellent Queen Elizabeth.”
Because of Shacklock’s translation, it is impossible to see the OsórioHaddon controversy simply as one of latinity, classical scholarship, or
theological assertions. By leaving the English-language portion of this
controversy all but unexamined,historians have missed much of its true
significance. As T. A. Birrell insists, “There is no longer any excuse for
treating English Catholic book culture as something narrowly parochial:
it was part of the mainstream of European literary culture in the broadest sense.”114 Certainly, this debate shows how closely intertwined was
elite European Catholic culture with the English Catholics who hoped
to restore their faith to England. Moreover, we should not forget that
Ibid., E6v.
Ibid., D3r, K1v.
111
Ibid., E2v, E5r.
112
Ibid., G1v.
113
“Shacklock, Richard,” DNB.
114
T. A. Birrell, “English Counter-Reformation Book Culture,” Recusant History, 22
(1994), 115.
109

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this was more than a battle between an English Protestant and a Portuguese Catholic. By shifting the debate into English, Shacklock both
made it part of numerous ongoing controversies between Oxford and
Cambridge men who were once former colleagues and placed it in the
purview of a non-academic audience.
There were two important levels of polemic within this debate, and
an examination of each sheds light on larger concerns related to this period of religious reconfiguration in England. One level was the theological and political arguments of Osório and the official response to them.
Cecil received Osório’s Epistola while the Elizabethan religious settlement was still an ongoing process. At this same time, there was widespread sectarian violence in France, and Cecil feared that it might spill
into England and a religious civil war would result. For Cecil Osório’s
presumptuous letter represented what he feared most: religious subversion from abroad. In Cecil’s mind he had no choice but to issue a reply. Because the decision to respond to the Epistola was made at the
highest political levels, it suggests that, despite the fact that for most
Englishmen the distinction between Catholicism and the Queen’s
church “remained comfortably vague until the end of the decade,”115 the
government viewed English Catholics as a distinct group deserving of
suspicion.
The fierce exchanges between the translators of the various works,
seeking to justify their actions and to persuade their audience, is the
other important level of polemic in this debate. It was not just Shacklock who sought, by using appended texts, to influence the reader’s understanding of the main, translated text. When Abraham Hartwell
published A Sighte of the Portugall Pearle, his translation of Haddon’s
Pro reformatione, in May, 1565, he began with a brief letter “To Master
Shacklock.” This letter is, for the most part, a sustained insult to Shacklock and the entire exile community at Louvain.Among other things, he
claimed that the masters of Louvain were “vain in that they think a matter singularly handled when it is well-cracked.”116 Hartwell then composed a lengthy preface in which he directly refuted Shacklock’s claim
that Osório argued well, saying that the Epistola was translated not “so
much for argument as for eloquence.”117 Hartwell included numerous
excerpts from Shacklock’s translation—which he apparently had in his
possession at Cambridge where he completed his own translation—to
Jones, Elizabethan Age, p. 78.
Haddon, A Sighte, A4r.
117
Ibid., A7r.
115
116

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demonstrate that his assessment was correct.118 Hartwell said that these
excerpts demonstrated that Osório’s words were “such declamatory
and general stuff, that a man may truly say, they have one especial property, that is, they may serve more matters than one.”119 The preface then
criticized “papists,” in general, and Osório, in particular, for various
forms of foolishness and ignorance regarding God’s word and judgment.
These accusations are little more than tactics designed to confuse
any reader of the Shacklock translation who might be giving consideration to Osório’s ideas. For example, in the preface to A Pearle, Shacklock had apologized for his destruction of Osório’s eloquence by
translating his beautiful Latin prose into a lesser language, but Hartwell
claimed that Shacklock was lying and that translation for eloquence
was his primary motive. Furthermore, if Shacklock and Osório were
simply declamatory and vacuous in their argumentation, then what was
the need to translate Haddon’s response into English? Hartwell himself
commented that, by means of Shacklock’s translation, Osório “speaketh
now as plain English as we ourselves, and thinketh to prevail by course,
as much now with the unlearned, as before with the learned. And so he
doth.”120 Perhaps the fear (or reality) that the two printings of A Pearle
had spread Osório’s Epistola to a large portion of the survivalist
Catholics and the religiously undecided drove the need to complete
and publish a translation of the counter-argument.
T. A. Birrell emphasizes that we can see translators and editors of this
era as “cultural transmitters.”121 Thomas Stapleton, a Catholic exile at
Louvain, provides a striking example of translator as cultural transmitter. In 1565 he printed the first modern translation of Bede’s Ecclesiasticae historiae gentis anglorum in an effort to refute “the claims of
Foxe’s Book of Martyrs, and [reclaim] England’s religious heritage for
Catholics.”122 Likewise, Richard Shacklock believed that his translations
could save England and its Catholic heritage from corruption and possible destruction under the influence of a Protestant government. A
Pearle for a Prynce allowed English Catholics to discover that nonEnglish Catholics on the Continent were concerned about their struggle, and it offered hope that some day the (Catholic) truth would
These excerpts are long, ibid., B1r-B8r.
Ibid., B8v.
120
Ibid., A7r (emphasis mine).
121
Birrell, op. cit., p. 118.
122
J. T. Rhodes,“English Books of Martyrs and Saints of the Late Sixteenth and Early Seventeenth Centuries,” Recusant History, 22 (1994), 22.
118

119

BY MATTHEW RACINE

427

prevail in Elizabeth’s England. Furthermore, Shacklock’s translation of
Stanislaus Hosius’ De origine haeresium nostri temporis in the same
year does not seem such a surprising choice when one recalls the mutual respect that Osório and Hosius had for each other as well as their
similar dislike of Protestantism.
In the end, of course, the Protestants won England, despite the best
efforts of the Louvainists and other Catholic exiles. While hindsight
gives historians the assurance that the works of Osório and Shacklock
had little long-term effect on England, historians should not make the
mistake of dismissing them as insignificant. Osório’s Epistola received
the attention of Elizabeth’s Secretary of State, and Shacklock’s translation of it caused enough concern within England to elicit an Englishlanguage reply. For England and Europe of the 1560’s, Protestant
dominion on English soil was still far from assured.

THE LIMITS OF MATERNALISM:
GENDER IDEOLOGY AND THE
SOUTH GERMAN CATHOLIC
WORKINGWOMEN’S ASSOCIATIONS, 1904–1918
BY

DOUGLAS J. CREMER*

In 1906, Elisabeth Gnauck-Kühne, a middle-class Catholic convert
who was instrumental in the organization of German Catholic workingwomen, openly rejected the idea that the “women’s question”would
be solved if only women could return to their homes. The old paternalist slogan “everything for—but nothing through the worker,” she
provocatively replaced with a feminist one: “We do not want your
soup; give us our rights, and then we will eat meat!”1 She would not tolerate any suggestion that a woman’s double burden of labor inside and
outside the home was not a reality that had to be addressed:“The saying, that [women] ‘belong in the house’ regrettably does not meet with
reality any more. In fact it has become a bitter irony.”2 To many of her
contemporaries, a Catholic middle-class woman speaking of workingwomen organizing for themselves, of workingwomen’s “rights,” and of
the “bitter irony” of workingwomen’s double burden seemed oddly out
*Dr. Cremer is an associate professor of history and the chair of the Department of Natural and Social Sciences in Woodbury University, Burbank, California. The author would
like to thank Margaret L. Anderson, Louise Tilly, and especially Martin Johnson for their
comments on this essay in its earlier forms, the latest of which was as a paper presented
at the 1995 Annual Meeting of the American Historical Association in Chicago. He would
also like to thank the Deutscher akademischer Austauschdienst and the Kurt-BöschStiftung for their financial support during the research for this essay.
1
Elisabeth Gnauck-Kühne, Einführung in die Arbeiterinnenfrage (Mönchengladbach,
1906), p. 48. This book was published by the Volksverein für das katholische Deutschland (People’s Union for Catholic Germany), an organization umbrella for the various associations within the Catholic milieu.
2
Ibid., p. 62. The author of an article in Die Arbeiterin (The Workingwoman, the official weekly newspaper of the Federation of South German Catholic Workingwomen’s Associations) went even further, arguing that women were not under a double burden, but
rather under a triple one: mother, home manager, and worker.“Die gewerbliche Arbeiterinnenfrage,” Die Arbeiterin, July 4, 1909, and July 11, 1909.

428

BY DOUGLAS J. CREMER

429

of place.3 As a writer and organizer, Gnauck-Kühne stood firmly within
a Catholic corporatist and theological tradition that embraced paternalism and social hierarchy, and rejected socialism and liberalism, especially their ideas of individual or class-based rights. What then did she
mean when she spoke of these issues, of the rejection of paternalism,
the assertion of women’s rights and the acceptance of the reality that
many women had to work both outside and inside their homes? What
sort of rights did she envision that would enable workingwomen to reject the paternalist’s soup and “eat meat”?
A clue to these questions lies in recent efforts by historians to come
to grips with a variant of feminism that goes by several names: maternalist feminism, relational feminism, or social feminism.4 This essay will
refer to these slightly different ideas under the term maternalist feminism, or more simply, maternalism. First and foremost, maternalist feminism views the reality of gendered perspectives as integral to any social
ideology. Desiring equality in difference, it asserts both biological and
gendered distinctions, a sharply defined division of labor, and the centrality of the “complementary couple and/or the mother/child dyad to
social analysis.”5 The essence of maternalist feminism is thus the twin
ideas that women are valuable because they are different and that their
public roles derive from their private roles. Like other forms of feminism, it contains both the demand for women’s rights—justice and
equity—and the demand for emancipation—self-determination and autonomy. It also rejects female dependency and the impermeability of
separate spheres. It reinterprets “female” traits, refusing “to allow the
exclusion from social influence not just of women as individuals, but of
the values and competencies associated with women.”6
Advocates of maternalism assert that the social value of women that
is rooted in reproduction and biology is necessary for the reform of the
3
For example, the National Union of German Housewives’ Associations (Reichsverband Deutscher Hausfrauenvereine), dominated by middle-class women employers of
domestics, was explicitly Christian-nationalist and antifeminist. Renate Bridenthal,“‘Professional’ Housewives: Stepsisters of the Women’s Movement,” in Renate Bridenthal, et al.
(eds.), When Biology Became Destiny: Women in Weimar and Nazi Germany (New
York, 1984), pp. 153–173.
4
On maternalist feminism, see Ann Taylor Allen, Feminism and Motherhood in Germany, 1800–1914 (New Brunswick, 1991) and eadem,“Maternalism in German Feminist
Movements,” The Journal of Women’s History, 5 (1993), 99–103; on relational feminism,
see Karen Offen, “Defining Feminism: A Comparative Historical Approach,” Signs, 14
(1988), 119–157; on social feminism, see Naomi Black, Social Feminism (Ithaca, 1989).
5
Offen, op. cit., p. 139.
6
Black, op. cit., p. 53.

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THE LIMITS OF MATERNALISM: GENDER IDEOLOGY

male sphere. As such, maternalist feminism represents the secularization of the concepts of child-rearing and maternal duty, incorporating
these values into public policy and challenging the distinction between
public and private spheres by claiming the personal dimension of politics and the political nature of the family.7 Maternalist feminism can be
seen as an effort to gain a point of entry into discussions of politics and
society, while criticizing and transforming them. For example, claiming
public roles for women based on their maternal roles undermined the
biological determinism behind the ideology of separate spheres, while
simultaneously maintaining the distinction between the sexes.8
This essay, through an analysis of the ideology and practice of the
South German Catholic Workingwomen’s Associations,seeks to help refine the idea of maternalism and delineate its limits as a form of feminism. The Catholic Workingwomen’s Associations supported some
elements of what has been called individualist or equity feminism:
equal pay for equal work, equality under the law, an end to sexual oppression and harassment, and the right to organize publicly and to advocate their class and gender interests.Individualist feminism,mainly an
Anglo-American tradition, essentially sought “unqualified admission to
male-dominated society.”9 The associations’ position, however, differed
from this individualist feminism in many ways, although not always in
opposition or in a contradictory fashion. They accepted, if not insisted
on, the different natures of men and women, the essential nurturing nature of women, and their ability to transform male-dominated society
along more caring, affective, and collective lines. They also vehemently
rejected one of the cornerstones of early twentieth-century individualist feminism, the right to vote.
Where maternalist feminism most differs from individualist feminism
is in its admission that some of the paternalist perspective,its insistence
on separate natures and thus social roles for men and women, is valid,
while seeking to break down the political and social hegemony paternalism reserves for males. The persistence of a paternalist orientation
Allen, Feminism and Motherhood, pp. 1–7.
Allen,“Maternalism in German Feminist Movements,” pp. 99–103.
9
Offen, op. cit., p. 124. Black also identifies equity feminism with the dominant tradition
within liberal and socialist feminism. See Black op. cit., pp. 1–2.Alice Kessler-Harris argues
that equity feminists’ arguments “derived from male conceptions of justice and were debates about access, not about new rules. . . . [It was] a demand for equality with men . . .
in a predominantly male work world.” Alice Kessler-Harris,“The Just Price, the Free Market,and the Value of Women,”in Dorothy O.Helly and Susan Reverby (eds.),Gendered Domains: Rethinking Public and Private in Women’s History (Ithaca, 1992), p. 271.
7

8

BY DOUGLAS J. CREMER

431

within the Catholic Workingwomen’s Associations on many gender issues such as limits on working hours, prohibitions on night work,
health and safety regulations, and maternity leave, continued to conflict
with the emancipatory struggle for women’s rights and for a transformation of the male, public sphere.10 If complementarity and separate
gendered identities are accepted, yet equity and emancipation are also
values asserted by maternalists,then there exists a decided overlap with
paternalist ideology, which asserts the former pair while denying the
latter. Paternalism denies equity and emancipation precisely because it
is based on a “presumptive claim to a superior understanding of the
subject’s best interests than the subject may possess him- or herself.”11
Paternalism thus implies moral incompetence on the part of the subject
and raises the question of maturation and mental ability. It also does not
separate the interests of the “father” from that of his children. Paternalism is an “unequal relationship . . . [wherein] those in command shape
the needs and aspirations of subordinates and portray discriminatory
arrangements as being in the best interests of all concerned.”12
The central expression of the German Catholic variant of this paternalism was made by the father of the Catholic workers’ movement as a
whole, Franz Hitze, in 1917. Catholic social paternalism was based on
the creation of a community of interests between employers and labor,
the kind of community that Hitze and the industrialist Franz Brandts
had created years before in the city of Mönchengladbach.13 Hitze argued that employers needed to assume the responsibility of providing
for the welfare of their employees, including housing, hospitals, baths,
10
On these late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century paternalist positions defined as
“social patriarchy,” see Mary Lynn Stewart, Women, Work and the French State: Labour
Protection and Social Patriarchy, 1879–1919 (London, 1989), pp. 191–195.
11
Mary J. Jackman, The Velvet Glove: Paternalism and Conflict in Gender, Class, and
Race Relations (Berkeley, 1994), p. 12.
12
Ibid., p. 15.
13
Franz Hitze (1851–1921), a Westphalian workers’ priest, was professor of Christian
social teaching in Münster from 1903 to 1920,and a member of Reichstag from 1884 until
1921. Franz Brandts (1834–1914) was a textile industrialist in Mönchengladbach. In the
1870’s Brandts and Hitze worked together in establishing Patronages for workingmen in
Mönchengladbach, which also became the center for Catholic social reform and the People’s Union for Catholic Germany (Volksverein für das katholische Deutschland). See
August Pieper, “Hitze,” in Staatslexikon, 4th ed., ed. Hermann Sacher (Freiburg, 1926–
1931), II, 1215–1221; Wilhelm Hohn, “Brandts,” in Staatslexikon, I, 1029–1031; Hubert
Mockenhaupt,“Franz Hitze (1851–1921),”in Zeitgeschichte in Lebensbildern, edd. Jürgen
Aretz, Rudolf Morsey, and Anton Rauscher (Mainz, 1973), II, 53–64; Wolfgang Löhr,“Franz
Brandts (1834–1914),” in Rudolf Morsey (ed.), Zeitgeschichte in Lebensbildern: aus dem
deutschen Katholizismus des 20. Jahrhundert (Mainz, 1973–1980), III, 91–105.

432

THE LIMITS OF MATERNALISM: GENDER IDEOLOGY

schools, and libraries, as well as establishing savings, illness, and unemployment funds.14 Hitze also added his voice to those who asserted the
impossibility of women working outside the home while properly caring for children and advocated the prohibition of married women from
the working. Failing this, women should be allowed to work only a sixhour day. The care of house, hearth, and children, according to Hitze,
was the role that nature and the Creator had bequeathed to women, and
at war’s end this place should be restored. He held sharply to the separate spheres distinction that men were destined by their Creator for the
outer world, women for the inner, the world of “kitchen, cellar, and
closet (Küche und Keller und Kleiderschrank).”15
It is this admixture of paternalism and maternalist feminism that
makes the associations an interesting case study of early twentiethcentury feminist movements. The South German Catholic Workingwomen’s Associations (Süddeutsche katholische Arbeiterinnenvereine,
hereafter SkA), begun in earnest under male clerical leadership in the
first decade of the 1900’s in cities such as Augsburg and Munich, sought
to unify three disparate and alienated groups in Imperial German society: workers, women, and Catholics.16 In order to do so, they advanced
three interconnected ideas, each tied to a revision of the bourgeois ideology of separate spheres. Like the Saxon workingwomen of the latenineteenth century, they did this through a language centered on the
household as a place of resistance to industrial society and a place of
value in the face of capitalism. Theoretically, they broke down the distinction between public and private taken from middle-class society.
Work as man’s world and family as women’s had no meaning, as many
working-class women were lifetime wage earners. Their own existences betrayed the public/private distinction.17 Catholic working-

14
Franz Hitze, Geburtenrückgang und Sozialreform (Mönchengladbach, 1917), pp.
1–38, 52–65. See also “Kriegs-socialismus?” Der Arbeiter, July 11, 1918.
15
Hitze, op. cit., p. 93. See also pp. 78–99.
16
See Dieter Langewiesche,“The Nature of German Liberalism,” in Modern Germany
Reconsidered, 1870–1945, ed. Gordon Martel (London, 1992), p. 107.
17
Jean Quataert, “The Politics of Rural Industrialization: Class, Gender, and Collective
Protest in the Saxon Oberlausitz of the Late Nineteenth Century,” Central European History, 20 (1987), 91–124. See also Robyn Dasey,“Women’s Work and the Family: Women
Garment Workers in Berlin and Hamburg before the First World War,” in The German
Family: Essays on the Social History of the Family in Nineteenth- and Twentieth-Century
Germany, edd. Richard Evans and Robert Lee (Totowa, 1981), pp. 221–224. On the breakdown of the ideology of separate spheres, both as an historical and an historiographical
theory, see Helly and Reverby (eds.), op. cit.

BY DOUGLAS J. CREMER

433

women responded either conservatively, by insisting on the preservation
of middle-class separate spheres in the working class through an ideology of return to the home, or progressively, by fighting for a reformulation, a deconstruction, of the public/private dichotomy. The Catholic
Workingwomen’s Associations used both arguments, emphasizing first
one then the other as contexts and circumstances dictated. Eventually,
due to the pressures of World War I, the conservative ideal of women
returning to the home prevailed over the deconstruction of the public/private dichotomy.
This distinction, however, can also be misleading, for it was never absolute. Maternalist feminism instead often blended conservative and
progressive themes. For example, a belief in the separate nature of
women and men did not preclude an assertion of equality in many issues. The ideal of the nuclear family, composed of complementary
working father and virtuous mother, who remained at home caring for
the children, was aimed at workers, male and female, who sought a social status equivalent to the middle class.18 The advancement of such
measures as a family wage, wherein a male head-of-household would be
compensated, not based on work done, but on mouths supported, coexisted side-by-side with advocacy of equal pay for equal work for
workingwomen. Similarly, an emphasis on cultural education and access to cultural events was seen as moving working-class men and
women closer to the middle class, just as the assertion of separate
spheres would bring working families closer to a middle-class existence. The SkA also evinced a paternalistic concern with the moral
dangers that modern liberal society was creating—illicit sexual intercourse, illegitimate births, the masculinization of women—which was
directed toward Catholics who desired a return to a time of moral and
gender order. This critique, in some ways a defense of feminine virtue,
was also a scathing attack on male oppression and the argument that
the preservation of separate spheres would also protect women from
exploitation.
18
For a discussion of nineteenth-century conceptions of the family in Germany see
Karin Hausen, “Family and Role-Division: The Polarisation of Sexual Stereotypes in the
Nineteenth Century—An Aspect of the Dissociation of Work and Family Life,” in Evans
and Lee (eds.), op. cit., pp. 51–66; Michelle Perrot,“Women, Power and History; The Case
of Nineteenth-Century France,” in Women, State and Revolution: Essays on Power and
Gender in Europe since 1789, ed. Sian Reynolds (Brighton, 1986), p. 56; and Robert Lee,
“The German Family: A Critical Survey of the Current State of Historical Research,” in The
German Family, pp. 19–50. For a comparison with France, see also Bonnie G. Smith,
Ladies of the Leisure Class:The Bourgeoises of Northern France in the Nineteenth Century (Princeton, 1981), pp. 3–17.

434

THE LIMITS OF MATERNALISM: GENDER IDEOLOGY

On the one hand, Catholic maternalists accepted the ideology of separate spheres as a defensive measure, a move to create a space wherein
women could choose to remain working in the household exclusively
without economic or social pressures to earn an outside income. The
Catholic workingwomen’s associations appealed to many women who
wanted to claim a distinctive sex role as their right in order to avoid factory labor for themselves and their children.19 On the other hand,the associations also sought to undermine and subvert the absolute nature of
that ideological separation by involving women in public associations
as advocates for their own class- and gender-based concerns. The defense of an ideology of separateness and of the maternal role of women
in the private sphere was to be undertaken by increasing the involvement, in a limited manner, of women in the public sphere. The danger
of this approach, however, was that separate but equal, or maternalist,
thought might be “pressed into service in the creation of policies encoding dependence, not the value of difference.”20 Such demands faced
a dominant, paternalist culture, both within and without Catholicism,
that insisted on a private/public distinction, and efforts to reform these
spheres fell victim to the reassertion of paternalism and separation during the war.

The Structure, Ideology, and Social Work of the SkA

The SkA were open to any Catholic woman “who must, with her own
hands, earn her own daily living.”21 Generally, however, membership
was limited to those employed in industrial occupations, chiefly textile
factory work. Women in domestic service or engaged in piece-work at
home were excluded unless they were also married to members of the
South German Catholic Workingmen’s Associations (Süddeutsche
katholische Arbeitervereine). These latter associations were of paternalist origin, formed primarily in the 1860’s by socially engaged clergy
19
On the issues of morality and the defense of female separateness, see Hausen, op. cit.,
pp. 63–75; Barbara Franzoi, At the Very Least She Pays the Rent: Women and German Industrialization, 1871–1914 (London,1985),pp.6–7,82–85;Amy K.Hackett,“The Politics
of Feminism in Wilhelmine Germany, 1890–1918” (Ph.D. dissertation, Columbia University, 1976), pp. iii–xix, 324–349; Richard J. Evans, The Feminist Movement in Germany,
1894–1933 (London, 1976), pp. 22–23, 153–158, 169–170; and Barbara Greven-Aschoff,
Die bürgerliche Frauenbewegung in Deutschland, 1894–1933 (Göttingen, 1981), pp.
31–37.
20
Susan Pedersen,“The Failure of Feminism in the Making of the British Welfare State,”
Radical History Review, No. 43 (1989), 105.
21
“Wer ist Arbeiterin?” Die Arbeiterin, February 13, 1913.

BY DOUGLAS J. CREMER

435

who sought both to retain workingmen for the Catholic Church in the
face of socialist inroads and to give new meaning to their vocations as
priests.22 By 1904, prompted by legal and demographic changes in both
Bavaria and Germany as a whole, these same clerical leaders added to
their work a focus on workingwomen’s organizations. They shifted
Catholic social concerns from single women to married women, from
providing housing and moral education for young girls to providing
self-help and assistance to older women and their children.23
According to their founding documents, the South German Catholic
Workingwomen’s Associations were expressly maternalist in their selfidentity. They were to provide education about the legal regulation of
industry, opportunities for “social self-help,” including membership in
trade unions, and development of good housewives in order to “create
an orderly home for contented workers and, through Christian education of children, well-behaved young people.”24 As in other workers’ associations of the time, workingwomen were provided illness, accident,
unemployment, and death insurance.25 By 1906, there were thirty-six
such associations with 4600 members in southern Germany. Within
three more years, there were eighty-four associations with over 12,000
members. In the same year, 1909, the city of Munich had sixteen associations with almost 2500 members, and the nearby city of Augsburg had
six associations with almost 1400 members. By comparison, in western
Germany there were eighty associations with 12,000 members. By the
eve of the war in 1914, there were 180 associations and approximately

22
On the early development of the Catholic Workingmen’s Associations in Germany,
see Ludwig Anderl, Die roten Kapläne:Vorkämpfer der katholischen Arbeiterbewegung
in Bayern und Süddeutschland (Munich, 1963); Karl-Heinz Brüls, Geschichte der
katholisch-sozialen Bewegung in Deutschland (Münster, 1958); Heiner Budde, Man
nannte sie ‘rote’ Kapläne: Priester an der Seite der Arbeiter (Kevelaer, 1989); Emil Ritter,
Die katholisch-soziale Bewegung Deutschlands im neunzehnten Jahrhundert und der
Volksverein (Cologne, 1954); and Wilhelm Spael, Das katholische Deutschland im 20.
Jahrhundert: Seine Pionier- und Krisenzeiten, 1890–1945 (Würzburg, 1964).
23
For changes in Bavarian state law, see Verhandlungen der Kammer der Abgeordneten des bayerischen Landtages (1897/1898), IX, 207–208. For German national law,
see Evans, The Feminist Movement in Germany, pp. 13–15. The Civil Law Code of 1900
was more concerned with the situation of married women, basically dealing with single
women only in the context of paternity issues and illegitimate children.It had changed little by 1909. See “Die Frau im bürgerlichen Recht,” Die Arbeiterin, January 10, 1909, January 17, 1909, and January 24, 1909.
24
Leitsätze zur Gründung Kath. Arbeiterinnenvereine im Verbande süddt. Kath. Arbeitervereine (Munich, 1904), in Stadtarchiv Augsburg,V1/766.
25
Ibid.

436

THE LIMITS OF MATERNALISM: GENDER IDEOLOGY

27,000 members in southern Germany, at least 9,000 in Munich and
3,000 in Augsburg.26
The size of the movement can be better seen in comparison to similar organizations at the same time. Using 1911 as a base year, one finds
that such groups as the Union of German Women’s Associations (Bund
Deutscher Frauenvereine), the umbrella group most closely associated
with middle-class German feminism, had a membership throughout
Germany of almost 300,000 women. The Social-Democratic Women
(Sozialdemokratische Frauen) had a membership of almost 108,000.
The approximately 54,500 women organized in Catholic Workingwomen’s Associations throughout Germany seem small in comparison.
Yet in southern Germany, the perspective is rather different. In the
same year, 1911, the Catholic Workingwomen’s Associations numbered
almost 20,000.The Social-Democratic Women counted only 7100 members, while such groups as the middle-class federation of Bavarian
Women’s Associations (Hauptverband Bayerischer Frauenvereine)
accounted for about 18,400 women and the religiously-oriented
German-Evangelical Women’s Union (Deutsche-Evangelischer Frauenbund) numbered around 12,400 members.27 Of women’s associations
in southern Germany, the Catholic workingwomen were clearly the
largest.
The appeal of the associations in southern Germany lay in their practical and organizational efforts to break the hegemony of the public/private distinction. The leadership asserted that while continuing to train
members in the roles of wife and mother, the SkA should also begin to
deal with the protection of women from health risks and moral dangers
in the workplace, the preparation of women for a working occupation,
and the advancement of women through participation in public life.28

26
“Stand u. Entwicklung der kath. Arbeiterinnenvereine,” Die Arbeiterin, December 19,
1909;“Verbandsstatistik der süddeutschen kathol. Arbeiterinnenvereine für 1909,” Die Arbeiterin, June 9,1910;Statistik des Verbandes süddeutschen katholischen Arbeiter-Vereine
für die Kriegsjahre 1914 und 1915 (Munich, 1916). The war had a significant impact on
the growth of the SkA, and membership levels overall declined 15% to 23,000 in 1919,
while the number of associations continued to grow by 28% to 230 in 1919. See Der
Vereins-Vortrag, 1 ( July, 1919).
27
Figures are from Dieter Fricke, Werner Fritsch, Herbert Gottwald, Siegfried Schmidt,
and Manfred Weissbecker (eds.), Lexikon zur Parteiengeschichte: Die bürgerlichen und
kleinbürgerlichen Parteien und Verbände in Deutschland, 1789–1945 (4 vols.; Cologne,
1983), I, 289–290, I, 439, and III, 195–197.
28
Michael Gasteiger, Die christliche Arbeiterbewegung in Süddeutschland: Eine
geschichtliche Darstellung (Munich, 1908), pp. 148–149; Otto Müller, Katholische

BY DOUGLAS J. CREMER

437

The workingwomen’s associations were thus to provide an essential social function, serving as places where women could meet each other,
learn from their common trials and concerns, and assume leadership
roles. This stress on participation did not mean the SkA were to be exclusively female enterprises, or that the organizational distinction between a paternalist and a maternalist association was clear.29 A concern
for working mothers distinguished Catholic Workingwomen’s Associations from the older, clearly paternalist, Patronages, which had been established for young, unmarried workingwomen in the 1880’s.30
Although both organizations based their practice on their belief in the
separate nature of men and women, and each SkA had a priest as president, the membership and the board of directors of the Catholic Workingwomen’s Associations were composed of workingwomen, not
upper-class patrons and clergy.31 While the goals concerning the defense of religion and the family were also quite similar to those of the
Patronages, the first SkA clearly allowed more active, although still limited, roles for these women in their own organization. Nevertheless, the
persistence of paternalist ideology continually tempered attempts to
move the Catholic Workingwomen’s Associations in a more participatory direction.
The theoretical and practical shift from Patronages to Catholic workingwomen’s associations was principally the work of Elisabeth GnauckKühne. A Protestant teacher from Braunschweig, Gnauck-Kühne (1850–
1917) founded the Evangelical-Social Women’s Group (Evangelischsoziale Frauengruppe) and the German Evangelical Women’s Union
Arbeiterinnen-Vereine (Mönchengladbach, 1905), pp. 3–8; “Festversammlung der
katholischen Arbeitervereine Augsburgs,”Neue Augsburger Zeitung, November 21, 1906.
29
Gnauck-Kühne argued strenuously, yet ineffectively, that women, not clergy, should
be presidents of the associations. See Gnauck-Kühne, op. cit., pp. 80–83.
30
Müller, op. cit., p. 3; Norbert Klinkenberg, Sozialer Katholizismus in Mönchengladbach: Beitrag zum Thema Katholische Kirche und Soziale Frage im 19. Jahrhundert
(Mönchengladbach, 1981), pp. 119–126. Patronages accepted all workingwomen, making
no distinction between factory laborers and house servants, for example. Satzungen der
Patronage für katholische Arbeiterinnen, Lokalverein Augsburg, p. 3, in Stadtarchiv
Augsburg, V1/766; Statuten der Patronage für katholische Arbeiterinnen zu München
(Munich, 1898), p. 3, in Stadtarchiv Augsburg, V1/1103. See also Gnauck-Kühne, op. cit.,
pp. 67–68.
31
Initially, the board of directors of the SkA also included two representatives from the
local Catholic Workingmen’s Association, but this practice was soon abandoned. Statuten
des kathol. Arbeiterinnen-Vereins (Augsburg) in Stadtarchiv Augsburg, V1/766. See also
Satzungen des Kath. Arbeiterinnen-Vereins in Stadtarchiv Augsburg, V1/766; Statuten
des kathol.Arbeiterinnen-Vereins for Lechhausen in Stadtarchiv Augsburg,V1/994.

438

THE LIMITS OF MATERNALISM: GENDER IDEOLOGY

(Deutscher Evangelischer Frauenbund) in 1894 and 1899 respectively. In 1900, she converted to Catholicism and in 1903 founded the
Catholic Women’s Union (Katholischer Frauenbund ).32 In common
with other German middle-class feminists, she regarded any attempt to
make men and women equal a false emancipation. She argued that such
equalization would in effect reinforce males as the absolute measure,
the final result being the masculinization of women.33 Women, therefore, did not want men’s jobs, but their own, not to be the same as men,
but to have their own identity. This claim was not merely a reflection of
the traditional notion of complementarity; it was also a frontal assault
on the belief in the absolute nature of separate spheres. Education for
women, according to Gnauck-Kühne, was not simply a preparation for
private occupations as workers and mothers, but for participation in
public, cultural, and intellectual life, a formerly male sphere.34 For
Gnauck-Kühne, the modern women’s question was fundamentally an
economic and, therefore, a public one. In the Middle Ages, she argued,
women’s productive labor was essential to the economy of the entire
community. A woman’s labor in her home, whether baking bread, raising vegetables, or sewing garments, was essential to the well-being of
her family, and often could be sold in local markets for extra cash. The
modern capitalist economy, however, had removed women from this
role.35
Furthermore,she claimed,mechanization had reversed the natural relationship between the human hand and the tools it employed; human
hands, and more and more often women’s hands, were now employed
by the machine. This relationship produced low-wage, unskilled positions that undermined a whole host of social relations. Cheap female labor in the factories, Gnauck-Kühne argued, drove down wages for both
32
Hermann Sacher,“Gnauck-Kühne,” in Staatslexikon, II, 770–771; Alfred Kall, Katholische Frauenbewegung in Deutschland: Eine Untersuchung zur Gründung katholischer Frauenvereine im 19. Jahrhundert (Munich, 1983), p. 268; Doris Kaufmann,“Vom
Vaterland zum Mutterland: Frauen im katholischen Milieu der Weimarer Republik,” in
Frauen suchen ihre Geschichte, ed. Karin Hausen (Munich, 1983), p. 268. The Catholic
Women’s Union was alternately known as the Catholic German Women’s Union
(Katholischer Deutscher Frauenbund ). The names seem to have been used interchangeably.
33
Elisabeth Gnauck-Kühne, Die deutsche Frau um die Jahrhundertwende
(Mönchengladbach, 1904), pp. 3–5; Sacher,“Gnauck-Kühne,” pp. 771–773. See also Kall,
op. cit., pp. 269–273.
34
Gnauck-Kühne, Die deutsche Frau, pp. 7–8. See also Helene Weber, “Frauenbewegung,” in Staatslexikon, II, 167–177.
35
Gnauck-Kühne, Einführung, pp. 17, 29. See also Gnauck-Kühne, Die deutsche Frau,
p. 21.

BY DOUGLAS J. CREMER

439

female servants and for male factory workers. These unskilled, lowwage jobs in turn increased the insecurity of working women and provided no useful education or training in the other occupation they had
to assume,namely,that of wife and mother.All these deficits were added
to the usual complaints of unhealthy and unsafe working conditions,
long hours, and miserable urban housing. In sum, the modern liberal
economy had few redeeming factors in Gnauck-Kühne’s eyes, for it represented the “transition from the secure union of patriarchal relationships to the insecurity of free labor contracts.”36
Gnauck-Kühne’s solution, and the remedy advanced by the Catholic
Workingwomen’s Associations, was based on state intervention. In a political system that denied women the right to vote, appeals to legislative
and administrative solutions were automatically calls for men of political and social power to adopt paternalist legislation in defense of workingwomen. Gnauck-Kühne sought a reduction in labor hours for
workingwomen to ten hours per day, a prohibition of work after noon
on Saturdays, and a required six-week unpaid maternity leave. She justified these measures on the grounds of a woman’s double burden of employment and homemaking, using the social order’s own values, its
dedication, at least in theory, to domesticity, maternity, and family, to
push the cause of workingwomen.Conceding that the idea of returning
workingwomen to the home had some partial merit, and thereby conceding the paternalist point of male dominance within the home as
well, Gnauck-Kühne argued that getting home earlier from work would
make a woman’s housework easier and her homelife more peaceful.
Furthermore, a change in the law would demonstrate the government’s
true concern for the health of the family, as would an extension of maternity leave and the creation of an insurance fund with which to pay
women during such a leave.37

36
Gnauck-Kühne, Einführung, p. 31; see also pp. 23–31. On the consonance of GnauckKühne’s thought with late-nineteenth- and early-twentieth-century Catholic social
thought in general, see Anton Rauscher, “Solidarismus,” in Der soziale und politische
Katholizismus: Entwicklungslinien in Deutschland, 1803–1963, ed. Anton Rauscher
(Munich, 1981), I, 340–348. Gnauck-Kühne’s arguments were essentially the application
of Leo XIII’s labor encyclical Rerum novarum to the concerns of working women. See
Pope Leo XIII, On the Condition of Labor (Rerum novarum) (New York, 1941), pp.
29–35.
37
Gnauck-Kühne, Einführung, pp. 58–63. The Federation of South German Workingwomen’s Associations even added a call for state-provided child-care. See “Die Konferenz
zur Förderung der Arbeiterinneninteressen,” Die Arbeiterin, March 13, 1910.

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THE LIMITS OF MATERNALISM: GENDER IDEOLOGY

The idea that a woman with more time for work at home would have
a more peaceful domestic life shows how close maternalist and paternalist ideas overlapped, but the connection is not total. One need only
look at the associations’ position, expressed through Gnauck-Kühne,
concerning legal protection against “moral dangers.”38 For GnauckKühne the moral dangers women faced numbered more than the opportunity for fornication and subsequent illegitimacy: they were the
equivalent of what today is referred to as sexual harassment. Men had
an economic advantage over women who were often dependent upon
them, she argued, and “this economic dependency can be taken advantage of, so that a workingwoman must also pay with her person. This
makes it essential that this be prevented and that the person of the
workingwoman be protected through law. The supervisor, whether
chief, floor leader, or overseer, who maintains an illicit relationship
with a workingwoman from his place of business, must be punished
the same as a guardian who abuses his ward.”39 This protection,
Gnauck-Kühne insisted, had to be strong enough to prevent any such
situation from becoming merely a case of “one’s word against another’s
word.”40 The protection from moral danger thus became more than a
defense of feminine virtue and a reliance on paternalist responsibility;
it included a scathing attack on the sexual oppression of women and a
call for legal measures to protect them.
Gnauck-Kühne’s theoretical and organizational efforts, however,
were among the most progressive within the SkA. More traditional paternalist ideas were also quite prevalent. This was most readily seen in
one of the more memorable slogans of the Federation of South German
Catholic Workingwomen’s Associations (Verband Süddeutscher katholischer Arbeiterinnenvereine, hereafter VSkA), founded in 1906. Calling
on men to take up the cause of workingwomen, the VSkA proclaimed:
“Whoever saves women, saves the family! Whoever saves the family
saves society! Whoever saves society has solved the social question!”41
The same paternalist themes could also be seen when the goals of the
clergy who oversaw the workingwomen’s associations were put more
soberly. Priests, along with the assistance of lay men and women, were

Ibid., p. 58.
Ibid., p. 63. This emphasis is in the original.
40
Ibid., p. 64.
41
“Die soziale Bedeutung der kath.Arbeiterinnenvereine,”Die Arbeiterin, July 25, 1909.

38

39

BY DOUGLAS J. CREMER

441

to pursue the “awakening and strengthening of religious-moral senses,
the deepening of religious knowledge and spiritual education, the furtherance of the economic interests of workingwomen, and instruction
for their future occupations of housewife and mother.”42 Both statements reveal the instrumental nature of the associations, as well as the
continuing paternalism that inspired their founding. Family, education,
and religion were all central themes of the Catholic Workingmen’s Associations well before the Catholic Workingwomen’s Associations were
organized, but these were organizations of men supporting and defending the rights and needs of men and their families. In the eyes of
the male clergy who founded the workingwomen’s associations, the social transformations that led more and more married women into factory work now (in the first decade of the 1900’s) made the addition of
workingwomen’s economic concerns, and the creation of associations
to address them, imperative. Since this top-down implementation by
male leaders with experience in the workingmen’s associations dominated the early formation of the Federation of South German Workingwomen’s Associations, it is not surprising that the activity of the
workingwomen’s associations was modeled after the pre-existing associations for men.
Social work, consumer co-operatives, and religious instruction were
central aspects of the associations’ work.43 Again, paternalist and maternalist issues were blended, sometimes uneasily, in the activity of the associations:“Religious associations alone, as good as they can be, are no
longer useful in these times for the world of workingwomen; social
work for them and toward them is unconditionally necessary.”44 The paternalist emphasis is especially clear in the references to social work as
for women and toward women, not through women, yet it was through
women that much of the work of the associations was done. The primary tools of this social work, just as in the workingmen’s associations,
were the confidantes, women charged with visiting members, espe-

42
“Soziale Arbeit in den kath. Arbeiterinnenvereine,” Die Arbeiterin, December 31,
1909.
43
Gnauck-Kühne, Einführung, pp. 83–85. In these concerns, the associations followed
the recommendations of Gnauck-Kühne, stressing practical social work and an emphasis
on the Christian trade unions.
44
“Soziale Arbeit in den kath. Arbeiterinnenvereine,” Die Arbeiterin, December 31,
1909. See also “Stand u. Entwicklung der kath. Arbeiterinnenvereine,” Die Arbeiterin, December 19, 1909, and “Die Arbeiterin im Vereinsleben,” Die Arbeiterin, May 5, 1910, and
May 12, 1910.

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THE LIMITS OF MATERNALISM: GENDER IDEOLOGY

cially the ill or injured, with delivering insurance payments and books
from the association library, and with generally keeping track of membership rolls and addresses.45 Confidantes were also recruiters. Those
seeking new members, especially the concern for providing food for
these new members and their families, emphasized immediate practical
concerns. The associations responded to this by establishing consumer
co-operative funds, especially for potatoes and coal, as an important
means of developing self-help, attracting members, and reinforcing the
ideology of the associations. To these ends, the VSka founded a “Consumers’ Union (Käuferbund )” in 1906.46 What women could do for
themselves and for their families, within the existing structure of society, was the principal watchword for the associations’ activities.
In general, the repeated exhortation to draw new members to the association emphasized the social and practical work of the organization
over its religious function. The use of Scripture and religious imagery
was common, however, and provided a defining, maternalist language
that bound Catholic workingwomen together. According to a 1913
workingwomen’s calendar used as a recruiting device, Jesus had come
as the “social Savior of the female gender,” and the story of the Samaritan woman was cited as an emancipatory act. The authors of the calendar gave maternalist twists to old paternalist categories. The model of
the Virgin Mary, for example, certainly raised the honor of motherhood,
but Mary’s virginity also liberated women in that chastity opened new
occupations for them. The gospel story of the sisters Mary and Martha,
and Jesus’ preference for Mary, who sought to learn from Jesus’ words,
over Martha, who kept busy with her household chores and hostess duties, struck directly at the value of domesticity. In advocating the worth
of women, the SkA even raised the question of women priests, citing
both the image of Mary at the foot of the cross and women’s apparent
45
“Von den Vertrauenspersonen,” Die Arbeiterin, August 29, 1909;“Die Vertrauensperson,” Die Arbeiterin, December 12, 1909. The intensive reliance on confidantes was not
the only structural similarity between the workingwomen’s and workingmen’s associations. Yearly congresses were held in conjunction, and at first the precedent of joint leadership was duplicated in the naming of diocesan presidents of workingmen’s associations
to similar positions in the workingwomen’s associations. Nevertheless, separate diocesan
presidencies were established in Freiburg,Regensburg,and Augsburg by 1913,and during
the war, Munich followed suit. See Hans Dieter Denk, Die christliche Arbeiterbewegung
in Bayern bis zum Ersten Weltkrieg (Mainz, 1980), pp. 172–173.
46
Gnauck-Kühne, Einführung, p. 83; Klara Philipp, “Solidarität und Konsumentenmoral,” Soziale Revue, 9 (1909), 442–455; “Einkaufskassen,” Die Arbeiterin, January 5,
1911.

BY DOUGLAS J. CREMER

443

calling to suffer.47 Religious language,drawn from a paternalist tradition,
could thus be used to demonstrate the liberating side of Christian faith
and support the growing participation of women in their own defense.
Overall, the early development of Catholic social thought and organizations for workingwomen in Germany was mixed. Traditional paternalist elements still had a great deal of strength, especially the idea that
married workingwomen were best suited to labor exclusively in the
home. Nevertheless, placing workingwomen’s concerns in the social
and economic sphere, rather than in a purely moral and religious one,
was significant. Elisabeth Gnauck-Kühne used the ideology of separate
spheres to stress the importance of workingwomen’s struggles as
women and as workers while at the same time seeking to undermine it
through the creation of public associations led by women themselves.
The issues of sexual harassment and legal protection for women, including pregnancy and maternity leave, were much more prominent
among Catholic social reformers after 1900 than they had been during
the time of the Patronages. The inherent tensions and contradictions
within this intellectual framework, however, would be played out in the
struggle to expand the independent regional federation of Catholic
workingwomen’s associations in southern Germany, and in the further
development of the movement during World War I.

Paternalism, World War I, and the Rejection of Suffrage

The war created a gradual intensification of the struggle between the
paternalist and maternalist aspects of the organization.The co-operation
between the workingmen’s and workingwomen’s associations, as well
as the general acceptance of Gnauck-Kühne’s theoretical perspective,
ended in 1914, replaced with a growing division over the solution
to the women’s question. With increasing intensity as the war progressed, the Catholic workingmen’s and workingwomen’s associations
placed the question of women and children at the top of their agenda.
In part,they were following a general European preoccupation with declining birth rates and population comparisons.They were also worried
about rising competition from socialist labor organizations and seeking
to distinguish themselves more clearly from their principal rivals. The
47
Otto Reicher, “Christus und die Frau,” in Katholischer Arbeiterinnen-Kalendar für
das Jahr 1913 (Munich, 1912), pp. 29–44. On the use of Jesus as a radical symbol, see also
“Ein Wort zur ‘Arbeiterinnenfrage,’” Die Arbeiterin, May 30, 1909, and June 6, 1909.

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THE LIMITS OF MATERNALISM: GENDER IDEOLOGY

intensity of the debate, however, stemmed from the continuing tensions between the maternalist and paternalist strands within the associations.
The resurgent predominance of paternalism within the associations,
and in Germany in general, centered on debate over women’s double
burden of work and motherhood and how this burden prevented cultural and national, not to mention population, progress.48 The principal
fear was that such double duty would endanger the health of children,
increase the number of children with physical defects, and increase the
death rate among women themselves. The solutions offered on the eve
of the war were decidedly paternalist in that men were making decisions for what they perceived to be the benefit of women. Calls increased for the regulation of women’s work hours, the limitation of
women to occupations more befitting their femininity than industrial
work, and even the removal of mothers from work altogether. This was
part of a general trend that also saw bishops in Prussia reasserting the
division of the sexes by pressuring Catholic organizations such as the
Volksverein to keep men and women in distinct associations rather
than allow men and women to join together as the socialists advocated.49 Others renewed the demand for the support of the family wage
to be paid to male heads of households. Even before the war, the SkA argued that “the fate of the nation” depended on returning women to the
home and raising men’s wages in order that they might be the sole support of their families.50
Any tolerance for the economic realities of many working-class families seemed to disappear after the war began, especially among the
Catholic Workingmen’s Associations. The renewed emphasis on paternalist solutions can be seen most clearly in their increasing emphasis on
an argument for state support in the form of tax privileges for “large
families (kinderreiche Familien),” including maternity and infancy payments.The solution to the “women’s question”was now to be reform of
men’s wages.“Wages should not be based solely on production, but also
48
Between 1913 and 1918 there were increases of 52% in the number of adult women
and 10% in males under 16 employed in industry. See Jügen Kocka, Facing Total War: German Society, 1914–1918, trans. Barabra Weinberger (Leamington Spa, 1984), p. 17.
49
Dirk H. Müller, Arbeiter-Katholizismus-Staat: Der Volksverein für das katholische
Deutschland und die katholischen Arbeiterorganizationen in der Weimarer Republik
(Bonn, 1996), pp. 58, 154.
50
“Frauenarbeit und Kindersterblichkeit,” Die Arbeiterin, January 8, 1914, and “Hoch
klingt das Lied vom braven Weib,” Die Arbeiterin, January 15, 1914.

BY DOUGLAS J. CREMER

445

on the number of dependents (nährenden Familien-angehörigen).”51
State and community employers were urged to set an example for private business, particularly through the payment of a “child-supplement”
in addition to a regular wage.52 The question of low workingwomen’s
wages was also reframed as a question of downward pressure on men’s
wages. Rather than raise women’s wages to protect men’s wages, the
Catholic Workingmen’s Associations asserted that women should be
prohibited from working. They called for the protection of women
through their exclusion from such occupations after the war. They
were especially concerned that if women, paid lower wages as they
were, were maintained in their jobs, this would only punish returning
soldiers who had served their country so well.53 Furthermore, wartime
family relationships, especially when the wife earned an income, often
challenged the rightful role of the father as head of the family and denied him the respect and obedience he deserved. The war had demonstrated to all, according to the Catholic Workingmen’s Associations, the
indispensability of paternal authority and instruction for rearing children. The honor and respect due to the father who fulfilled his role as
provider and protector needed to be upheld in these difficult times.54
Much of this worry over the traditional family was shared by the SkA
and exacerbated by the wartime concern with national birthrates and
their relationship to national power:“To how many families has the war
brought financial ruin? How many families have been robbed of their
principal breadwinner? For how many thousands has the founding of a

51
“Bevölkerungsfrage und Familienlohn,” Der Arbeiter (The Workingman, the official
weekly newspaper of the Federation of South German Catholic Workingmen’s Associations), June 1, 1916. Joseph Joos, a leader in the West German Catholic Workingmen’s Associations, also noted a growing social preference for one- or two-child families and
landlords’ tendencies to deny housing to families with many children. Joseph Joos,“Briefe
von Müttern,” Glaube und Arbeit, 1 (1917), 165–172.
52
“Bevölkerungsfrage und Familienlohn,” Der Arbeiter, June 1, 1916. See also Carl Walterbach,“Katholische Arbeiterschaft und Jugend,” Soziale Revue, 16 (1916), 210–211.
53
“Die Frauenarbeit in der Kriegszeit,” Der Arbetier, March 23, 1916. See also
“Frauenbeschäftigung nach dem Kriege,” Der Arbeiter, February 24, 1916. It was a
woman’s duty to serve her family as much as it was a man’s to serve his nation in a time
of war.See Maria Müller,“Frauendienstpflicht/Frauendienstjahr,”Soziale Revue,16 (1916),
181–185. This line of argument obviously ignored the efforts of others in the movement
to achieve equal pay for equal work.
54
“Das Haupt der Familie,” Der Arbeiter, June 15, 1916. This assertion was at odds with
the social reality of fatherless homes caused by military service and the resulting death
and mutilation.

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THE LIMITS OF MATERNALISM: GENDER IDEOLOGY

family been made impossible? . . . For a new strong Germany to arise,
the most difficult problem for the future that must be immediately
solved is the cure of the root of our power: the family.”55 The birth rate
in Germany, as Hans Rost, an Augsburg Catholic writer on social issues,
observed, had declined from 41 births per 1000 in 1876 to 27 per 1000
in 1913. Like many of his Catholic contemporaries, Rost saw in the family’s destruction the undoing of society and desired the revival of the
separate roles of working father and domestic mother,roles he felt were
essential for the creation of a loving refuge for children.56 Rost cited the
chairman of the Düsseldorf Catholic workingmen’s association to the
effect that Germany was “marching towards Paris, but it is not a victory
march.”57 Germany was becoming like France, Rost argued, advocating
two-child families, using contraception, and suffering from the effects
of venereal disease. Modern society seemed to have a “will against the
child,” Rost noted, a trend that he argued could only be defeated on the
basis of a strong religion.58 Wartime pressures thus created a distinct retreat from the prewar opening toward women’s participation in solving
their own difficulties, and once again Catholic male writers were returning to purely paternalistic solutions.
The maternalist argument did not easily succumb to this paternalist
onslaught. The SkA also continued to advocate “equal pay for equal
work (glieche Löhne für gleiche Leistung).”59 The associations noted
that men’s wages continued to rise at a faster pace than women’s
wages, especially in those industries dominated by female labor. Women
were still denied entry into higher-paying positions reserved for men.
Overall, women received only 60% of the wages of men in similar occupations. Women thus deserved an equal wage, especially since they
were now supporting their families. The old argument that women
need only support themselves, not their families, was outdated and a
“Familienschäden—Familienpflege,” Die Arbeiterin, January 18, 1917.
Hans Rost,“Rundschau-Familienpflege,” Glaube und Arbeit, 1 (1917), 37–41. A year
and a half earlier, a writer in Die Arbeiterin argued that if the traditional model of the family from the Christian Middle Ages was followed,“each family would be a little paradise.”
See “Die deutsche Frau im Mittelalter,” Die Arbeiterin, September 30, 1915.
57
Hans Rost,“Rundschau-Familienpflege,” Glaube und Arbeit, 2 (1918), 148.
58
Rost,“Rundschau-Familienpflege,” pp. 148–152. Barbara Joos, wife of Joseph Joos, one
of the leading lay figures in West German Catholic labor circles, also noted that industrial
labor among women destroyed “the will to children (Willen zum Kinde).” Barbara Joos,
“Frauen-Industriearbeit und Bevölkerungsfrage,” Glaube und Arbeit, 1 (1917), 137. See
also Carl Watlerbach,“Familienpflege,” Soziale Revue, 16 (1916), 401–413.
59
Frauenarbeit und Krieg,” Die Arbeiterin, April 22, 1915.
55

56

BY DOUGLAS J. CREMER

447

new reality had to be accepted.60 This perspective gained greater attention after 1915. For some within the SkA, the war had brought many
positive changes in the lives of women. They had taken over public
roles, assumed traditional male occupations, and become totally responsible for running all aspects of the household, from child-care, to
purchasing, to earning income. Because of the war, the number of
women employed outside the home had grown 20%, to the point that
women now composed 12% of the work force in heavy industry and
31% in electrical industries. This development both heartened the leaders of the SkA and provided grounds for their continued “economic, educational, and social solicitude for the workingwoman.”61
German laws, however, were still bound to prewar conditions. A
woman who hid school money for her children from her drunken husband, for example, had no recourse when he tore apart the cabinet in
which she had hidden the money and took it for drink.Another woman
was afraid to have a child she was carrying because her husband had
“beaten her half to death” the last time he had learned she was pregnant. Turning the birthrate argument in favor of returning women to
the home on its head, Gnauck-Kühne argued that laws for the protection of mother and child within the home were all the more necessary
as the war had made every life even more precious.62 In 1917, given the
increase in women laborers during the war and the increasingly tenuous nature of the civil peace (Burgfrieden), the SkA were particularly
concerned with extending legal protection against exploitation, espe60
“Frauenarbeit und Krieg.” See also “Frauenarbeit und Lohnverhältnisse,” Die Arbeiterin, May 27, 1915;“Anwachsen der Frauenarbeit,” Die Arbeiterin, June 3, 1915;“Niedere
Frauenlöhne eine Gefahr,” Die Arbeiterin, July 1, 1915. Anneliese Seidel has shown for
Bavaria that between June, 1914, and October, 1918, men’s wages rose by approximately
90% to 125%, while during the same time period women’s wages rose by 50% to 150%.
Nevertheless, women saw no appreciable gains in terms of their wages in comparison to
men’s wages, and in many cases, such as the metal and mining industries, actually lost substantial ground. Anneliese Seidel, Frauenarbeit im Ersten Weltkrieg als Problem der
staatlichen Sozialpolitik: Dargestellt am Beispiel Bayerns (Frankfurt-am-Main, 1979),
pp. 72–85.
61
Klara Philipp,“Rundschau-Frauenbewegung,”Glaube und Arbeit,1 (1917),48–51.See
also Elisabeth Gnauck-Kühne,“Krieg und Frauenfrage,” Der Arbeiter, June 29, 1916. This
was one of the last contributions Gnauck-Kühne would make. She died on April 10, 1917.
See “Eine, die unser war,” Die Arbeiterin, June 28, 1917, and Carl Watlerbach,“Elisabeth
Gnauck-Kühne und die katholisch-soziale Bewegung,” Glaube und Arbeit, 1 (1917),
265–271. Barbara Joos also noted that many more women would remain in industrial
labor after the war than had been employed there before 1914,and that a simple call to return to the home would not suffice.Barbara Joos,“Frauen-Industriearbeit und Bevölkerungsfrage,” p. 139.
62
Gnauck-Kühne,“Krieg und Frauenfrage.”

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THE LIMITS OF MATERNALISM: GENDER IDEOLOGY

cially in terms of night work. They resisted any attempts to set aside occupations as specifically and legally male, arguing that women should
be employed in any occupation in which they could perform as well as
men, and that they should not be required to surrender such positions
after the war.63 At the Augsburg diocesan workingwomen’s associations’ second congress, held in April, 1917, Aloysia Eberle, the Munich
secretary of the Federation of South German Workingwomen’s Associations, recognized that women in the workplace were an ever-growing
phenomenon that was not going to retreat. In fact, she argued, the concerns of workingwomen were going to be of growing importance. The
solution did not lie in the removal of women from the workplace, she
argued, but rather in social reform.64
Carl Walterbach, the clerical president of both the VSkA and the Federation of South German Catholic Workingmen’s Associations, seconded Eberle’s position. The question for women “was not work or
family,” he asserted,“but rather work and family. Neither can be solved
without the other.”65 Walterbach recognized that because of the loss of
manpower during the war, workingwomen would “remain in place for
a long time in significantly large numbers. . . . A prominent task for the
Catholic workingmen’s and workingwomen’s associations after the war
would be to enable workingwomen [to manage their household’s economy] and to awaken within workingmen themselves an understanding
for [this task].”66 Walterbach placed his remarks in the context of the renewed concern for family,children,and the population policies of the nation.67 Yet this discussion of social reform and legislative prohibitions was
not very far from suggestions made by paternalist spokesmen and
women. The maternalist advocates of the SkA, who insisted on working63
“Arbeiterinnenschutz in der Kriegsarbeit,”Die Arbeiterin, March 1, 1917;“Die Frau im
Kriegs-Hilfsdienst,” March 15, 1917; “Der vaterländische Hilfsdienst und wir,” April 12,
1917;“Arbeiterinnenrechte im vaterländischen Hilfsdienst,” May 10, 1917. On the struggle
over the Patriotic Auxiliary Service (vaterländischer Hilfsdienst) law in 1916–1917, see
Gerald D. Feldman, Army, Industry, and Labor in Germany, 1914–1918 (Princeton,
1966), pp. 197–249, 301–348.
64
“Mitteilung,” Die Arbeiterin, January 20, 1916.
65
“2. Diözesantag der kath. Arbeiterinnenvereine in der Diözese Augsburg,” Die Arbeiterin, April 19, 1917. The emphasis is in the original.
66
Katholische Arbeitervereine und Arbeiterbewegung in Süddeutschland: Eine
Werbeschrift, ed. Carl Walterbach (Munich, 1917), pp. 14, 21.
67
“2. Diözesantag.” See also “Protokoll über den zweiten Diözesantag der Arbeiterinnenvereine der Diözese Augsburg, April 10, 1917,” Protokollbuch für den Diözesanausschuss der kath.Arbeitervereine der Diözese Augsburg in Archiv der KAB Augsburg;“2.
Diözesantag kath. Arbeiterinnenvereine,” Neue Augsburger Zeitung, April 12, 1917.

BY DOUGLAS J. CREMER

449

women’s place in the world of work and public associations, were severely challenged by the paternalist resurgence of the war years.Their solutions for the problems of workingwomen were increasingly couched in
paternalist terms in order to reach a compromise,a compromise that was
not easily reached, and eventually foundered on the issue of suffrage.
From the beginning of the SkA there was a contradiction between
the social reality of women working and acting outside the home and
the ideal paternalist vision of women quietly removed to the inner
reaches of hearth and home. Maternalist writers and organizers among
the Catholic Workingwomen’s Associations had tried to meet this head
on through an advocacy of women’s rights, public associations, and legislative remedies. The fact that these positions overlapped, at times to a
considerable degree, with paternalist positions, undermined the efforts
of maternalists in an era of paternalist resurgence to stake out their own
ideological and political space. Nothing better illustrates the tensions
and contradictions of the Catholic workers’ movement’s stance toward
women and the eventual triumph of the paternalist perspective over
the maternalist one, than the issue of suffrage.
In the early years of the war, the Catholic Workingmen’s Associations
reiterated the old prewar theme that the right of women to vote accomplished nothing more than strengthening the votes of their husbands, who generally dictated their vote. Citing anecdotal evidence
from Australia,New Zealand,and several states in the United States,they
argued that for all the energy devoted to achieving that right, female
suffrage produced few if any tangible results. They concluded that “the
insertion of women into the political process signifies the loss of her
most noble value, that of mother and housewife, and her peaceful
household happiness. It carries with it the germ of the decomposition
of marriage,family,and the state.”68 Opponents of female suffrage within
the SkA also argued that a woman’s lack of influence and her tendency
to vote with her husband made suffrage redundant, and, moreover, the
separateness of women would be sullied through engagement in politics. Yet at the same time women were urged to learn as much as possible about politics, and to use their influence on their husbands and
male colleagues to urge them to vote, principally for the Center party
and against the socialists.69 Opponents of suffrage did not want any68
“Das Frauenstimmrecht,” Der Arbeiter, August 12, 1915;“Das Frauenstimmrecht,” Die
Arbeiterin, August 19, 1915.
69
Michael Gasteiger, “Bedeutung der kommenden Reichstagswahlen,” Die Arbeiterin,
March 23, 1911;“Die politischen Parteien im deutschen Reichstag,” Die Arbeiterin, March
30, 1911, April 6, 1911, and April 13, 1911.

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THE LIMITS OF MATERNALISM: GENDER IDEOLOGY

thing else removing women from the home when they were fighting
for a woman’s right to remain there and care for her family.70
As with so many other issues, the Catholic Workingwomen’s Associations did not always speak with one voice. Political education was essential for women, some argued, and was not something simply to be
left in the hands of husbands. Women were responsible for the education of their children, including their education in civic duties and politics, and as such had to be knowledgeable. Furthermore, the paternalist
argument failed to take into account single women who had no husbands with whom to agree in political matters. From this point of view,
associations had to make political education one of their priorities.
Women were no more unaccustomed to politics than men, no less able
to understand and act on their political knowledge, and no longer tied
to the idea that they were not fit for politics.71 Political education, and
eventually the right to vote, would be one major avenue toward the reform of the (male) public sphere. Such calls for a woman’s right to vote
and recognition of a woman’s basic political competency, however,
were few. In 1918, in the last days of the German Empire, the dominant
line of the SkA still embraced the idea of women as treasures (read
property) that had to be protected, a position that contradicted the
more maternalist stances taken on other issues. The SkA pointed out
the “shadow side” of women voting: the advance of the socialist
women’s movement’s desire for “absolute equality and equal rights between the sexes.”72 In a concise summary of the paternalist position, the
SkA asserted that Catholic women sought a “buffer zone (Grenzschutz)”
between the sexes in order to protect the special qualities of “femininity and motherhood, family happiness, and family culture,” all of which
were placed at a higher value than suffrage. Suffrage threatened the
“general welfare,” as well as the God-given authority of the man in his
family, by throwing women into the political arena. What would make
women “truly free is not the right to vote, but rather the possibility to
become true housewives and mothers.” Returning to an old line, the
SkA argued that the main thrust of the women’s movement should be
the limitation of women’s labor outside the house, and the provision to
men of sufficient means to support their families. Thus women could
return to “the most beautiful and important right of women, to be a
housewife and mother in the fullest sense.”73
“Die Frau im Wahlkampf,” Die Arbeiterin, December 7–14, 1911.
“Frau und Politik,” Die Arbeiterin, May 11, 1916.
72
“Was verlieren wir mit dem Frauenwahlrecht?” Die Arbeiterin, April 11, 1918.
73
Ibid.
70

71

BY DOUGLAS J. CREMER

451

Near the end of the war, suffrage came to signify political and public
equality in all matters, including full participation in the public sphere.
That the foundation for this had been laid only a little over a decade before by the maternalist organizers of the associations now mattered little. In the critical final year of the war, the welfare of the nation could
only be provided through the protection of the family, for which a
“morally pure woman” was a necessity. The conception of women as
“treasures” to be preserved and protected, as the source of the wealth
of the nation, which lay in its families, dominated all thought of
women’s rights at the end of the war. It was these values that the
Catholic Workingwomen’s Associations were to protect and enrich, not
the pursuit of legal and economic protection in the workplace. All social activities, including music, theater, and lectures, were to be directed
at maintaining and strengthening the value and honor of women in society as wives and mothers.74 The SkA now saw much of the work undertaken by women during the war as detrimental to their physical and
moral health.The lesson learned was that increased participation in the
public sphere was to be avoided and any idea of absolute equality between men and women in the working world to be rejected.75 All that
remained of the maternalist program of the prewar years was the existence of the associations themselves and the demand for equal wages
for equal work.
Conclusion

The failure of the SkA to realize its maternalist agenda: the demand
for Catholic workingwomen’s rights, equity, self-determination, and
autonomy, the demand to “eat meat,” was due to the continued reliance
on paternalistic values, on the offer of “soup” from husbands, employers, and the state. The leaders of the SkA recognized the realities of
women’s wage depression, unemployment, and discrimination, but
they were never completely of one voice on the question of how to
react to these changes. By 1918, the social and political pressures created by the war drove the SkA to return to sharply defined gender roles
and to reject female suffrage. This was tempered with an obvious pride
in the fact that women could fulfill male roles, resentment over lower
74
“Frauenehre,” Die Arbeiterin, September 5, 1918;“Der deutsche Edelstein,” Die Arbeiterin, September 12, 1918.
75
“Sozialpolitische Aufgaben der Übergangswirtschaft mit Bezug auf die Probleme der
Frauenarbeit,” Die Arbeiterin, May 2, 1918;“Die Frauenarbeit nach dem Kriege,” Die Arbeiterin, May 23, 1918;“Frauenarbeit im Männerberuf,” Die Arbeiterin, June 6, 1918;“Was
wird aus der arbeitenden Frau?” Die Arbeiterin, October 31, 1918.

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THE LIMITS OF MATERNALISM: GENDER IDEOLOGY

wages for equal work, and an activist tendency to do something about
it for the future rather than return to a less than satisfactory position
that existed before the war. Nevertheless, the paternalism encoded in
the basic ideology of separate spheres, the belief that men were better
suited for public affairs and charged with the responsibility for taking
care of women and children, was a position that the organizers and
leaders of the Catholic workingwomen’s associations could not bring
themselves to reject completely. In fact, they often used the other side
of this perspective,that women were by nature nurturing and caring individuals, to support their ambitions for Catholic workingwomen as reformers of the male public sphere. The combination overwhelmed the
maternalist element that sought to put forth women as their own liberators that was at the core of the associations’ origins.
Maternalist feminism in this case reveals itself as limited as an ideology in service of women’s emancipation. Some advocates used maternalist language to support paternalist measures, including activist state
intervention, others to break it down, to reinvent the received public/private distinctions of separate spheres. Maternalist feminism in the
case of the SkA insisted on separate natures for the sexes and the primacy of a woman’s private occupation in the home (from which her
public, reformist role would stem), positions that led directly to the
Catholic Workingwomen’s Associations’ opposition to suffrage. These
issues, with the exception of a public role for women, were at the core
of Catholic paternalism. The resistance to suffrage, that final public
marker of equity between men and women, shows the limits of maternalism as a feminist ideology. In a time of national crisis, the arguments
of maternalist feminism came to be used to support paternalist, pronatalist, and exclusionist policies, silencing the progressive and emancipatory elements of the ideology.

CHOOSING “CHOICE”: GEORGE BUSH
AND FEDERAL AID TO NONPUBLIC SCHOOLS
BY

LAWRENCE J. MCANDREWS*

On April 9, 1965, when President Lyndon Johnson signed the Elementary and Secondary Education Act (ESEA), he ended three decades
of debate over whether the federal government should assist states and
localities in financing their schools.Title I of the Act allocated $1.06 billion to be distributed by state education officials to aid local school district projects directed at “educationally deprived children.” The funds
were not to finance either construction or teachers’ salaries, but could
pay for “shared-time” programs by which nonpublic school pupils attend classes at public schools.Title II provided $100 million for the purchase of textbooks and other materials and the expansion of school
libraries for nonpublic and public school children, through public agencies. Title III earmarked $100 million for “supplemental services and
centers” open to nonpublic as well as public school children.1
If the ESEA’s provisions for public schools settled one thirty-year dispute, its concessions to nonpublic schools started another. Presidents
Richard Nixon, Gerald Ford, and Ronald Reagan, as well as most Congressional Republicans, would advocate additional federal expenditures
for nonpublic schools, while President Jimmy Carter and most Congressional Democrats would oppose them. When George H. W. Bush entered the White House,public opinion had turned in favor of federal aid
to nonpublic schools. Bush had committed himself to it in the 1988
campaign and had promised to succeed where Nixon, Ford, and Reagan
had failed in enacting such assistance. Though he would ultimately redeem this promise by supporting nonpublic school vouchers, he would
not fulfill it. Economic and political realities shortened the Bush Presidency, and lengthened the wait for nonpublic school “choice.”
*Dr.McAndrews is an associate professor of history in St.Norbert College,De Pere, Wisconsin.
1
Lawrence McAndrews, Broken Ground: John F. Kennedy and the Politics of Education (New York, 1991), p. 219.

453

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CHOOSING “CHOICE”: GEORGE BUSH AND FEDERAL AID TO NONPUBLIC SCHOOLS

A Promise Broken

The initial erosion of Bush’s position came even before he had taken
the oath of office. A White House Workshop on Choice in Education
held ten days before the end of the Reagan Presidency narrowed the
definition of “choice” to public schools. Neither President Reagan nor
President-elect Bush addressed the gathering. The Secretary of Education, Lauro Cavazos, replaced a speech advocating nonpublic school
vouchers, which had been written for him by Assistant Secretary of Education Patricia Hines, with one opposing such aid.2
Two months later the breach of promise was complete.On March 14,
over the bipartisan objections of ninety members of the House of Representatives, Cavazos fired Hines.“Experience shows that choice works,”
Cavazos wrote on March 21, citing dramatic increases in reading proficiency among the school populations of East Harlem, New York, and
Montclair, New Jersey, where public school choice experiments were
underway. “Research shows that choice encourages differentiation
among schools, reduces dropout rates, increases teacher satisfaction,
and encourages parental involvement.” On March 29, at a White House
question-and-answer session with high school students,a private school
pupil asked the new President if his parents should receive a tax break
for tuition. “No, they shouldn’t,” Bush replied. “Everybody should support the public school system and then, if on top of that your parents
think that they want to shell out, in addition to the tax money, tuition
money, that’s their right. But I don’t think they should get a break for
that.”3
“Choice in education” in the Bush Administration, therefore, was to
mean choices for parents to send their children to public schools.
Bush’s “Educational Excellence Act of 1989,” submitted to Congress in
April, included a provision for specialized “magnet” schools to which
parents could send their public school children. In May Cavazos released two reports employing this definition: a guide for parents,
“Choosing a School for Your Child,” and a summary of state programs,
“Progress, Problems, and Prospects of State Education Choice Plans.”
The Secretary addressed the Education Press Association on the subEdward Fiske,“Lessons,” New York Times, January 11, 1989, sec. B, p. 5.
Warren Brookes, “Demise of the Education Presidency,” Washington Times, April 7,
1989, sec. F, p. 1; letter from Lauro Cavazos to Kenneth Brown and Roslyn Cooperman,
March 21, 1989, White House Office of Records Management (hereafter cited as
WHORM) Subject File, Box 1, Folder: ED Education [900378–00577], George Bush Presidential Library (hereafter cited as GBPL), College Station, Texas, p. 1,“Bush Rejects Tax
Break for Private School Cost,” New York TImes, March 30, 1989, sec. A, p. 20.
2

3

BY LAWRENCE J. MCANDREWS

455

ject, and convened four regional conferences of governors, legislators,
and educators “to develop innovations to promote choice in their respective areas.”4
The Administration’s change of heart predictably unsettled the nonpublic school interests. To pre-empt such criticism, Bush met with a
group of Catholic lay educators at the White House in March.“I know
education is as important to you as it is to me,”the President told his visitors.“In a few days I will be introducing my new legislative package on
education.I’m counting on you to help us make America’s schools number one again.” But when the Educational Excellence Act of 1989 omitted nonpublic school aid, Catholic school representatives reloaded.
“Most Roman Catholic bishops were quite dismayed when they first
heard of President Bush’s public reservations about tuition tax credits,”
the Reverend Robert Lynch, General Secretary of the United States
Catholic Conference (USCC),wrote White House Chief of Staff John Sununu in April.“Such an opinion conflicts with statements made during
the recent political campaign which led many in the Catholic Church
to believe that the President was indeed in favor of tuition tax credits.”
The president of the National Catholic Education Association, Sister
Catherine McNamee, expressed similar concerns to Bush in May.5
The White House then moved to reassure its friends without changing its position. Deputy Assistant to the President William Roper wrote
Lynch and McNamee that while Bush was “clearly in favor of the idea of
tuition tax credits,”he would not be “seeking legislation at this time due
to fiscal restraints.” The strategy succeeded. Lynch emerged from a
meeting with Roper conceding that “a major, tax-based program of relief for parents and children in non-public schools may well await partial resolution of the deficit challenge.” McNamee needed only five
minutes with the President in June to conclude,“The message we delivered to the President—calling for a public statement on parental
choice for all Americans—was heard, and it’s a good beginning.” But no
4
“President Submits Educational Excellence Act of 1989 to Hill,” White House Wire,
April 5, 1989, WHORM Subject File, Box 2, Folder: ED Education [020000–021199] [2],
GBPL,p.1;letter from Lauro Cavazos to the President,May 16,1989, WHORM Subject File,
Box 2, Folder; Education [030000–039999] [1], GBPL, p. 2; Julie Johnson,“Administration
Makes Choice a Top School Priority,” New York Times, May 20, 1989, sec. A, p. 33.
5
“Meeting with Key Catholic Lay Leaders, Talking Points,” March 27, 1989, WHORM
Subject File, Box 2, Folder: RM Religious Matters, RM 031, [003529–290843], GBPL; letter
from Rev.Robert Lynch to John Sununu,April 10,1989,WHORM Subject File,Box 42,Folder
FI Finance [005–03] [1], GBPL; letter from Sister Anne Leonard to George Bush, May 16,
1989, Bush Presidential Records Office of Policy Development, William Roper Subject
File, Folder: Tuition Tax Credits, GBPL.

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CHOOSING “CHOICE”: GEORGE BUSH AND FEDERAL AID TO NONPUBLIC SCHOOLS

such statement would be forthcoming in 1989, and the day after their
meeting, Bush could not even remember McNamee’s name.6
If the Administration had bought time with its natural allies,however,
its endorsement of public magnet schools hardly appeased its erstwhile
adversaries in the public education community. While the president of
the National Parent and Teachers Association, Manya Unger, telegraphed
Bush, “We applaud your decision to remove tuition tax credits off of
[sic] the White House education policy agenda,” the president of the
National Education Association, Mary Hatwood Futrell, warned that
public school choice “is not a panacea.” While Americans United for
Separation of Church and State opposed nonpublic school choice, they
nonetheless criticized Bush’s proposals for merit schools and Presidential Awards as violations of the First Amendment Establishment Clause.
Although the leaders of the National School Boards Association told Domestic Policy Advisor Roger Porter that their organization supported
public school choice, they added,“Many members believe . . . it should
be the object of debate, rather than presented as a solution.” And despite the acknowledgment from Pennsylvania Republican William
Goodling, chief House sponsor of Bush’s Educational Excellence Act of
1989, that the NEA considered it “such a joy under this Administration
to have access to the Secretary of Education’s ear after many years of
not having that opportunity,” a collision between the organization and
the Administration over a teacher certification title helped prevent the
bill’s passage.7
Bush’s delicate balance was therefore doomed to fail. The vision of
the nonpublic school interests was narrow, and their patience was finite. Mae Duggan, president of the lay Catholic Citizens for Educational
Freedom, wrote Bush in September, asking him to include nonpublic
6
Letter from William Roper to Rev. Robert Lynch, April 21, 1989, Bush Presidential
Records, Office of Policy Development, William Roper Subject File, Box 11, Folder:Tuition
Tax Credits, GBPL; letter from Lynch to Roper, May 23, 1989, Bush Presidential Records,
Office of Policy Development, William Roper Subject File, Box 11, Folder: Tuition Tax
Credits, GBPL; Carol Innerst,“Private School Advocates Want ‘Choice’ Vow Kept,” Washington Times, sec.A, p. 3. Bush wrote in the margin of the Washington Times story on the
meeting,“Is this [McNamee] who came in here?”
7
Telegram from Manya Unger to George Bush, March 30, 1989, WHORM Subject File,
Box 42,Folder:FI Finance [005–03] [1],March 30,1989,FGBPL,pp.1–2; Julie Johnson,“Administration Makes Choice a Top School Priority,” New York Times, May 20, 1989, sec. L, p.
33; memorandum from Roger Porter to the President, April 23, 1989, WHORM Subject
File, Box 15, Folder: ED Education [1350000–161999] [1], GBPL, pp. 1–2; letter from
William Goodling to George Bush, September 14, 1989, WHORM Subject File, Box 7,
Folder: ED Education [069000–076999], GBPL.

BY LAWRENCE J. MCANDREWS

457

school choice among the goals of his impending Education Summit.
The vision of the public school forces was broad, and their influence
was substantial.“It was not as high a priority for Catholic forces to get it
[nonpublic school aid],” recalls former Senator Robert Packwood of
Oregon, a Republican and a staunch supporter of nonpublic school aid,
“as it was for public school forces to stop it.”The best course for the administration,therefore,would be to abandon its ambivalence.“As the education issues rises [sic] on the national agenda, it may be increasingly
advantageous to communicate the Administration’s message clearly and
on many different levels,” counseled Assistant Secretary of Education
Rae Nelson in her year-end review of the Bush policies. “The choice
message, for example, could be refined and targeted.”8
It would not be. Cavazos cautioned that “those of us who are responsible for providing leadership have a special duty to continue to fuel
that process with good information, research, evaluation, and professional support.” Bush then resubmitted his Educational Excellence Act
to Congress without any major changes. Yet even as the Administration’s deeds excluded nonpublic school choice, its words continued to
include it. A trip to Milwaukee in June, 1990, provided the President
with a glimpse of the nation’s first nonpublic school choice program,
championed by State Representative Polly Williams, former Wisconsin
campaign manager for the liberal Democratic Presidential candidate
Jesse Jackson.“Thanks to your courage, leadership, and long-term commitment to the belief that parents—all parents—care and have a right
to choose the best education possible for their children,” the white Republican President told the black former welfare recipient,“that experiment is now resulting in new opportunities for one hundred Milwaukee
children.” In November the Department of Education sponsored a debate on nonpublic school choice between the Republican Governor of
Delaware, Pierre DuPont, and the president of the NEA, Keith Geiger.After he elicited Geiger’s admission that under the Williams plan, Milwaukee children had “escaped” the public schools, DuPont received a letter
of congratulations from Porter. “Beyond his support of improving
schools through public school choice programs,” Special Advisor Jack
Klenk wrote in promoting the Department of Education’s new Center
for Choice in Education in February, 1991,“the President . . . has long
8
Letter from Mae Duggan to Roger Porter, September 20, 1989, WHORM Subject File,
Box 7, Folder: ED Education [069000–076999] [14], GBPL; interview of Robert Packwood
by author, November 4, 1997, Washington, D.C.; memorandum from Rae Nelson to Roger
Porter, November 25, 1989, WHORM Subject File, Box 11, Folder: ED Education
[095000–103199] [4], GBPL.

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CHOOSING “CHOICE”: GEORGE BUSH AND FEDERAL AID TO NONPUBLIC SCHOOLS

favored tuition tax credits and hope[s] to see them in place as soon as
possible.”9
Once again, the education interests assumed their positions in the
battle over nonpublic school choice. In June, 1990, the NCEA issued a
study, “United States Elementary Schools and their Finances, 1989,”
which concluded that although Catholic school per-pupil costs were
less than half of those of public schools, Catholic school students outperformed their public school counterparts in government-sponsored
mathematics, science, and reading examinations. The NEA’s Geiger was
unimpressed.“Free market economics works well for breakfast cereal,
but not for schools in a democratic society,” he wrote in September.
“Market-driven school choice would create an inequitable elitist educational system.” And the public school forces remained stronger than
their nonpublic school counterparts, as the Bush education legislation
foundered a second time on the issue of teacher certification. The NEA
exerted “an enormous amount of influence on education policy,” Porter
would recall. “They’re in all 435 Congressional districts and all fifty
states.” The public school lobbies had concluded, Porter wrote in
March,1991,“that we have a single new idea—[public school] choice—
and that we believe it will solve everything.”10
A Promise Redeemed

The public school representatives would not change their minds, but
the President would change his plan. On April 18, 1991, when Bush introduced “America 2000,” he redefined “choice” to include nonpublic
schools. “We can encourage educational excellence by encouraging
parental choice,” said the President. “It’s time parents were free to
9
Letter from Lauro Cavazos to George Bush, December 20, 1989, WHORM Subject File,
Folder: ED Education [103200–112499] [4], GBPL; “Bush’s Education Proposals Unfulfilled,” Congressional Quarterly Almanac, 1990 (Washington, D.C., 1991), p. 610; letter
from George Bush to Polly Williams, September 15, 1990, Bush Presidential Records, Office of Policy Development, Box 12, Folder: Doreen Torgerson File, Milwaukee Vouchers
[OA/ID 05164], GBPL; letter from Roger Porter to Pierre DuPont, November 13, 1990,
WHORM Subject File, Box 24, Folder: ED Education [238400–238999] [3], GBPL, pp. 1–2;
letter from Jack Klenk to Sister Anita Henning, February 4, 1991, WHORM Alpha File, Box
3, Folder: Henning [OA 15981] [1 of 2], GBPL, pp. 1–2.
10
Memorandum from Rev. Charles O’Malley to Senior Officers, August 22, 1990,
WHORM Subject File, Box 1, Folder: ED Education [005894–089827], GBPL, p. 1; Jeanne
Allen, “Nine Phoney [sic] Assertions About School Choice,” The Heritage Foundation
Backgrounder, September 13, 1990, p. 1; interview of Roger Porter by author, November
26,1997;memorandum from Roger Porter to the President,March 21,1991, WHORM Subject File, Box 22, Folder: ED Education [220000–225999] [1], GBPL, p. 3.

BY LAWRENCE J. MCANDREWS

459

choose the schools that their children attend. This approach will create
the competitive climate that simulates excellence in our private and
parochial schools as well.” The nonpublic school interests welcomed
the overdue payment of a political debt. Paul Mecklenburg, chairman of
the board of Citizens for Educational Freedom, called Bush “a forceful
advocate for choice and competition in education.”The president of the
USCC, Archbishop Daniel Pilarczyk of Cincinnati, praised Bush for his
“welcome intention to expand the notion of educational choice to include all parents, including those in private and parochial schools.” A
statement by the Institute of Public Affairs of the Union of Orthodox
Jewish Congregations of America noted, “The concept of education
choice is one that is long overdue, given the success such programs
have had in areas across the country.11
While lauding America 2000’s emphasis on national standards and
educational excellence, the president of the American Federation of
Teachers, Albert Shanker, and Geiger of the NEA criticized the choice
component, which they viewed as the heart of the proposal. Bush “has
started a war with everyone in the school system over the issue of private and religious versus public schools,” said Shanker.“It’s true that all
public schools are not equal,”added Geiger.“But the solution to funding
social inequities that condemn children in inner cities and other impoverished communities to inferior schools is not to encourage the
flight of the most promising students.”12
Bush had long disagreed with this view, and his belated decision to
join politics with policy was the product of several major factors. First,
it is philosophically more comfortable to return to a position than to retreat from one, and the prospect of recovering his base was inviting after his party had lost nine House seats in the recent midterm elections.
In Bush’s first year, Porter had encouraged him to meet with the USCC
11
“Remarks by the President at Presentation of National Education Strategy,” April 18,
1991, Bush Presidential Records, Office of Policy Development, Charles E. M. Kolb Subject
File, Box 12, Folder: Johannes Kuttner, America 2000 [OA/ID 06978] [1 of 2], GBPL, p. 3;
letter from Roger Porter to Paul Mecklenburg, April 15, 1991, WHORM Alpha File, Box 4,
Folder: Meckl [OA 16295], GBPL; letter from Most Rev. Daniel Pilarczyk to Roger Porter,
May 8, 1991, WHORM Subject File, Box 23, Folder: ED Education [0236000–238399] [2],
GBPL, pp. 1–2; statement by the Institute of Public Affairs of the Union of Orthodox Jewish Congregations of America,”April 26,1991, WHORM Subject File,Box 23,Folder;ED Education [233000–235999] [1], GBPL.
12
Albert Shanker, “Incentives and Reforms,” August, 1991, Office of the President, no
box, no folder, American Federation of Teachers Papers, Walter Reuther Library, Detroit,
Michigan, p. 2; Keith Geiger,“Choosing Universal Excellence,” Education Week, May 22,
1991, p. 48.

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CHOOSING “CHOICE”: GEORGE BUSH AND FEDERAL AID TO NONPUBLIC SCHOOLS

“to solidify the President’s support in the Catholic community.” Two
years later, to the question “Can Catholic Schools Do It Better?” than
public schools, Sam Allis of Time answered “yes,” with “money, more selectiveness, and rigor,” and despite “losing half their students and 2500
of their schools during the past twenty-five years.” So Bush decided that
he had jeopardized Catholic support long enough.
Secondly, two years of fighting the NEA over education budgets and
alternative teacher certification had shown Bush the limited political
and policy benefits for a Republican President reaching out to groups
that he considered “an arm of the opposition party.” Bush told the Association of Christian Schools International Convention in November,
1991,“I thank you for your support of choice. I will promote it regardless of the demogoguery of the NEA.”
Thirdly, the change in style as well as substance accompanying Lamar
Alexander’s replacement of Lauro Cavazos at the Department of Education proved contagious at the White House, where the President seized
the Secretary’s rhetoric of revolution.“It’s not a program, it’s a crusade,”
said Alexander of America 2000.“The President is more of a movement
leader than a program proposer.” And what could be more revolutionary than a federal nonpublic school choice program? Bush “wasn’t hostile to it at the beginning,” Porter would remember of the President’s
stance toward nonpublic school choice.“He was more inclined to say,
‘I’m in favor of choice, but leave it up to localities, private or public.’”
But a “movement leader” would have to be more active than that.13
Fourthly, Bush began to see nonpublic school choice in a new light—
not only as a lifesaver for financially plagued Catholic schools, but as an
anti-poverty program for minority children. If the face of nonpublic
school tuition tax credits in the 1970’s and 1980’s was a middle-aged
white male archbishop, the face of nonpublic school vouchers in the
13
Memorandum from Roger Porter to John Sununu, May 23, 1989, WHORM Subject
File, Box 57, Folder; JL 004–03 Judicial-Legal Matters [055173–070442], GBPL; Sam Allis,
“Can Catholic Schools Do It Better?” Time, May 27, 1991, pp. 48–49; George Bush, “Remarks at the Presidential Open Forum on Educational Choice in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania,” July 21, 1992, Public Papers of the Presidents of the United States: George Bush,
Book I, 1992–1993 (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1993), p. 1147;
George Bush,“Presidential Remarks: Christian Schools,Anaheim, CA,”November 19, 1991,
WHORM Subject File, Box 32, Folder: ED Education [288000–288499] [2], GBPL, pp. 1, 4;
“Press Briefing with Secretary Lamar Alexander and Governors William O’Neill, Roy
Romer, and Carroll Campbell,” April 18, 1991, Bush Presidential Records, Office of Policy
Development, Doreen Torgerson file, Box 11, Folder: America 2000 Kickoff 4/18/91
[OA/ID 05162], GBPL, p. 1; telephone interview of Porter by author.

BY LAWRENCE J. MCANDREWS

461

1990’s would be Polly Williams.“Choice is an effective desegregation
strategy resulting in more interracial exposure among students, more
community stability, less white flight, and better student achievement,”
concluded the House Republican Research Committee’s Empowerment Task Force in a report sent to Bush in May of 1990.“Choice and
magnet programs can foster diversity, enrich curricula, increase
parental involvement, and expand educational opportunities for disadvantaged children,” wrote an authority on school desegregation, David
Armor. “Our critics claim choice will resegregate the schools,” Kolb
wrote Torgerson after reading the Armor article in September of that
year. “This, of course, is nonsense. We should look for coherent, convincing evidence as to why choice can help desegregate.” Torgerson
replied,“We know what Polly Williams would say.” Bush would employ
this argument two years later in his first Presidential debate with Bill
Clinton and Ross Perot.“So let the liberal Democrats dream,” said the
President,“but strengthening family,not through legislation but through
education, teaching discipline, teaching respect for the law, supporting
law enforcement people, choice in child care, choice in education, all of
these things will strengthen the family. As that happens we overcome
the threshold of discrimination.”14
Fifthly, school choice had moved from abstraction to reality.“None of
the arguments have changed,” Kolb noted after reviewing the voucher
experiment by President Nixon’s Office of Economic Opportunity, but
“in the meantime, since 1972 we have considerably more evidence that
these ideas do, in fact, work.” By June, 1991, fourteen states already offered public school choice plans, twelve states were about to consider
them, and one city—Milwaukee—was testing nonpublic school choice.
Bush cited similar numbers in a letter to Representative Goodling
defending his change of position. Bush could therefore point to the Milwaukee programs in June, 1990, as one of the most interesting experiments in education reform: “I think we will see that when schools
compete to attract students, that can’t help but raise the overall level of
education.”
The sixth, and most powerful stimulant for Bush’s policy change was
public opinion. With each succeeding year, nonpublic school choice
14
Letter from Stephen Bartlett to Bush; Armor, pp. 26, 29; handwritten notes by Charles
Kolb and memorandum from Doreen Torgerson to Charles Kolb, in September, 1990,
Bush Presidential Records, Office of Policy Development, Doreen Torgerson, Desegregation [OS/ID 05164]; George Bush,“Question and Answer Session in Paducah, Kentucky,”
October 27, 1992, Public Papers of the Presidents of the United States: George Bush,
Book II, 1992, Book II, p. 2022.

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CHOOSING “CHOICE”: GEORGE BUSH AND FEDERAL AID TO NONPUBLIC SCHOOLS

was becoming more popular. “Over the years, vouchers have never
been particularly popular in the Gallup/Phi Delta Kappa polls,” wrote
Mary Farrell to Roger Porter in August,1991.“This year,though,fifty percent of the public say that they approve of school vouchers, while
thirty-nine percent oppose them.” In the two months after the announcement of America 2000, Alexander reported receiving 1200 letters a week. “The mail is overwhelmingly positive,” the Secretary
assured the President, “and the largest single category favors school
choice.”15
Bush’s reversal appears as significant for why it did not occur as for
why it did. First, the NEA’s Futrell contends that Bush bowed to “rightwing pressure” in the wake of his divisive 1990 budget deal. A group of
conservative Republican leaders emerged from a breakfast meeting on
the eve of the Bush announcement,however,wary of “choice”becoming,
in the words of the conservative magazine Human Events,“the Trojan
horse by which the private schools would lose what little independence they have left.” The traditionally Republican National Alliance of
Business, while embracing other parts of America 2000, rejected nonpublic school choice. And if his plan attracted other conservatives, it
risked losing key moderates like Goodling, the ranking Republican on
the House Education and Labor Committee, who ended his letter of
protest to Bush with the admonition,“This will be the last time you hear
from me on any issue pertaining to education.”16
A second reason which does not explain Bush’s turnabout is research. Although there were a growing number of public school choice
plans, Susan Chira reported in the New York Times that there was no
conclusive evidence yet as to their success or failure. In addition, the
15
Memorandum from Charles Kolb to Roger Porter, September 28, 1990, WHORM Subject File, Education, Folder; ED Education [1777000–179999] [3], GBPL, p. 1; letter from
George Bush to William Goodling, February 22, 1991, WHORM Subject File, Education,
Folder: ED Education [220000–225999], GBPL; Jeanne Allen and Michael McLaughlin,“Assessing the Bush Education Proposal,” Heritage Foundation Issues Bulletin, June 28,
1991, p. 3;“The Polly Williams Backlash,” Wall Street Journal, June 14, 1990, sec. A, p. 14;
memorandum from Mary Farrell to Roger Porter, August 22, 1991, WHORM Subject File,
Education, Box 28, Folder: ED Education [267000–268999], GBPL, p. 4; memorandum
from Lamar Alexander to George Bush, June 7,1991, WHORM Subject File,Education,Box
26, Folder: ED Education [253000–257999] [2], GBPL.
16
Interview of Mary Hatwood Futrell by author, November 5, 1997, Washington, D.C.;
“Conservatives Troubled by Bush’s Education Program,”Human Events,May 11,1991,pp.
12–13;“Business Groups Criticize America 2000,” Heritage Foundation Business Education Insider, September, 1991, p. 1; letter from William Goodling to George Bush, March
22, 1991, WHORM Subject File, Education, Folder: ED Education [220000–225999],
GBPL, p. 2.

BY LAWRENCE J. MCANDREWS

463

early returns on the only nonpublic school plan—in Milwaukee—were
not promising, as the city was finding it difficult to attract enough
voucher students. So in his defense of nonpublic school choice to
Goodling, Bush had to revert to a 1982 study by James Coleman which
favorably contrasted Catholic school student achievement levels with
those of public schools. And when asked by the chairman of the House
Education and Labor Committee, Michigan Democrat Dale Kildee,“Why
had the Administration switched its focus over the last few months
from public school choice to choice proposals that include private
schools? What educational research or theory has convinced you that
private schools should be included in publicly funded school choice
programs?” Alexander awkwardly cited a May, 1991, NBC News/Wall
Street Journal poll showing fifty-six percent of respondents in favor of
nonpublic school choice, and the “extensive research” of John Chubb
and Terry Moe’s pro-choice Politics, Markets, and America’s Schools,
published before the advent of Milwaukee’s first-in-the-nation program.17
The final rationale which does not explain Bush’s transformation was
the one which had caused him to change course in 1989: the budget
deficit. While his budget deal with Congress would begin to reduce the
deficit, the federal government was still over 300 billion dollars in the
red when Bush unveiled America 2000. When asked if nonpublic
school choice would increase the deficit, Bush replied that it would
not. He was right—he had earmarked a paltry thirty million dollars for
his “revolutionary” proposal.18

A Promise Unfulfilled

Bush’s return to his campaign stance on school choice offered considerable cause for optimism.“[There is] the general expectation that
the Administration will get much of the program enacted, a rare
17
Susan Chira, “Research Questions Effectiveness of Most School Choice Programs,”
New York Times, October 26, 1992, sec. A, p. 1; sec. B, p. 8; Paul Taylor,“Milwaukee’s Controversial Private School Choice Plan Off to Shaky Start,” Washington Post, May 25, 1991,
p. 3; exchange of letters between Dale Kildee and Lamar Alexander, July 9, 1991, Bush
Presidential Records, Office of Policy Development, Johannes Kuttner, America 2000
[OA/ID 06978] [1 of 2], GBPL.
18
Martha Woodall, “In the Audience were Those Who had Fought for the Plan,”
Philadelphia Inquirer, July 22, 1992, sec.A, p. 1; George Bush,“White House Statement on
Federal Budget Amendments for the Education Reform Strategy,” June 17, 1991, Public Papers of the Presidents of the United States: George Bush,1991,Book I,1991 [Washington,
D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1992], p. 625.

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prospect for the Administration’s domestic proposals,”wrote Adam Clymer of the New York Times about America 2000 in April, 1991. Six
months later, after aggressive intervention by Sununu and Goodling, the
House Education and Labor Committee passed a compromise version
of the Bush plan, H.R. 3320, leaving public and nonpublic school choice
at the discretion of local school districts and in conformity with state
constitutions.“Any bill that includes a choice element in it and at least
does not prohibit the participation of private schools is all to the good,”
applauded the president of the NCEA, Sister Catherine McNamee.“We
have a fundamental difference in strategy. We would argue for taking a
strong position [against nonpublic school choice] and falling back,”
lamented the legislative director of the NEA, Michael Edwards. The
chairman of the Education Subcommittee, Dale Kildee, acknowledged
the Administration’s lobbying effort:“I think the factor that has changed
is the strength the White House has been able to exert.” Edward Kealy,
director of federal programs for the National School Boards Association,
viewed the vote as the culmination of “ten years of advocacy by the
Bush and Reagan Administrations.”19
The victory would be short-lived, however. The Senate Labor and Human Resources Committee reported S. 2, sponsored by Massachusetts
Democrat Edward Kennedy and limiting choice to public schools. After
neither H.R 3320 nor S. 2 came to a floor vote in 1991, the chairman of
the House Education and Labor Committee,Michigan Democrat William
Ford, opened the 1992 session by proposing H.R. 4323, a public-schoolonly choice proposal backed by the NEA and AFT. Committee Democrats explained that they had supported the previous compromise only
for fear of greater concessions to nonpublic schools, and before the
Senate adoption of its public school-only bill. After a party-line vote released the bill from committee, the House passed it, 279–124, on August
12. In the Senate, Kennedy resurrected S.2, which won in committee
and on the floor. A 36–57 vote on January 23 rejected an amendment
sponsored by Utah Republican Orrin Hatch and supported by the
White House,which would have established six demonstration projects
in which federal monies would finance nonpublic school choice.“What
have we heard on the floor these last three days?” asked Kennedy, his
voice growing increasingly hoarse during the debate on his bill.“New
schools, new schools, new schools,” he answered.“What are we hearing

19
Adam Clymer,“For the Education Plan, A Rare Rosy Forecast,” New York Times, April
17, 1991, sec. A, p. 19; Julie Miller,“House Panel’s Vote Marks Sea Change on the Choice
Issue,” Education Week, November 6, 1991, p. 137.

BY LAWRENCE J. MCANDREWS

465

tonight?” he protested before the vote on the Hatch Amendment,
pounding the lectern.“Private schools, private schools, private schools.”
When the amendment failed, Alexander conveyed his disappointment,“It is astonishing to me that the Senate could not bring itself to
support even a demonstration project to determine what might happen if poor families are given more of the same choice of all schools
that wealthy families already have.” By voice vote, the House and Senate
conferees agreed to a bill with provisions for neither public nor nonpublic school choice. The House approved the conference report, but
the measure died in the Senate following a failed Republican cloture
vote.20
If Congress was unwilling to agree even to the meager provisions of
H.R. 3320 or the Hatch Amendment to S.2, then surely it would not accede to more expansive, more expensive nonpublic school choice legislation completely separate from the more salient components of the
Educational Excellence Act. But seventy-percent of Americans now favored nonpublic school choice, and it was a Presidential election year.
So in June, 1992, Bush proposed the $500 million “GI Bill for Children,”
inspired by Franklin Roosevelt’s 1944 legislation which provided veterans of World War II and subsequent conflicts with free higher education at the public or non-public institution of their choice. Citing
Milwaukee as a model and invoking the names of Polly Williams and the
Republican Governor of Wisconsin, Tommy Thompson, Bush introduced a four-year competitive grant program by which any state and locality could apply for enough federal funds to give each child of a
middle or low-income family a $1000 annual scholarship to be used at
any school or other academic program, public or nonpublic. Jonathan
Kozol, author of the 1991 book Savage Inequalities, which exposed
disparities between wealthy and impoverished school districts, called
the Bush proposal “pure politics,” adding “what can you buy with
$1000?”21
“There are risks,” the President conceded in unveiling his plan,“but
we need revolutions, and revolutions carry with them risks.” So do elections. The G.I. Bill for Children went nowhere on Capitol Hill, and Bush

20
“Scorned School Bill Dies in Senate,”Congressional Quarterly Almanac,1992 (Washington, D.C., 1993), pp. 455–461.
21
Letter from George Bush to Congress and attachment, June 17, 1992, WHORM Subject File, Education, Box 36, Folder: ED Education [325000–366452] [3], GBPL, p. 1

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CHOOSING “CHOICE”: GEORGE BUSH AND FEDERAL AID TO NONPUBLIC SCHOOLS

lost in November to an opponent of nonpublic school choice, Bill Clinton.22
Conclusions

“For the first time in recent memory,” Julie Miller wrote in Education
Week in November, 1991,“it is conceivable to think that the Congress
might even . . . agree to fund choice plans that help parents send their
children to private schools.” Bush told his Domestic Policy Council a
month later,“The momentum on school choice is moving in the direction we proposed—to the entire marketplace of public and private
schools to benefit all families. . . .” This unlikely prospect was in many
ways a tribute to George Bush’s leadership of public opinion and his
Administration’s lobbying of Congress. Bush worked harder and longer
for federal aid to nonpublic elementary and secondary schools than any
President since the church-state compromises of Lyndon Johnson’s Elementary and Secondary Education Act of 1965. Yet like all of his predecessors since Johnson, he ultimately failed to deliver on his promise of
substantial nonpublic school assistance.23
Bush’s defeat revealed that the costs of his mid-course correction on
nonpublic school choice had come to outweigh its benefits. First, the
comfort of Bush’s retreat to his original position could not erase the discomfort of having to explain it. The result was a clumsy attempt to find
continuity amidst change. When asked in the second Presidential debate for his views on nonpublic school tuition tax credits, Bush reverted to his pre-1991 stance that “tax credits is a good idea, but . . .
there isn’t enough money around when we’re operating at these enormous deficits to do that.”Yet he adopted his post-1991 advocacy of nonpublic school vouchers to “supplement your family income to permit
them to go to this school that you’ve already chosen.”Not only did Bush
fail to explain how tax credits would increase the deficit though vouch-

22
“President Bush Sets Historic Partnership and New Education Agenda,” America
2000 Newsletter, U.S. Department of Education, November 23, 1992, Bush Presidential
Records, Office of Policy Department, Charles E.M. Kolb Subject File, Alexander, Lamar—
Strategy [OA/IS 06827] [1 of 4], GBPL, p. 1; George Bush,“Presidential Remarks: G.I. Bill for
Kids,” June 25, 1992, WHORM Subject File, Federal Aid, Folder: FA 003 Education
[329506–334845], GBPL, p. 9.
23
Miller, loc. cit.; “Domestic Policy Meeting,” December 19, 1991, Bush Presidential
Records,Office of Policy Development,Charles E.M.Kolb Subject File,Alexander,Lamar—
Strategy [OA/ID 06827] [1 of 4], GBPL.

BY LAWRENCE J. MCANDREWS

467

ers would not, but he reduced his “revolutionary” G.I. Bill for Children
to a consolation prize:“I don’t think I can offer more than this ‘G.I. Bill’
for people that choose.”24
Secondly, Bush’s decision to call off his truce with the NEA and AFT
may have acknowledged political reality, but it tempted political fate. In
1965, with the post–World War II era’s largest coalition between Capitol Hill and the White House, and before the NEA’s decision to endorse
Congressional and Presidential candidates, the Democratic Congress
and President largely dictated to the public school interests. In 1991,
however,with a Republican President,a Democratic Congress,and a politically mature NEA, the public school interests largely dictated to the
Democratic Congress and the Republican President.“I’ll be honest with
you, we’re moving into a very political environment in Washington, and
I don’t know whether this Congress is going to take up this legislation
or not,” Bush conceded of his G.I. Bill for Children in July, 1992.25
Thirdly, Bush’s selection of Alexander, as well as Alexander’s choices
of the chairman of the Xerox Corporation, David Kearns, and the professor of education in Columbia University, Diane Ravitch, as his
deputies, may have excited the mainstream media and energized the
Department of Education,but they engendered suspicions among many
advocates of nonpublic school choice. On his first day on the job,
Alexander called for a “redefinition”of public schools,to include private
schools and schools run by businesses or institutions. While not explicitly excluding vouchers for parochial schools, the new Secretary asserted, “As you get down the continuum, it gets more difficult” to
include such schools. A year later, Willian McGurn of National Review
accused Alexander of seeking to “tone down” defenses of nonpublic
school choice in a Bush speech and of bargaining away vouchers in negotiations with Congress over Bush’s Educational Excellence Act of
1991. Kearns had co-authored (with Denis Doyle of the Hudson Institute) a 1988 book which opposed nonpublic school choice, a point
raised by Senator Kennedy in the Deputy Undersecretary’s confirmation hearings. Kearns replied that he had since reversed his position
“because there is broader support for the idea.” Even if the Republicans
inside the Administration had joined the school choice bandwagon,

24
George Bush,“Question and Answer Session in Grand Rapids,”October 29, 1992, Public Papers of the Presidents of the United States: George Bush, Book I, 1992–1993 (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1993), p. 2083.
25
Bush,“Remarks,” July 21, 1992, p. 1147.

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CHOOSING “CHOICE”: GEORGE BUSH AND FEDERAL AID TO NONPUBLIC SCHOOLS

many on Capitol Hill had not. Six Republicans were in the majority
which killed the Hatch Amendment in January, 1992, and over half the
House Republicans helped defeat a school choice amendment sponsored by Texas Representative Richard Armey in August.26
Fourthly, Bush’s attraction to nonpublic school choice as a civil rights
issue may have defied conventional wisdom, but it could not upset traditional alliances.“Education is a key factor in lifting individuals from
poverty,” Senator Hatch echoed Lyndon Johnson in defending his nonpublic school choice amendment to the Kennedy education bill in January, 1992.“Once we pass this, the door is open to further and further
aid,” liberal Democratic Senator Howard Metzenbaum of Ohio replied,
sounding very much like a 1960’s conservative Republican wary of the
“camel’s nose” of federal aid to education. But if the preachers seemed
to be singing each other’s hymns, they did not seem to be converting
each other’s congregations. The faces of nonpublic school choice in
Milwaukee may have been black, but so were those of its opponents, as
the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People joined
a suit in the Wisconsin Supreme Court to stop the program because it
violated the “public purpose standard of the state constitution.” Bush
may have scored rhetorical points in embracing nonpublic school
vouchers, but nine of every ten African-American voters would support
Bill Clinton in November, 1992.27
Fifthly, the metamorphosis of nonpublic school choice from abstraction to reality not only offered models which Bush could laud but targets which his opponents could assault. And there seemed to be fewer
of the former than the latter. In the second Presidential debate in October, 1992, Bush claimed, “there’s plenty of examples” of nonpublic
school choice. But he could name only two—Milwaukee (in 1992) and
Rochester, New York (in 1972). In the same month, a report by the
Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching reviewed all existing choice programs, public as well as nonpublic. It discovered that
fewer than two percent of students availed themselves of such oppor-

26
Karen DeWitt,“New Education Chief Stresses Commitment,” New York Times, March
19, 1991, Sec. A, p. 21; William McGurn,“Lamar’s Choice,“National Review, August 26,
1991, pp. 20–21; Mark Pitsch,“Kearns Vows to Turn E.D. Around as He did Xerox,” Education Week, June 5, 1991, p. 1; John J. Miller,“Opting Out,” New Republic, November 30,
1992, p. 13.
27
Clifford Kraus,“Senate Rejects Bush Plan to Aid the Poor Who Use Private Schools,”
New York Times, January 23, 1992, sec. A, p. 15; Taylor,“Milwaukee’s Controversial Private
School Choice Plan Off to Shaky Start,” p. 3.

BY LAWRENCE J. MCANDREWS

469

tunities, and that none of the choice plans met the “essential preconditions” of paying transportation, providing sufficient information to parents, or addressing the spending disparities between wealthy and
impoverished school districts.“By these yardsticks, we concluded that
responsible and effective statewide school choice does not exist in
America today,” the report decided.28
Sixthly, even if Bush had the ultimate trump card—public opinion—
on his side in the debate over nonpublic school vouchers, he was not
quite sure how and when to play it. Initially, for fear of the public school
teacher unions and their Congressional allies, he tried to hide it amidst
the even more popular components of his America 2000 plan. But the
public school interests exposed it, and the best the Administration
could achieve was a compromise in the education committee of one
house so tautly worded as to exclude forty-eight states from experimenting with nonpublic school choice, and to permit the same committee to report essentially the same bill without nonpublic school
choice the following session. Then Bush allowed nonpublic school
choice to stand—and fall—on its own, the victim of election-year gridlock and a flawed salesman.“President Ronald Reagan approached divided government by appeal[ing] directly to the American people to
show their support for his policies by lobbying their representatives on
his behalf,” writes Charles Tiefer, counsel to the House of Representatives during the Reagan and Bush Administrations. Bush’s “rhetorical
skills . . . pale, by contrast, however, with those of his immediate predecessor, whose dramatic talents were honed over a lifetime.” The selfeffacing Bush acknowledged his uphill battle to sell nonpublic school
choice in a July, 1992, campaign appearance:“I don’t think every American is thinking, am I for the ‘G.I. Bill’ or not? I’ve got to do a better job
of making them know that this is an issue.”29
Federal aid to nonpublic schools became more of an issue than it had
been in twenty-five years, and George Bush earned much of the credit
for this achievement. But it did not become a successful one, and Bush
deserves considerable blame for this setback. Seven years later, players
on both sides of the issues would largely agree that nonpublic school
choice had become an irresistible force, but a divided federal government had become an immovable object. George Bush could have told
them that.
28
George Bush,“Question and Answer Session in Grand Rapids,” p. 2082; Chira, op. cit.,
pp. 1, 8.
29
Teifer, op. cit., p. 16; Bush,“Remarks,” July 21, 1992, p. 1148.

MARTYRS ARE GOOD TO THINK WITH
REVIEW ESSAY
BY

SIMON DITCHFIELD

Salvation at Stake: Christian Martyrdom in Early Modern Europe. By Brad S.
Gregory. [Harvard Historical Studies, 134.] (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press. 1999. Pp. xvi, 528. $49.95.)
“This is my desire: may the love that unites you to me be such that you may
be able to act like those Christian women of the first ages who, with eager desire and joy,led their own sons to martyrdom;she indeed thought herself happy
who was worthy to have a martyr son.” So wrote the young Cesare Baronio, future father of Roman Catholic ecclesiastical history, in a letter to his mother of
December 3, 1563, in which he asked her to pray to God for him so that he
might become another martyr like Stephen or Lawrence.“What to the modern
mind seems unthinkable is for the modern historian a challenge”( p.74).Gregory
is as uncompromising as his protagonists in raising himself to this considerable challenge and it is a measure of the profundity of his critical empathy,
matched by his immensely learned understanding, that he largely succeeds. For
make no mistake, this is a magnificent book, whose methodological daring,
cross-confessional range, first-rate texture of erudition, and clarity of exposition
make it essential reading for anyone who works on early modern religious culture.
Like all truly original and important books, this one has a deeply felt informing principle, with which one might have a measure of disagreement (see
below), but which undeniably imparts to the whole a level of sustained intellectual engagement with and a thorough understanding of its subject matter
that is consistently and richly rewarding. This may perhaps best be expressed
in terms of the author’s intention “not only to make a historical contribution
to our understanding of early modern Christianity, but also a methodological
contribution to how historians approach it” ( p. 2). Central to this endeavor is
Gregory’s refusal to have anything to do with attempts to explain martyrs’ actions in anything other than religious terms. As he puts it with characteristic
pith and force:“Not to take such people [martyrs] on their own terms fails utterly to comprehend them, the character of their actions and the basis of their

470

BY SIMON DITCHFIELD

471

lives” ( p. 8) and later:“If we do not ‘get’ martyrdom, it is because we do not ‘get’
the martyrs’ religiosity” ( p. 101).
It is not to denigrate in any way Gregory’s considerable achievement to say
that the originality of his book lies perhaps not so much in its parts—centered
on his detailed and invariably illuminating accounts of the martyrological traditions of the Protestant, Anabaptist, and Roman Catholic confessions (although
that pertaining to the second has surely not received such a perceptive and engaging treatment in English), but rather in its whole—a cross-confessional comparative approach underpinned by the intellectual energy and commitment to
consider the “voluminous rancor of sixteenth-century controversialists [as] . . .
evidence to be understood” ( p. 12), rather than as undigestible prejudice to be
dismissively explained away. (In this respect, his command of scripture and sensitivity to biblical quotation is particularly impressive and appropriate.) Gregory
also reveals himself to be a fine sometime student of the late Heiko Oberman,
not only in his commitment to understand before presuming to interpret, but
also through his provision of an excellent chapter on the late medieval context.
“Just as the Reformation did not emerge ex nihilo with Luther, the sixteenthcentury Renaissance of Christian martyrdom did not come from nowhere” ( p.
31). This enables us to understand the apparent paradox of the thorough integration of martyr saints in the spiritual life in a period when actual martyrdoms
were conspicuous by their almost complete absence. Here Gregory makes deft
use of an excellent choice of illustrations to underline the degree to which martyrs were thoroughly integrated into the cult of saints during this period—for
example, of the fourteen “Holy Helpers” only St. Giles was not a martyr. He also
shows us how the values and practices of the ars moriendi were directly relevant to martyrdom. This leads him to conclude with the richly resonant sentence that positively invites direct quotation:“The Reformation would arrive in
a Christendom not devoid of martyrdom, but replete with its possibility”( p. 73).
Before considering the three cultures of martyrdom which form the focus of
his study (chapters 5, 6, and 7), Gregory provides the reader with a ‘crashcourse’ in critical empathy that comes as close as is historically possible to getting us inside the heads of the persecutors and the persecuted. These two
chapters are entitled, with brutal clarity:“The Willingness to Kill” and “The Willingness to Die.” In the former he unsparingly dissects “the duty of intolerance”
felt by his protagonists, a sense of duty which, as Gregory shows in the cases of
Mary Tudor and Philip II, was often pursued in the conscious face of their political self-interest. In the latter chapter, the author takes head on historians who
have tried to explain the behavior of martyrs in secular terms, rather than the
martyrs’ own. Although I am persuaded by much of the arguments Gregory deploys in his bravura polemic against “the poverty of [secular] theory,” I still do
have a fundamental problem with his wholesale dismissal of alternative, secular
approaches, which he sometimes comes dangerously close to caricaturing.This
is because we are left with the category of ‘belief,’ which ultimately remains a
given rather than a concept that itself needs to be analyzed. Gregory’s antipathy
to viewing religion as a cultural system whose protagonists ‘act out’their scripts

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REVIEW ESSAY: MARTYRS ARE GOOD TO THINK WITH

and his emphasis on the irreducible voluntarist bedrock of faith certainly enables him to provide an ‘internalist’ account of martyrdom that offers many
fresh insights, but it nonetheless leaves us with the circular assertion: martyrs
believed because they believed. Maybe that is as far as one can go, but given the
book’s immense erudition and the author’s impressively wide range of reference, I would have been very interested to see what Gregory might have made
of the work of anthropologists such as Rodney Needham, whose classic study
Belief, Language and Experience (1972) still has much to teach historians of
Christianity.
A fundamental strength of Gregory’s account of the Protestant, Anabaptist,
and Catholic traditions of martyrology is his success at making connections at
every opportunity with the wider dynamics of devotion that nourished these
communities of belief. For unlike Durkheim’s solitary suicides, martyrs were
not only martyrs in the eyes of other people, but were also sustained by networks of supporters whilst alive and their memories perpetuated by their coreligionists in written, oral, and sung traditions after they had been martyred.
While discussion of the Protestant tradition necessarily focuses on the quartet
of Ludwig Rabus, Jean Crespin, Adriaen Cornelius van Haemstede, and John
Foxe and on the subtle elucidation of their common agenda—matryrology as a
fulfillment of history and demonstration of the consonance between the Reformed churches and their Apostolic model, Gregory’s superbly nuanced treatment of the decidedly more fragmented and elusive Anabaptist tradition reveals
a fascinating and dangerous world in which:“Even to ponder becoming an Anabaptist was, ipso facto, to think about martyrdom” ( p. 198). Alive to the divergent traditions within Anabaptism, he nevertheless paints a coherent and
compelling picture in which intense apocalyptic expectations and an almost
exclusive biblicism did not inspire the writing of church history but instead encouraged a vibrant martyrological tradition that made extensive use of songs
and oral testimony. Interestingly, the revival of Roman Catholic martyrdom was
less straightforward than might have been supposed. The renaissance of martyrdom was initially perplexing because the Church had flourished for centuries without it. Nevertheless, as Gregory convincingly argues, while perhaps
needing martyrdom least at the start of the sixteenth century, devout Roman
Catholics probably desired martyrdom more than either Protestants or Anabaptists by its close—a change undoubtedly influenced by the realization that the
Protestant/Catholic struggle was no mere skirmish but a battle of lasting significance, by the Paleo-Christian revival centered on Rome as ‘Martyr Central,’ and
by missionary work in a global context. (This last phenomenon has been recently further elucidated, within an admittedly narrower context, by Gian Carlo
Roscioni in his suggestive study: Il desiderio delle Indie: storie, sogni e fughe di
giovani gesuiti italiani [Turin: Einaudi, 2001]).
Not content to provide a ‘mere’ survey and consonant with his bold methodological credo adumbrated at the start of his book, Gregory brings his study to
a close with two highly suggestive chapters, which collectively provide a rich
agenda for future research. The first (chapter 8) examines the important rela-

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tionship between martyrology and anti-martyrology.“Awareness of false martyrs
shadowed the celebration of Catholic martyrdom” ( p. 318). As distinct from
anti-heretical literature, anti-martyrology was a new genre that had been created by the Catholic controversialist Nicholas Harpsfield. He built upon St. Augustine’s dictum “not the punishment, but the cause, makes the martyr”in order
to assert that to be a true martyr, one must be martyred for the true faith. Accordingly, Harpsfield argued that many of John Foxe’s martyrs are in fact criminals (such as Sir John Oldcastle). Nevertheless, Foxe was in fundamental
agreement with Harpsfield in that for both martyrdom had become a mark of
the True Church and that, for both, doctrinal rectitude was a necessary precondition for genuine martyrdom:“. . . genuine martyrs were discernible only by
their doctrines, not their deeds; only by their convictions, not their comportment” ( p. 329).
In his conclusion,Gregory offers a brilliant restatement and elaboration of his
introductory comments on the necessity for an ‘internalist’ model of interpretation of martyrdom in early modern culture,which tries to understand the protagonists’ behavior with primary reference to their own values and in terms
they would have understood. In a mordantly witty section Gregory sketches
with Swiftian aplomb the anachronistic absurdity committed by those who
suppose that religious toleration would have somehow been a solution to the
doctrinal disputes of the Reformation era. In its place he restates the fundamental importance of the need for historians of the Reformation and CounterReformation to integrate the study of doctrine and spirituality with the social
history of the period.“The act of martyrdom makes no sense whatsoever unless
we take religion seriously, on the terms of people who were willing to die for
their convictions. When we do, the intelligibility of martyrdom hits us like a
hammer” ( p. 350). This reader can only heartily concur and confess that he is
still reeling.
University of York

BOOK REVIEWS

General and Miscellaneous
Women Preachers and Prophets through Two Millennia of Christianity.
Edited by Beverly Mayne Kienzle and Pamela J. Walker. (Berkeley: University of California Press. 1998. Pp. xxii, 362. $17.95 paperback.)
In their preface to Women Preachers and Prophets the editors,Beverly Kienzle and Pamela Walker, describe the book as an exploration of “the diverse
voices of Christian women who claimed the authority to preach and prophesy
and . . . their relationship to broader Christian communities from the second
century to the twentieth” (p. xv). The rationale is to illustrate how a narrow definition of the preaching office, and of who has the right to exercise it, has been
used throughout Christian history to undermine certain types of religious discourse. “The voice of women, saddled with accusations of theological and biological inferiority,” write Kienzle and Walker,“have been especially constrained
and delegitimized” (p. xiv). Women Preachers and Prophets is an effort to
show that, despite centuries of prohibition, Christian women have indeed
preached, either by claiming authority for themselves as prophets inspired
directly of God or as preachers by another name who express themselves in
song, in letters, and as teachers in more private settings.
This project is pursued through seventeen separate essays, the first ten of
which treat the period stretching from the days of early Christianity to the Reformation. Particularly well placed here is Katherine Ludwig Jansen’s essay on
“Maria Magdalena: Apostola apostolrum,” which serves to connect the essays
on the early Church to those that deal with preaching in the medieval period.
Jansen argues that the contradictory medieval reactions to the reports of the
Magdalene’s preaching,which tended to see Mary as the exception who proved
the rule, makes her paradigmatic of the ambiguous response women could expect: even if hailed as persuasive catechists and evangelizers, women would
have to weather doubts about the propriety of their actual engaging in such activities. Anne Breton’s essay “The Voice of Good Women” picks up the thread by
underscoring a point of divergence between the Cathars and the orthodox
Church that has received less attention than it deserves, namely, that women
apparently wielded much greater pastoral authority within the Cathar community than they could amongst Catholics.“Prophecy and Song” by Carolyn Muessig, although a bit undeveloped, has another interesting observation to share:
that medieval women who would never aspire to formal preaching oftimes

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turned to singing as a medium by which to communicate religious instruction,
and particularly those things they claimed as prophetic insights.
The eight essays that complete the volume examine the period from the Reformation to the twentieth century. Two are devoted to the place of women in
the Protestant Reformation and in the Catholic response, respectively. Edith
Wilks Dolnikowski investigates John Foxe’s use of stories about Protestant lay
women who proclaimed their faith publicly to impress upon his followers the
importance of reading the Gospel in the vernacular, while Linda Lierheimer
traces the early history of the Ursuline Sisters to show how the Catholic
Church in its hour of greatest need allowed a new female teaching order to experiment with new models of public activity for women that ever more closely
approximated preaching.Another two essays,those by Peter Vogt on the Moravian
Movement and by Phyllis Mack on British Quakerism, examine two eighteenthcentury religious communities that gave women a prominent rôle. The nineteenth and twentieth centuries are represented in the final four essays, which
treat topics ranging from the Salvation Army to black Spiritual churches in the
southern United States to the women’s suffrage movement in England.
Women Preachers and Prophets succeeds in rising to the challenge it set itself when promising to cover two thousand years of women’s participation in
preaching the gospel: the essays,although focusing upon particular moments in
that history, nevertheless provide a good sense of the perennial questions and
the developmental lines the editors hoped to highlight. The juxtaposition of
the lives of women who taught and coped with similar limitations in different
times and places is thought-provoking in the patterns it suggests. The volume is
a bit less successful, however, in acquitting itself of the charge of being an
agenda-driven exercise rather too tied to the vocabulary of “patriarchal historiography,” “delegitimization,” and “élite sources.” The editors also overstate their
case when claiming that all the contributors to the volume take an interdisciplinary approach to their topics and that all the essays break new ground. Still,
the book as a whole is an important contribution to the history of preaching—
and not just women’s preaching, although clearly it is that—but to the history
of teaching and communication within the Christian tradition.
M. MICHÈLE MULCHAHEY
Fordham University

Witnesses for Christ: Orthodox Christian Neomartyrs of the Ottoman Period,
1437–1860. By Nomikos Michael Vaporis. (Crestwood, New York: St.
Vladimir’s Seminary Press. 2000. Pp xiv, 377. $18.95 paperback.)
As the Ottoman Empire expanded, more and more Orthodox Christians became the subjects of the sultans. For the most part, officials of the Empire were
content to allow the Christian population the freedom to practice their religion
so long as they paid their taxes. They also had to be willing to live as secondclass citizens throughout their lives.

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Islamic law forbids forced conversions, but at certain times and places, usually when the Empire was in distress,Turkish authorities gave vent to their frustrations, becoming persecutors, much as in the manner of ancient Rome. The
Orthodox were arrested on a variety of charges. The most serious was that of
having made a profession of faith in Islam, and now deciding to retract it.
Women who spurned Muslim suitors were in a very precarious situation.
Hauled before a Muslim court, the unfortunate victim was given the opportunity of returning to Islam or facing capital punishment. Before execution,
which was always in some public place, the accused usually had to endure an
exquisite array of tortures.
The author has gathered the stories of the last days of these men and women,
the neomartyrs, as an inspiration, as well as an historical account. There are approximately 200 of them in this volume, grouped according to the century in
which they lived. The majority come from the Balkans, but others were martyred in Southwest Asia and Egypt. A few accounts are of Muslim converts to
the Orthodox faith.
Several records of the neomartyrs’ trials run for three or four pages of text,
and offer details of the contest between the accused and the judge. Others contain only a few lines. Certainly not every martyr had a biographer to record the
events surrounding his or her death. The trials follow a certain pattern. The accused is arrested and charged with a crime against Islam, and then brought before an official who investigates the truth of the matter. The judge promises
great rewards for apostasy, but the Christian remains firm. The refusal merits
execution.
One of the remarkable aspects of this martyrology is the broad spectrum
from which the neomartyrs were drawn. Although many were clerics or monks,
as might be expected, others are George the Tailor, Elias the Barber, John the
Boatman, or Helen Bekiaris, an adolescent. These were people in ordinary occupations, men and women, who probably had very little formal education in
Orthodoxy, but whose attachment to Christ led them to choose a painful death
rather than abandon their religion.
Unfortunately, Father Vaporis died before the publication of his collection. In
it he has left a living testimony of his own faith. The neomartyrs are not well
known to western Christians, but this book will make it possible to learn of
their heroism and devotion to their faith.
CHARLES A. FRAZEE
Episcopal Theological School at Claremont

Liturgia e società nel Novecento. Percorsi del movimento liturgico di fronte
ai processi di secolarizzazione. By Maria Paiano. [Biblioteca di Storia Sociale, 28.] (Rome: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura. 2000. Pp. 314. Lire
68.000.)

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This comprehensive and insightful work fills a long-standing void in studies
of the liturgical movement of the twentieth century. Paiano’s thesis is that the
reform of the liturgy after Vatican Council II can only be fully appreciated when
set against the concern of church leaders and theologians beginning at the end
of the last century to revitalize the Church and in the process to “use” the
liturgy as a powerful force against defects in society at large, in particular “secularization.” The author helpfully summarizes the breadth of the thought of
numerous (mostly European) authors from their original languages.
The book complements Paiano’s doctoral thesis on the history of the redactions of the Liturgy Constitution of Vatican II from the University of Bologna
(1995) and articles in journals such as Cristianesimo nella storia and Studi
Storici. The book’s four chapters deal with liturgy and the re-establishment of
Christianity in society at the beginning of the twentieth century (one), debates
about the liturgy’s role in civil society between the world wars (two), the emphasis on the missionary dimension of the liturgy after World War II (three),and
ways of interpreting the Vatican II reform in light of schools of thought within
the “liturgical movement” and preconciliar debates about its contents (four).
(This last chapter should be studied along with the articles by M. Lamberights
and R. Kaczynski on the Liturgy Constitution in Volumes 2 and 3 of the History
of Vatican II edited by G. Alberigo and J. Komonchak for necessary and important insight about the Vatican II liturgical reform.)
Historians of the modern liturgy will benefit from the author’s judicious
weaving of historical and cultural themes with the pre-eminent theological
bases supporting the reform. They will also benefit from her distinguishing
among currents (e.g., French, German, Belgian, Austrian, and Italian) within
what is often too glibly termed a “European” phenomenon. Not surprisingly the
author proceeds to frame the ecclesiology underscoring much of the literature
of the liturgical movement within the assessment of many Catholic authors of
the time that society itself needed revitalization and rechristianization with
liturgy as a chief means toward this end. Liturgical theologians will be reminded of the importance of the establishment of the Feast of Christ the King
in Quas primas (1925) and popular participation in the “offertory” rites of the
pre-Vatican II Mass even though these do not withstand the legitimate critiques
of contemporary liturgists about the triumphalism of Christ the King and the
diminished significance now given to the rite of presenting gifts and preparing
the altar at Mass. Such examples indicate the proper respect the author gives to
the steps taken before Vatican II to make the liturgy a center of church and societal life (e.g., vernacular celebration of many sacraments).
Another contribution of this work is the way the author places well-known
authors and movements (e.g., scouting and priest workers) in their historical
and social context, thereby indicating that the move for the reform of the
liturgy was really nothing short of a renewal of the Church as a leaven in a beleaguered society in desperate need of the challenge and power of the gospel.

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Thoroughly researched and documented, this work will stand as a standard and
measure for others’ work in the field.
KEVIN W. IRWIN
The Catholic University of America

The Catholic Church in the Twentieth Century: Renewing and Reimaging the
City of God. Edited by John Deedy. (Collegeville, Minnesota: A Michael
Glazier. Book. The Liturgical Press. 2000. Pp. xvi, 244. $24.95.)
For how long must “the past” be the past before we study it? During the
twentieth century significant changes certainly occurred within Roman Catholicism. In his introduction, John Deedy points specifically to two: the Second Vatican Council and the election of Pope John Paul II, the first non-Italian
pope since 1522. Both transformed the Church; the Council did so by shedding
the Church’s dogmatic mustiness, and John Paul II has done so by contributing
to Communism’s downfall and “an ideological quickening of Catholic presence
in the wider world” (p. x). Edited by Deedy, The Catholic Church in the Twentieth Century seeks to understand the century just past as a means for perceiving the Church’s future growth. “The book’s essential purpose is to look back,
to trace and to weigh the events and developments in the century just closed
out” (p. xv). Many of Deedy’s contributors either participated in,or contributed
significant scholarship to, the history they describe. This lends a personal element to the book, and elevates it beyond simply blessing (or perhaps condemning) the immediate past.
The book focuses particularly on the Catholic Church in the United States.
The opening essay, however, features an overview by Gerald Fogarty, S.J., of the
papacy’s transformation in the twentieth century (p. 1–20). Clergy and religious sisters and brothers receive attention in separate essays,as does the American Catholic family. Others consider the experiences of American Catholic
women and Catholic youth, Catholic education, and ecumenism. John Cort,
founder of the Association of Catholic Trade Unionists (pp. 149–168), writes
the essay on Catholic social justice. “Church and culture” issues figure prominently toward the book’s end, studying church and state issues, the Church’s estrangement from the arts, and the Church’s relationship with money. The last
piece comes from Robert Morneau, auxiliary bishop of Green Bay, who studies
“five witnesses of discipleship: Thomas Merton, Pope John XXIII, Dorothy Day,
Flannery O’Connor, and John Courtney Murray” (p. 217).
This anthology possesses a slight,but noticeable,pastoral tone. It discusses issues familiar to clergy, religious educators, spiritual guides, and those trained in
religious studies and American Catholic history. Historiographically, the essays
vary widely. Some are casual with personal reminiscences (e.g., that of John
Haughey, S.J., pp. 169–182), while others exhibit formal scholarship (e.g., Fogarty’s essay on the papacy, and Catherine Lupori and Mary Jo Richardson’s piece

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on American Catholic women,pp. 73–88). Such diversity illustrates the Church’s
universality, but it might also frustrate those seeking uniform historical objectivity. A certain honesty and optimism pervade The Catholic Church in the Twentieth Century.The twentieth century saw new roles opened for women,including
three being named doctors of the Church (p. 81). Nevertheless, institutional sexism remains a significant impediment to many (pp. 68, 88). David O’Brien’s work
on Catholic youth suggests that the “evangelical thesis,” which emphasizes individual religious experiences for Catholics,might be transformed into a retelling of
American Catholic history that focuses on justice and liberation (p. 98).
The Catholic Church in the Twentieth Century should appeal to several audiences. The pastoral tone recommends itself to readers interested in understanding those issues. With the right preparation, college undergraduates could
profit from reading it for history as well as theology or spirituality classes. Graduate students and researchers may question some conclusions, but might also
appreciate essays, such as Cort’s, written by those who actually “made” the history. The day will come when this book loses its immediacy, but the process of
historical understanding that it initiates will only quicken.
JEFFREY MARLETT
The College of Saint Rose
Albany, New York

Ancient
The Making of a Christian Empire: Lactantius & Rome. By Elizabeth DePalma
Digeser. (Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press. 2000. Pp. xvii, 199.
$39.95.)
Elizabeth DePalma Digeser, a recent Ph.D. in ancient history from the University of California, Santa Barbara (1996), and a current assistant professor for
Roman history at McGill University in Montreal, proffers an interesting and controversial analysis of the Divine Institutes of Lactantius in The Making of a
Christian Empire. Historians of early Christianity will welcome this detailed
treatment of the Institutes of Lactantius in the English language, and will appreciate this thorough assessment of that work within the religious debates of
the fourth century. However, as is often the case with dissertations expanded
into first books, the author overlooks some important questions and sources,
and pushes her thesis further than the evidence allows.
The book begins with a prologue set in Nicomedia during the winter of
302–03. Digeser posits that the pagan intellectuals Hierocles and Porphyry
were giving public lectures in support of the new tetrarchic political theology,
and assailing the Christians for failing to support the new order and “refusing
the guidance of emperors, jurists, and philosophers.” She is on firm ground in
assuming that Lactantius was in Nicomedia at that time, and that pagan literary

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attacks and the start of the “Great Persecution” by Diocletian and Galerius that
winter inspired him to compose the Divine Institutes as an answer to the critics of Christianity and as “a manifesto for political and religious reform” (pp.
1–17). Yet, her identification of Porphyry with the unnamed philosopher mentioned in Book V of the Divine Institutes, and his On Philosophy from Oracles
as the work read in Nicomedia that winter will not be acceptable to all. There
is no evidence for a journey by Porphyry to the east at that time, and many
scholars, including Timothy Barnes, feel that the work on Oracles was written
much earlier and that his great tome Against the Christians was composed
nearer to the start of the “Great Persecution.”
The bulk of the book is divided into five chapters in which the author details
Lactantius’ criticisms of Diocletian’s policies and his later influence on Constantine’s policies. The first three chapters are the strongest. In these Digeser
shows how Lactantius attacked the political, legal, and philosophical underpinnings of Diocletian’s tetrarchic system, stigmatizing them as tyrannical, unjust,
and irrational innovations from earlier Roman traditions. She relates how Lactantius presented Christians as deserving of toleration because their beliefs
were compatible with the more legitimate principatial, Ciceronian, and Neoplatonic concepts of rule, law, and philosophy (pp. 19–90). In Chapter IV she
expands upon her thesis that Porphyry was the anonymous philosopher
against whom Lactantius was writing the Divine Institutes, and that many of
the arguments in it were meant to refute the contentions in the On Philosophy
from Oracles that Christians did not deserve tolerance—her arguments are
well presented, but not entirely convincing (pp. 91–114).
In Chapter V Digeser posits that Constantine the Great accepted the arguments of Lactantius, and used them as the basis to build a religious policy of
concord in which his Christian Empire “was a palace for Christians, a home for
monotheists, and a school for polytheists” (pp. 115–143). As this reviewer has
argued before her—Journal of Religious History, XVII (1993), 274ff., and
Catholic Historical Review, LXXXI (1995), 327ff.—she is certainly correct in
stressing that Constantine studied the Divine Institutes and employed some of
its ideas in his own religious writings and public policies. However, she has
probably placed Constantine’s study with Lactantius too early in his reign, and
overemphasized his influence on his later policies. She maintains that Constantine studied with Lactantius at Trier between 310 and 313. The link between
Lactantius and Constantine was the latter’s first son Crispus, who the ancient
sources relate was tutored by Lactantius in Gaul. However, Digeser never even
raises the question of how and when Crispus, who was certainly born and
raised in the east, got to Trier. The earliest likely time for his arrival there was
the autumn of 313. Likewise, Constantine was still a pagan, and largely absent
from Trier in the years 310–313. It was only after his conversion to Christianity
in 312, his return to Trier from Italy in 313, and the arrival of his son at the same
time in Gaul that Constantine had the time and interest to hear the lectures and
read the writings of Lactantius—who himself probably only arrived at Trier

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in 313. Following the line of her mentor, Harold Drake, Digeser also posits that
the public religious policies of Constantine barely advanced from the general
toleration of the “Edict of Milan” early in his reign (313) to a vague syncretistic
monotheism late in his reign (324–337). To do this, she has to misunderstand
numismatic data, misread pagan sources, and overlook architectural evidence
for a growing sense of Christian missionary zeal in the public religious policies
of Constantine as his reign wore on. Yet, even with these caveats concerning
chronology and emphasis, this reviewer recommends Elizabeth Digeser’s The
Making of a Christian Empire: Lactantius & Rome to scholars of Late Antiquity and Latin Patristics. Her book will help us understand and appreciate the
great work of Lactantius in new and challenging ways.
CHARLES M. ODAHL
Boise State University, Idaho

Paulinus of Nola: Life, Letters, and Poems. By Dennis E. Trout. [The Transformation of the Classical Heritage, Vol. XXVII.] (Berkeley: University of California Press. 1999. Pp. xx, 326. $55.00.)
Paulinus of Nola (ca. 352/3–431) rejected his senatorial career in 394 to live
the ascetic life in Campania, far from his Gallic homeland. From 395 in Nola he
orchestrated the cult of a rather dim confessor Felix, documented in fourteen
poetic celebrations of his feast. Paulinus’ correspondents included Alypius, Augustine, Sulpicius Severus, and Victricius of Rouen.
There are authors for whom plausible biographies can be written (Augustine,
Cicero, Ambrose, and Jerome), but Paulinus is not one of these. Religious verse
and friendship epistles form a weak framework for the enterprise. A biography
(or autobiography) and a sufficiency either of introspective intellectual or controversial writing, or a working correspondence would be preferable. Though
three poems date from the time in Bordeaux and Aquitaine (383–389), and
writings document the years 393–408, Paulinus was largely “offline” otherwise
(408–431).
This is a hopeful book: much of “The Early Years” is speculation. Amidst
Brownian cadences (“diurnal shifts of sunlight,” “delicate mechanisms of influence and authority,”“the weight of a family’s past . . . rested heavily on its sons,”
“thick and densely cross-referenced palimpsest”) appear countless “should
haves” and “surelys” that signal the absence of connective tissue. “Otium Ruris
to Contemptus Mundi” begins with background not directly related to Paulinus:
ascetic Controversies at Rome and Priscillianism in Gaul. The connections
drawn between the Bellerophontian misanthropy Paulinus was accused of by
Ausonius and Priscillianist social isolation in coteries or cabals (pp. 72–75; 125)
are improbable. But Trout notes a telling contrast between association with the

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insider Ausonius and the outsider Martin (p. 63) and the fact that renunciation
mattered more to Paulinus than baptism (pp. 66–67). “Renunciation and Ordination” shows Paulinus declaring the Muses names without power, but not
reducing pagan literary allusion (p. 86). The discussion of the famous correspondence with Ausonius is unremarkable, but there is an interesting analysis
(pp. 96–100) of Jerome’s response both to Carm. 6 and to Paulinus’ messenger
Vigilantius.
“Paulinus at Nola” argues that Paulinus’ lost panegyric on Theodosius was
written to prepare the poet’s move to Italy. But both it and the lost “Adversus
paganos” (Aug. Ep. 31.8, [395/6] written by Paulinus should be considered in
light of the first book of Prudentius’ Contra Symnachum, which unites Theodosian panegyric with anti-pagan propaganda, and also, perhaps with C. 19.
Much of the rest of the chapter entails subjunctives surrounding the unattested, viz., Paulinus’ views on virginity (p. 127), “Salvation economics” shows
Paulinus’ preference for Dives and Lazarus to Mt. 19:16–24 (p. 133). But it could
have defined more rigorously the distinction between divestment of riches and
investment in alms or the Church. But through combining analysis of letters of
advice to correspondents seeking to follow the ascetic life and descriptions of
Paulinus’ own building-program,Trout convincingly shows him having his cake
and eating it. He emerges (no surprise) not as a hard-line monastic spiritual, but
as someone with a valid Christian usus for senatorial wealth.“The Cult of St. Felix” analyzes what a saint could do for an aristocratic impresario. Trout discusses (pp. 168–169) the merger of Felix and Paulinus in the Natalicia, paying
particular attention to those poems (C. 18 and 20) that sympathetically and
sometimes humorously treat rustic piety and Ananias-like cautionary tales about
promised sacrifices of hogs and heifers. (But what about C. 20.437–438 alluding
to 1 Cor. 9:9 and Endelechius’ De Mortibus boum?) The implication (pp. 186
and 191) that Ep. 49 uses Felix to broker a case at Rome is, however, far-fetched:
the saint is never mentioned. “Paulinus and Latin Christian Culture” examines
theological and literary relations with Augustine. Severus, Jerome, and Rufinus.
The book ends with the papal schism of 418/19,Paulinus’relations to Lérins,and
his death in 431.
Paulinus’“Life and Times” provide a readable window onto the late fourth to
early fifth century. Themes and affairs are pursued in chronological sequence
that sometimes detracts from comprehensive treatment (C. 25 should be mentioned on p. 127). In literary matters, Trout rarely argues from the wording of a
text (as opposed to its narrative). This is not a detailed treatment of Paulinus’
prose and verse. Conflicting scholarship is cited and the fence sat on (p. 39 n.
99; p. 41 nn. 112–114; p. 102 n. 133; p. 110 n. 29; p. 117 n. 72), troublesome material at arm’s length. An exception is Appendix B on Paulinus’ cursus honorum, where Trout convincingly suggests that the fasciger honos of C. 21 is the
suffect consulship and the bis ternae fasces his provincial governorship. The famous Paulinus has too often, paradoxically, been trivialized as the poster boy of
senatorial ascetic conversion. It is precisely his second-tier and middle-brow

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status that makes him an interesting (though tough) subject for a non-literary
study.
DANUTA SHANZER
Cornell University

John Cassian: The Conferences. Translated and annotated by Boniface Ramsey,
O.P. [Ancient Christian Writers, No. 57.] (New York and Mahwah, New Jersey: Paulist Press. 1997. Pp. xv, 886. $39.95.)
“Ancient Christian Writers” No. 57 presents the three series of John Cassian’s
Conferences in a single volume translated and annotated by Boniface Ramsey,
O.P., who, in addition, provides a general introduction to the author and his
work; introductions, textual references, and notes for each preface and conference; indices of scriptural and non-scriptural citations and allusions, of nonscriptural persons, of place names; and a glossary. Less helpfully, the text lacks a
subject index; there is no indication in the conferences that endnotes on particular passages exist; lengthy internal bibliographic notes in the introductions
disrupt the narrative flow.
Ramsey does an excellent job of faithfully translating Cassian’s long, lively,
Latin sentences into a distinctly readable English prose that is pleasingly like
Cassian’s own, of rendering technical monastic and ascetic terms consistently,
and of presenting the scriptural citations exactly. He does not, however, distinguish Cassian’s use of arbitrium and voluntas, or faithfully reproduce plural
uses of voluntas. By habitually rendering all of these “will,” Ramsey blurs important distinctions in Cassian’s theological anthropology and doctrine of
grace. Access to the latter is made even more difficult by the mistranslation of a
problematic sentence in 13.8.4, which Ramsey also discusses in his commentary:“When [God] notices good will making an appearance in us, he at once enlightens and encourages it and spurs it on to salvation, giving increase to what
he himself planted and saw arise from our own efforts.” The italics translate
“ . . . ei quam vel ipse plantavit vel nostro conatu viderit emersisse”—literally: “to what either he himself planted or has seen to have arisen from our effort.” Because accusations of Semi-Pelagianism have always hung over Cassian,
these defects constitute a particular disservice.
The general introduction surveys Cassian’s life and discusses the conferences:
dating, historicity, literary form, structure, contents, and predominant themes.
Introductions to individual conferences identify speakers, summarize contents,
and, occasionally, offer criticisms. The notes contain much useful information,
chief among which are citations of similar themes and images in other ancient
works, both pagan and Christian.
Whereas Ramsey’s translation is quite successful, his commentary fails to do
justice to Cassian’s depth and nuance. Two difficulties predominate. Ramsey

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mistakenly presents the Conferences as historical conversations which Cassian
later elaborated and synthesized, rather than as literary vehicles specifically
crafted by Cassian to convey Egyptian wisdom to Gallic monks. Thus many of
the literary devices which function as essential elements of Cassian’s pedagogy
escape Ramsey’s notice. Secondly, a faulty understanding of the role Cassian accords discretion directs the commentary. Ramsey describes discretion both as
a conflation of tradition, manifestation of thoughts, submission and discretion,
and as a virtue which is practiced through tradition, manifestation of thoughts,
and submission. He holds that Cassian denies a monk can ever acquire a capacity for independent discernment. In actual fact, Cassian teaches that a monk is
trained in discretion (which approximates prudence) through the other named
practices, and that one who humbly submits to proper monastic formation will
learn discretion so as to become free to follow its dictates in relative independence.
Despite the shortcomings, this is a very good book. Ramsey deserves high
praise for giving us one of our finest monastic writers and spiritual theologians
in reliable and readable English.
LAUREN PRISTAS
Caldwell College
Caldwell, New Jersey

Medieval
The Bishop’s Palace: Architecture and Authority in Medieval Italy. By Maureen C. Miller. (Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press. 2000. Pp. xvii,
307. $49.95.)
This significant book is the first history of the medieval episcopal residence
in central and northern Italy. Remarkable for its geographical scope and chronological sweep, the book follows the development of this structure to “reexamine two important historiographical transformations: the birth of the communes
and the reform of the medieval church” (p. 2). Inspired by recent approaches
in the area of cultural studies that explore how space and material life project
and convey notions of power, it describes the ways by which bishops used visual culture to affirm and assert their place within the late ancient and medieval
city. It is an impressive work of comparative and interdisciplinary scholarship,
and it places the episcopal residence at the center of political and cultural
changes within the city before 1300.
There are three principal arguments, developed in two sections of three
chapters each: Office/Space (The Architectural Expression of Episcopal Authority, 300–1300) and Culture/Power (The Character of Space and the Meaning of Actions). Opposing previous perspectives that have tended to minimize
episcopal involvement in the emergence of communes, the author argues that

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the prelates played a positive and decisively important role in their development. Episcopal lordship within the city not only constituted a “viable political
alternative” (p. 123), but the palace was the setting in which many urban officials received necessary training in governance and were exposed to important
examples of “lordly practice” (p. 97). Furthermore, from the eleventh century,
the palace was also a primary influence on the development of early communal
public architecture. Second, the author finds in the architecture and décor of
the palaces unique post-reform clerical cultural traditions that developed quite
separately from secular and papal influences. Third, as bishops were losing political and economic power to the nascent communes in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, the author argues, they relied increasingly on their “cultural
and spiritual presence” (p. 5) to shore up their declining fortunes. As they
sought to assert themselves in matters of faith, they became increasingly repressive with regards to dissent. In contrast to R. I. Moore’s views, she concludes that repression was therefore connected to the loss of power, not to its
acquisition.
Relying on archaeological evidence, archival research, and an extensive
knowledge of secondary sources, the book follows the history of the residence
through three distinct historical phases in the three chapters of Part One. In
Late Antiquity (300–750), the episcopium resembled the domestic residence of
the late ancient Roman elite and was usually located next to the urban cathedral. In the Early Middle Ages (750–1050), the episcopal residence (the Domus
Sanctae Ecclesiae) resembled a two-story fortified sanctuary, attached to towers and separated physically from the cathedral and its clergy. Its emergence coincided with the acquisition of public rights and powers by bishops and
therefore, unsurprisingly, resembled the residences of contemporary lay lords.
The examination of the episcopal residence in the Central Middle Ages (1050–
1300), the palatium or palace, is the subject of the final chapter of Part One
and all of Part Two. The word “palace” (palatium) appeared for the first time in
surviving sources at Parma (1020) and then spread throughout northern Italy
over the next two centuries. Charged with clear imperial connotations, its appearance occurred as there emerged “local challenges to the bishop’s authority,
usually linked to the emergence of the commune” (p. 95). Part Two explores
the relationship between the palace and the configuration of urban space, the
function of the bishop’s hall, and the reasons for the addition of episcopal
chapels.
This book is a major contribution to the literature about medieval urban architecture and the definitive study of the episcopal palace. The figures created
by C. Ingersoll are first rate. Furthermore, the arguments regarding the existence of a “distinctive clerical culture” and the role of episcopal palaces as
precommunal “training centers” for the lay urban elite are persuasive. Also
compelling are observations that the lexical change from domus to palatium
coincided with local challenges to episcopal power and that the physical expansion of palaces in the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries occurred as
episcopal leadership was under assault. However, it must be said that these

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threats to the bishops could come from a variety of directions. Opponents
could include the rural nobility, political factions, elite families, rural communes, and urban consuls, depending on the locality. Though often challenged
economically and politically in both city and countryside, bishops were able
gradually and resiliently, again depending on the location and in some cases as
early as the eleventh century, to begin to take full advantage of new opportunities to offset their losses. All in all, by the middle of the thirteenth century, as
Miller makes very clear, the recently expanded episcopal palaces demonstrated
to all that the bishops were still powerful agents of change in the medieval
commune.
GEORGE DAMERON
St. Michael’s College
Colchester, Vermont

The Miracles of St.Artemios: A Collection of Miracle Stories by an Anonymous
Author of Seventh-Century Byzatium. Translated by Virgil S. Crisafulli. Annotated by V. S. Crisafulli and John W. Nesbitt with introduction by J. W.
Nesbitt. Supplemented by a Reprinted Greek Text and an Essay by John F.
Haldon. [The Medieval Mediterranean: Peoples, Economies, and Cultures,
400–1453, Volume 13.] (Leiden: E. J. Brill. 1997. Pp. xxi, 319. $115.50.)
This volume with translation of the miracles of St. Artemios is a most valuable contribution to the study of seventh-century Byzantine life and culture.
The translation not only complements studies on the miracles of the saint and
his cult produced by C. Mango, L. Rydén, A. Dufourcq, and J. Grosdidier de Matons, but also provides the student of Byzantine history and philology with new
perspectives and tools by which to study Byzantine culture. The book is divided
into five sections,beginning with a translator’s preface by Dr. Crisafulli discussing
the internal literary structure of the miracles. An introduction proper follows
by Dr. Nesbitt focusing on the historical and literary tradition surrounding the
saint, as well as evidence regarding his cult site, devotees, and devotional practices. Next, a supplementary essay by Dr. Haldon places in context the miracles
of St. Artemios in relation to contemporary Byzantine society and attitudes. The
main section of the book contains side-by-side the Greek text (reproduced
from the edition of Papadopoulos-Kerameus, Varia Graeca Sacra, St. Petersburg 1909) and an English translation, followed by detailed commentary. The
two introductory sections are accompanied by endnotes and there are a bibliography, an index of Greek words, and a general index.
The translation is scholarly and maintains a masterful balance between reproducing a text closely connected to the original Byzantine Greek, that also
reads very well in English. Joining the edition, corresponding translation, and
commentary in one volume makes this book a useful tool for classroom teaching of Byzantine Greek language and Byzantine history at all levels. The com-

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mentary is extensive and very useful, containing comparisons of grammatical
forms that differ in usage in Classical and Byzantine Greek, and learned discussion of geographical locations, medical practice, dress, occupations, customs,
and beliefs in seventh-century Constantinople and its environs. The volume
aids in piecing together an image of Byzantine urban life and spirituality in the
seventh century and takes its place among studies on the Lives and miracles of
other contemporary (and earlier) saints as Kosmas and Damian, Cyrus and John
of Alexandria, Demetrios of Thessalonica, Therapon, Theodore Tiro, Anastasios
the Persian, and Patapios. The introduction and supplementary essay augment
the translation by offering an examination of the cult of the saint and an analysis of the wider framework of historical trends in Byzantium that supported the
belief system and customs evidenced in the text of the miracles of St. Artemios.
There are two areas in the text where I believe a different interpretation is
needed than the one provided in the translation. (1) Miracle 15, p. 103, line 1:˘
the translation reads “. . . a certain man in voluntary service (’ 
‘  í  ) . . .” I believe this should read “. . . a certain man in free labor service
(as opposed to slave labor) . . .” (2) Miracle 22, p. 133, line 4 from the bottom of
the page: “From time to time he would dress in such a way ( `  ì ’´ 
‘´ ’ó).” I believe the translation should be emended to “At no time
before has he dressed in such a manner,” reflecting modern Greek usage of the
terms rather than classical.
The Miracles of St. Artemios is a fine contribution to the study of Byzantine
language and culture and should enjoy wide readership among scholars and
students alike.
STAMATINA MCGRATH
George Mason University

Light in the Dark Ages: The Rise and Fall of San Vincenzo al Volturno. By
Richard Hodges. (Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press. 1997. Pp. xix,
231. $49.95.)
San Vincenzo al Volturno was ’one of the great monastic complexes patronized by Charlemagne. Initially founded in the eighth century by Beneventan
monks from Farfa, San Vincenzo was reconceptualized and rebuilt on a grand
scale by Abbot Joshua, a Frank, in the early ninth, and reached its apex shortly
thereafter. Ransacked and substantially destroyed in an Arab attack in 881, the
abbey was partially rebuilt in the eleventh century, and then demolished and rebuilt anew, fortified, on the opposite side of the Volturno River in the first years
of the twelfth. It was also in the mid-twelfth century that Abbot John wrote the
Chronicon Volturnense, recounting the history of the abbey from its beginnings to his own day.
Our understanding of this important monastery and its meaning for the
broader history of the early Middle Ages is greatly increased by Richard Hodges’

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stimulating study, the result of several decades of intensive excavation of the
site. The starting point for his work has been to reassess Pirenne’s famous thesis on the origins of the Middle Ages through the archaeological data. Hodges’
archaeological experience is extensive, and thus he is able to place the findings
from San Vincenzo within a much broader framework of cultural, social, and
economic meaning that sheds light on a number of significant issues, including
the question of the continuity and discontinuity of the late Roman world.
The book is divided into ten chapters. In the first, Hodges discusses the previous treatments of San Vincenzo and the history of its excavation. His own
work has two aims: to uncover the extent of the ninth-century monastery, and
to identify vestiges of the early medieval villages in the area. Interest in the site
goes back to the late nineteenth century, and earlier excavations by the Benedictine Pantoni for the purpose of rebuilding the monastery had uncovered the
twelfth-century church with ninth-century fragments. The ninth-century crypt
of Abbot Epyphanius was located some distance away, but Pantoni made no attempt to explain why it was set apart from the rest of the abbey, assuming that
this was the original arrangement. It was only later that Hodges realized that the
crypt in fact stood on the original site of the ninth-century monastery itself, and
that the excavation would tell a much more complex story.
After a discussion of the chronicle evidence in Chapter 2, Hodges goes on in
Chapters 3 through 9 to analyze the archaeology of the site, from the Samnite
and Republican Roman remains of the pre-Christian Rochetta plain through the
Lombard foundation and Frankish augmentation of San Vincenzo, the Arab devastation,and the later reconstruction of the abbey. The remains of San Vincenzo
are very rich, providing a wealth of material for art and architectural historians
alike. Among the most valuable evidence is the uncovering of the workshops
that produced this art as well as copious piles of raw and waste materials. In
conjunction with the substantial remains of the crypt, abbatial palace and guest
quarters, refectory, church and chapel, the site reveals a large and lively monastic community.
San Vincenzo reached its height in the first half of the ninth century, when it
became a focus of Carolingian policy in Benevento. It became what Hodges
calls one of the “ideological nodes” of the Carolingian regime. In recent years
the variety and complexity of monastic contributions to the definition of Carolingian culture has become increasingly apparent, and in this context San Vincenzo played a particular role in establishing the royal presence and the clear
hierarchy of authority resulting from Charlemagne’s conquest of Benevento.
The original monastery of the eighth century, built into a late Roman villa, was
modest. With the election of Abbot Joshua the abbey was reconceived, incorporating and reworking the older buildings into a monumental space with definite distinctions of monastic and secular spaces, a distinguished guests’ palace
reflecting the high status of San Vincenzo’s patrons, and an emphasis on the
aristocratic, indeed regal grandeur of the abbot. In this way, the abbey, standing
at a point of high visibility to those passing on pilgrimage or travel, reinforced

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the Carolingian presence in a remote area that was difficult to control. It also
played a substantial role in economic development, as we shall see.
The book’s greatest strengths lie in three areas. First, it provides invaluable
corroboration of the evidence for monasteries such as Centula where the material vestiges are scantier or more suspect. One of the most frequently heard
concerns about Centula, for example, which has cast all of its Carolingian evidence into doubt,is the claim that the monastery housed three hundred monks,
a number that scholars assume to be an exaggeration,given the resources of the
time. Yet the evidence from San Vincenzo’s ninth-century refectory indicate a
capacity for 335 to 340 monks,a number even larger. The sumptuousness of the
decor and extent of the complex are further echoes of the work going on contemporaneously at Centula. The evidence at San Vincenzo is so extensive that
it similarly provides an important counterpoise for evaluating the Carolingian
monastic evidence as a whole.
Second, San Vincenzo provides invaluable information on the question of the
continuity or discontinuity of Roman culture and structures, the staring point
of Hodges’ inquiry. The archaeological evidence for discontinuity is clear: the
contiguous villas and farms of the Roman period were unoccupied by the late
third or fourth century, and remained so throughout the medieval period. San
Vincenzo lay in a frontier territory only sparsely populated with a peasantry insufficient to provide adequate support for the monastery. San Vincenzo had to
obtain its peasantry and resources from elsewhere. It was only in the period of
incastellamento that what Hodges refers to as the rational reorganization of the
territory around the monastery occurred. San Vincenzo’s own process of incastellamento, the foundation of villages to support the monastery in the tenth
century, intentionally forwarded a strategy of economic development and selfprotection that reflected both the commercial revolution and the seigneurial rivalry that followed. The relocation of the monastery in a more protected and
fortified position in the twelfth century, in this sense, was simply the culmination of this strategy.
It is this interface with the region, both immediate and more extended, that
is the third strength of this book and in many ways its greatest interest. While
the development of the immediate environs of the abbey was not a desideratum until the late ninth and tenth centuries, in the years of its greatest power
San Vincenzo developed its wider territories through the foundation of villages
on the coastal plains of Campania and Molise. Although a vehicle of Carolingian
policy, the monastery benefited more from its connections to the Beneventan
aristocracy. Positioned at the northern frontier of the duchy, its artistic character and context were notably Lombard. The duchy was also well positioned
as a buffer between Carolingian and Byzantine territories and both San Vincenzo and Monte Cassino may have anchored Benevento within the Latin orbit
at a time of growing Byzantine power in the south. Most significantly, Benevento benefited from commercial links with the Arabs and from a much wider
Mediterranean network, and San Vincenzo, located on a major trans-European

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highway, thus became “essential to the political harmony and economic evolution of Italy.” Its development of properties along the coast suggests a powerful
role in the commercial activity of Italy as a whole.
These are only some of many insights gained from the excavation of San Vincenzo. The book is engagingly written, unfolding almost with the excitement of
a detective novel as new levels of the monastery’s history are exposed. It is unfortunate that there is little scholarly apparatus for specialists who would like
to go further; there are no notes, and only a rudimentary bibliography. For more
detailed information one must consult the archaeological reports. But these are
minor inconveniences. Richard Hodges has given us a valuable and absorbing
study, a skillful interpretation of the material culture of a major site with major
implications for our understanding of the Early Middle Ages and of the Mediterranean world of which San Vincenzo was a part.
SUSAN A. RABE
North Park University
Chicago, Illinois

Monasticism in North-Western Europe, 800–1200. By Tore Nyberg. (Burlington, Vermont: Ashgate Publishing Co. 2000. Pp. xi, 295. $84.95.)
This book claims to be a “fully integrated synthesis of the origins, spread and
effects of monasticism in Scandinavia,and along the shores of the Baltic and the
North Sea” in the period 800–1200. Many may be rather confused by the title,
because the geographical designation is more often used for another region, as
in The North-West European Campaign 1944–5. The area discussed here is
more conventionally described as Scandinavia and the Baltic, or even Northern
Europe. The author justifies his choice of title by the inclusion of Saxony and
Frisia, areas, the author suggests, which shared many of the characteristics of
Scandinavian monasticism.
Moreover, he argues convincingly that a whole range of influences beyond
the north German shaped Scandinavian monasticism. Odense,which was founded
by monks from Evesham in 1095, was perhaps the most spectacular success of
English influence, but by then Denmark was marked by small monasteries
which seem to have owed their foundation to the growth of the diocesan system and the initiative of individual bishops. By the end of the eleventh century
Denmark was a predominantly, though not entirely, Christian kingdom.
However, one of the themes of this book is that the rest of Scandinavia was
as yet only superficially touched by the new religion. In Sweden the sacrificial
cycle performed every eight or nine years by the king powerfully mobilized
opinion against Christianizing rulers,and may have led to their deaths deep into
the twelfth century. In eleventh-century Norway Selja, c. 1070, was the first
foundation, owing much to the diocese of Durham. In Sweden Vreta was the
first monastery, founded around the year 1100.

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It is interesting that Nyberg suggests that the monastic impulse in the
eleventh century did not come from nearby North Germany because the progress
of monasticism there was virtually contemporaneous. He argues that native
kings and bishops, both powerfully influenced by desire to emulate the “Catholic Core” of Europe, were the primary forces active in creating monastic houses
and there was a creative interaction with monasticism. For kings, fostering
monasteries was a mark of their new Christian role. For bishops, such houses
were important to cater for the range of spiritual experience within the new
religion.
Certainly in no case were monasteries missionary centers,although they could
serve as havens for wandering missionary bishops like Sigafrid at Selja. Alvastra
and Nydala were very important Swedish houses of the early twelfth century,
but they were founded in rich, already Christian areas where they and their
French monks served to consolidate the new religion well away from the dangerous pagan fringes. But the monasticism of the north, as Nyberg describes it,
is rather different from that of the “Catholic Core.”
Monasticism in the north was clearly institutional, and the eremetic tradition
struck no roots there. Communities living by the Rules of St. Benedict and St.
Augustine were the norm until the arrival of the Cistercians,whose institutional
sophistication left a great stamp in the north and exercised a stabilizing influence upon monastic growth and development there. Interestingly, female communities had a long history in the north and enjoyed widespread popularity.
This book presents a clear view of monastic development in northern Europe before 1200, and sets out the variety of influences, native and foreign,
which helped to create it. The author makes extensive and skillful use of archaeology to develop his themes, with a plethora of plans and short histories of
individual houses. This is a highly satisfying book that will be a standard work
of reference on northern monasticism for many years to come.
JOHN FRANCE
University of Wales Swansea

The Life of Lazaros of Mt. Galesion: An Eleventh-Century Pillar Saint. Introduction, translation, and notes by Richard P. H. Greenfield. [Byzantine
Saints’ Lives in Translation, III.] (Washington, D.C.: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection. 2000. Pp. xxi, 423. $50.00.)
Translations tend to be the poor cousins among academic publications: dismissed by those who understand the original, and easily criticized by those
who have quite a superficial knowledge of a particular language. It would be a
pity if the present work failed to receive the attention it deserves. Although it
comes in a series of translations, it far surpasses the normal limits of a translation.

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The monk Lazaros, the subject of this hagiographical work, is as eccentric a
figure as one would wish to find: born (966/7) in the western part of Asia Minor when all that area formed part of the Byzantine Empire, even as a child in
his early teens he chose to enter a monastery. But equally early he showed signs
of a strong individuality that fitted with difficulty into communal life. He broke
away from several monasteries, including the prestigious Mar Saba near Jerusalem (where he was ordained priest), and traveled widely in what is now Israel
and Turkey before settling near Ephesos, first in a cave on Mt. Galesion, then on
top of a pillar higher up the mountain (when over fifty years of age). This attracted the attention of a number of men, who settled round the base of the pillar, constructing a small monastery.
For the next thirty years Lazaros continued his stylite existence, exposed to
the elements and with only a few square feet in which to move, even though he
transferred on two occasions to other pillars, constructed higher up a valley,
around each of which new monastic settlements assembled, all acknowledging
Lazaros as their superior. Apart from new monks, prepared to live on a barren,
unwatered hillside, he also attracted a stream of visitors seeking spiritual guidance. His biographer, one of his disciples, gives a detailed, if somewhat disorderly, account of the way he governed (fatherly both in his kindness and in the
whippings he would order when he thought them good for his spiritual children), and also of the advice he gave, of the wonders he performed, and above
all of the extraordinary physical prowess he displayed in supporting all sorts of
pain, caused by thirst, cold, illness, and additional penances (such as chains). In
striking contrast to his bizarre life-style, his opinions and advice seem to have
been consistently sensible and humane, and he clearly inspired both a religious
awe and an affectionate fidelity. The biographer claims to draw both on his own
memories and on those of contemporaries, and the prima facie impression is
one of objective recording.
There are problems, and Professor Greenfield is scrupulously thorough in
presenting these and acknowledging when the solutions are not clear. The local bishop (of Ephesos) remained opposed to the whole venture;Lazaros seems
to have received imperial financial assistance, but exactly how this came is uncertain; after his death, none of the usual process that follows the demise of a
saint (popular devotion, the formation of a liturgy, etc.) seems to have taken
place. Perhaps even more serious, the translator has had to work with a text
based on a single fourteenth-century manuscript (unfortunately, a new edition
of the text is still unpublished). Yet the foundations of Lazaros lived on, and
were to have a glorious future for two and a half centuries, till sacked by the
Turks in 1304. Thanks to Professor Greenfield, this exceptional text is at the disposal of anyone wishing to become reliably informed about a phenomenon
which allows unexpected insights into the religiosity of the Greek-speaking
mediaeval world.
JOSEPH A. MUNITIZ, S.J.
University of Birmingham, U.K.

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Crusade Propaganda and Ideology: Model Sermons for the Preaching of the
Cross. By Christoph T. Maier. (New York: Cambridge University Press. 2000.
Pp. viii, 280. $59.95.)
Sermon literature presents difficult problems to the historian. Even though
sermons are among the most abundant of medieval sources, only a small
amount of this vast literature has found its way into print. This is even more
true for the sermones ad status, which deal with specific groups of people, for
example, women, merchants, crusaders, etc. Until now, the most accessible crusade sermons were those edited by Penny J. Cole in her fine monograph, The
Preaching of the Crusades to the Holy Land, 1095–1270, which contained
editions of four crusade sermons. Christoph T. Maier, already known for his
Preaching the Crusades: Mendicant Friars and the Cross in the Thirteenth
Century, has now edited and translated seventeen model sermons by such important figures as James of Vitry, Eudes of Chateauroux, and Humbert of Romans. He has also written a lengthy introduction, which will prove very helpful
to students and others new to crusade sermons who use this collection.
What is especially important to note is that sermons were seldom written
down as they were delivered. The term “model sermons” used here refers to the
practice of editing sermons so that they could be made available to other
preachers, and not even only to those who were going to preach on the same
topic. Thus the first sermon of Eudes of Chateauroux bears the title: “Sermo in
conversione Sancti Pauli et exhortatio ad assumendam crucem.” This sermon
was designed to be preached on the feast of the Conversion of St. Paul or to
those about to take the cross. Of course, the two events might occur together.
The preacher wove the two concepts, conversion and crusading, together.
Some of these sermons are directed to recruiting participants in the crusades;
others were designed to confirm recruits in their decision.
But students must exercise great care in using sermons in their research.
They are seldom of much use for factual information, though there are occasional nuggets. In the present collection, for example, there are few references
to specific points. But, in his first sermon, Eudes of Chateauroux is critical of
those who ridiculed the poor and unarmed who took the cross on the grounds
that they would merely use up supplies. He argues that they can make a valuable contribution. His sermon also notes that the pope wants the incomes of
churches to be used to support clerics on the crusade for a period up to three
years. These references, taken together, date this sermon to the period of the
Fifth Crusade. Gilbert of Tournai speaks of those who are afraid to take the
cross publicly. But the sermons are of greater importance for what they tell us
about the kinds of approaches regarded as effective by the preachers. These are
revealed by the themes they develop, based most often on a particular biblical
text. Five of the seventeen sermons edited here begin with the citation of Apocalypse 7:2–3: “I saw an angel rising from the sunrise, carrying the sign of the living God, and he called in a powerful voice to the angels . . . do not devastate
land and sea . . . until we have signed the servants of God. . . .” These verses re-

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flect the Passover theme, in which God ordered his angels to refrain from violence against those whose houses were anointed with the blood of a lamb. The
preachers identify the sign with the cross worn by the crusaders. No other
theme is repeated so often, but together they provide a body of biblical texts
that were thought appropriate to refer to crusaders. The repetition of the text
from the Apocalypse, however, may reflect the influence of James of Vitry, who
used it in his first sermon. Maier has documented his influence in his appendix
devoted to the comparison of James of Vitry and Gilbert of Tournai’s models.
Study of the texts cited by preachers is important for a better understanding of
the intellectual networks that were developed in this period around the universities. A good example may be a quote that Maier was not able to locate, attributed in the text (p. 223) to St. Augustine: “Error non facit hereticum sed
obstinatio.” This may be traced to a citation found in a treatise of Abbot William
against Peter Lombard (PL, 180:311b), which the author incorrectly attributed
to Augustine’s “De Heresibus.” Another citation (p. 111), “virtus crucis,” which
is widely cited and goes back to Origen, may have been found in Bernard of
Clairvaux’s sermon on the passion, (PL 183, 265d).“Mortis beneficum” (pp. 110
and 223) is used by Augustine (PL 44: 980). Further study of the texts used by
crusade preachers may contribute further to our understanding of their conception of the crusade.
Christoph Maier deserves thanks for an excellent job in making these sermons available.
JAMES M. POWELL
Syracuse University (Emeritus)

The Miracles of Our Lady of Rocamadour: Analysis and Translation. By Marcus Bull. (Rochester,New York: The Boydell Press. 1999. Pp. xi,223. $75.00.)
While its origins remain obscure, the shrine to the Virgin Mary at Rocamadour achieved quite substantial importance by the second half of the
twelfth century. Located in a spectacular gorge on the Alzou River in Quercy, it
survived the vicissitudes of the wars of religion to become, and remain today,
one of the most popular Marian shrines in modern France. Despite its importance, the monastic community which tended the shrine during the Middle
Ages remained a priory dependent on the abbey of Tulle,in part because it was,
in the words of Robert of Torigny, “horribly remote” (p. 71). Even its connection to the Virgin was distant: its patron saint,Amator, was, according to legend,
a member of Mary’s household staff who came to Gaul late in life as an evangelist. His relics were allegedly rediscovered in 1166. While this event may have
been important in publicizing the site, the saint’s relics always remained peripheral, in all ways except name, to the Rocamadour pilgrimage. Yet, unlike

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such shrines as Chartres and Laon, the priory did not claim to possess any physical relics of the Virgin.
In the years 1172 and 1173, one (or perhaps more) of the priory’s monks compiled a collection of 126 miracle stories. These tales of pilgrimages, cures, and
chastisements contain rich anecdotal evidence for religious life and social practice
in the twelfth-century Midi.The prominence of knights (milites) and their families
in the stories provides intriguing evidence about the role of both piety and violence in the lives of the military aristocracy. This is territory well known to Bull,
the author of a distinguished monograph on Knightly Piety and the Lay Response
to the First Crusade (Oxford, 1993). Bull’s translation is a good and readable one,
annotated by a sensible number of useful notes. His work serves pedagogy well,
not simply because it makes this text itself available to a wide audience, but more
importantly because few miracle collections are available in English translation.
(An important exception, and useful comparison to the work under review, is
Pamela Sheingorn’s excellent translation of The Book of Sainte Foy [Philadelphia,
1995], a set of eleventh-century texts for the abbey of Conques.)
One fact about the translation should be noted. Bull worked directly from the
copy of the text found in Bibliothèque Nationale, manuscrit latin 16565, which
is “very probably the oldest surviving copy of the miracle collection” (pp.
ix–x). This is the manuscript which was used as the base version of the edition
which Edmond Albe published as Les Miracles de Notre-Dame de Rocamadour au XIIe siècle (Paris, 1907), a work which has since been revised and
reissued by Jean Rocacher (Toulouse, 1966). Bull differs from Albe and Rocacher on a number of points, but he makes those differences clear and a comparison of the translation to the printed edition is straightforward.
The translation, however, occupies only one-half of the volume in question.
It is preceded by an overly long and poorly organized “analysis” in which Bull
discusses the specific context of the text, offers comparisons to other miracle
collections, and discourses on the use of such hagiographic texts as historical
sources. To be sure, Bull’s arguments about the context are convincing; indeed,
he states them in language which is far too cautious. But the verbose general observations—which Bull interweaves with and privileges over the more specific
analysis of the Rocamadour material—are little more than a restatement of
ideas which have been the mainstream consensus of hagiographic scholarship
for over a decade. This “analysis” is too complex to serve as a useful introduction for students, yet far less original than monograph on miracle collections.
The hybrid nature of the volume and its cost both serve to the detriment of the
estimable translation, which, however, certainly deserves a spot on the shelves
of college and university libraries.
THOMAS HEAD
Hunter College and The Graduate Center
City University of New York

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Évangile et évangélisme (XIIe–XIIIe siècle). [Cahiers de Fanjeaux: Collection
d’Histoire religieuse du Languedoc au Moyen Âge, 34.] (Toulouse: Éditions
Privat. 1999. Pp. 384. 170 F; 24, 91 Euros.)
“If anyone should ask you to what religious order you belong, tell him the
order of the gospel, which is the basis of all rules.” Thus Stephen of Muret,
the leader of the twelfth-century pauperes Christi movement which became
the order of Grandmont. It is from sentiments like this, indicative of what M.-D.
Chenu called the “evangelical awakening” of the twelfth century, that this collection of essays takes its inspiration.
This is the thirty-fourth volume in an impressive series devoted specifically to
the medieval religious history of Languedoc. The essays, all in French, are
arranged in three subsections under the titles “Reception: Reading,Hearing,and
Seeing the Gospel”;“Images of Evangelism”; and “Evangelism in Institution and
Practice” (my translation—more on this issue later). As is clear, the first section
addresses “Évangile” and the rest address “évangélisme.” The first section on reception of the Gospel includes a brief study of the manuscript evidence for circulation of Gospel texts and an interesting if somewhat disjointed study by
Nicole Bériou of the use of the term evangelium. That the term was used to refer to the four canonical narratives of the New Testament is rather clear and not
worth the energy the author spends on it; but the analysis of the synonymous
use of ‘gospel’ and ‘truth’ in the context of medieval preaching is more compelling. Valérie Galent-Fasseur’s contribution on the gospels in southern French
literature of the period is more an examination of their absence, which is useful, if a bit frustrating.
The second and third sections are beset with a historiographical problem:
“Evangelism” is not really a term that is contemporary to the period studied. So
the gathering of essays here is predicated upon an anachronistic category (as
someone interested in “medieval mysticism,” I can hardly object to this in principle), and this category does not receive adequate definition in the introduction and/or any of the contributions. In fact, several of the contributors note
the difficulty (see,e.g.,Guy Lobrichon’s essay). But this is a concern with the organizing principle of the compilation, not with the contributions, which are on
the whole quite interesting and good. The essay in Part Two by Jean-Yves Tilliette on the “lexicon of evangelism and systems of value in the twelfth century”
is an excellent examination of the concepts of “the primitive church,” “apostolic life,” and “naked following the naked Christ” in the rhetoric of reform following the Gregorian era. The roundtable discussion documented in Part Three
on the question of heresy and the reform movements in post-Gregorian France
is interesting, but here in particular I was left wondering if ‘reform’ was a more
accurate and useful category than ‘evangelism.’ Simon Tugwell’s contribution
on Dominic’s understanding of the evangelical counsels, and on poverty in particular, offers a useful Dominican counterpart to all the work that has been
done by Lambert and others on Franciscan poverty. Guy Lobrichon offers an intriguing inquiry into clerical strategies of “evangelizing the laity.”

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The collection as a whole is rather user-friendly, since the editors have included both a name and subject index and an index to twelfth- and thirteenthcentury works and manuscripts cited in the volume. There are also concise
abstracts of each contribution listed in the back of the book. In an apparent attempt to make this work more accessible to Anglophone readers, the editors of
this volume have included an English translation of the abstracts and of the
Table of Contents. But the most egregious flaw of this otherwise-handsome
book is the rough and inaccurate translation into English. For example,“La circulation des Evangiles” is rendered an ambiguous “Gospel spreading.” St. Louis
and Louis d’Anjou are over-anglicized to St. Lewis and Lewis of Anjou. The reforming impulse of the “Retour aux sources” is rendered “revivalist,” a term
with somewhat a different connotation in the English language. Or sometimes
sentences are rendered awkwardly: “In the Middle Ages, people used to appreciate a lot the portrait of the Magdalen. . . .” Since the essays are all in French,
only a reader with at least a passing knowledge of the language would find the
collection useful, and so the poor translations of the abstracts are mostly a distraction and not a serious impediment to its use. Nevertheless, one wonders if
the editors could have found someone up to the task of translation before the
book went to press.
Évangile et évangélisme (XIIe–XIIIe siècle) includes some brilliant essays,
and most are very good. It will be most useful to those interested in the religious history of Languedoc and the spirituality of the post-Gregorian church.
KEVIN L. HUGHES
Villanova University

Censure and Heresy at the University of Paris, 1200–1400. By J. M. M. H.
Thijssen. (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. 1998. Pp. xiii,
187. $35.00.)
In the preface to this work Thijssen mentions the early thirteenth-century
case of Amalric of Bène as the first documented instance of academic censure
in the history of the newly founded University of Paris. But it was by no means
the last. By the end of the thirteenth century various lists of censured propositions had been assembled in a work known as the Collectio errorum in anglia
et parisius condempnatorum, and during the fourteenth century this collection would increase so as to include some thirteen cases of censured teaching.
Four of these have received considerable attention from historians of medieval
philosophy, i.e., the condemnation of 219 propositions by Bishop Stephen Tempier of March 7, 1277; the prohibition of Ockhamist errors of 1340; the censure
of Nicholas of Autrecourt’s opinions of 1346; and the censure of John of Mirecourt’s views in 1347. Accordingly, Thijssen devotes chapters 2, 3, and 4 of this
very interesting book to these. But first he suggests that historians of medieval
philosophy have so heavily concentrated on the doctrinal content and impact

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of these censures that they have permitted their “larger historical and institutional framework” to become obscured. He proposes therefore to concentrate
on the judicial procedures involved, together with the authority that monitored
teaching at the University, and the effects the condemnations had on those accused.
In chapter 1 he discusses certain more general aspects of academic censures
that were initiated within the University itself. Because the procedural sources
for these are extremely limited, he also turns for additional evidence to censures involving university-trained scholars which were initiated outside the
University. His assumption is that the way of proceeding against academics
charged with disseminating false teachings was basically the same in all cases.
In seeking to determine who possessed the necessary authority and knowledge to levy academic censures, Thijssen finds that proceedings against medieval academics could involve four possible tribunals: (1) a consistory or
commission of the chancellor and masters of theology at the University; (2) the
local episcopal court; (3) the papal court; (4) the forum of the minister general
of a religious order and his advisers. He also concludes that such cases might
include the following stages: (1) initiation or commencement of the action;
(2) preliminary inquiry; (3) citation and defense offered by the accused; (4) a
decision or sentence;and (5) a possible appeal to a higher tribunal. Especially interesting is his discussion of the different strategies employed by accused academics in their own defense.
Thijssen devotes the whole of chapter 2 to the massive condemnation of
March 7, 1277. He recognizes that the doctrinal significance of this event has
been evaluated quite differently by various twentieth-century scholars. From
the procedural standpoint, it stands out because it was pronounced not by a
panel of the chancellor and his theologians, but by the bishop, and because it
leaves its targets unnamed. Thijssen revises some generally accepted views concerning this condemnation. Rather than conclude that Tempier was moved to
act by the letter written to him by Pope John XXI on January 18, 1277, he suggests that the bishop was already acting independently before he received this
letter. He thinks that Tempier’s action should rather be connected with a citation issued on November 23, 1276, by Simon du Val, Inquisitor of France, commanding Siger of Brabant and two of his colleagues from the Faculty of Arts to
appear before his court. Unfortunately, Thijssen can offer no decisive documentary evidence to support this new interpretation or, for that matter, to support the revisionist account he also proposes for Siger’s final years.
In addressing the still contested issue concerning who was targeted by this
condemnation, Thijssen makes an interesting suggestion. Against R. Hissette’s
assumption in his still fundamental 1977 book that because Tempier refers in
the introduction to certain persons in the Faculty of Arts, only members of that
faculty were directly targeted by his condemnation, Thijssen proposes a distinction. Tempier does not accuse those in Arts of originating the articles in
question, but of disseminating them. Hence some of them may have been orig-

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inated by other persons, including theologians such as Aquinas. He proposes
this as a way of reconciling Hissette’s position with my own view that Thomas
was directly targeted.
In chapter 3 Thijssen offers a helpful discussion of a statute issued by the
Masters of Arts themselves on December 29, 1340, and its reference to their
previous legislation concerning the doctrine of William of Ockham. Thijssen
sees in this a reference to a statute issued on September 25, 1339, which prohibits teaching Ockham’s doctrine either publicly or privately. The 1340 statute
forbids the dissemination of six specified errors and is, Thijssen concludes, directed against certain “Ockhamists” on the faculty.
In chapter 4 he considers the censures in the Theology Faculty of Nicholas
of Autrecourt and John of Mirecourt. He concludes that in both cases the investigations concerned lectures on the Sentences or other writings resulting
from their academic careers. He also maintains that in the case of Nicholas a
preliminary investigation had taken place at Paris before Pope Benedict XII
summoned it to Avignon. In the case of John, only his two defenses are well
documented. His case was decided at Paris but, suggests Thijssen, under papal
jurisdiction by a delegate of the Pope.
In chapter 5 Thijssen offers some interesting reflections on the difference between the modern understanding of academic freedom and the concerns of
medieval academics and theologians. Medieval academics were concerned
about the University’s freedom to conduct and regulate its own affairs. They
were also concerned about the pursuit of truth. As believing Christians, and especially if they were theologians, they viewed revelation as an unquestioned
source of truth and hence did not regard the obligation to respect the teaching
of faith as a constraint. Thijssen also cites a carefully nuanced discussion by
Godfrey of Fontaines in his Quodlibet VII, q. 18, concerning whether a Master
of Theology may contradict an article condemned by a bishop if he believes
that the opposite is true.
Thijssen’s conclusion is that University censures conducted within the Theology Faculty were viewed as manifestations of teaching authority exercised by
the Masters over their own members for the sake of truth. But while the teaching authority of the theologian was based on his expertise, that of a bishop was
based on his sacramental power and his power of jurisdiction. Tensions and disagreements might arise concerning the relationship between these two kinds
of teaching authority, and Thijssen considers discussions of this by Servais of
Mt. St. Elias, Godfrey of Fontaines in his critique of the inclusion of certain articles in the condemnation of 1277,William of Ockham, and Pierre d’Ailly. Again
Thijssen rightly criticizes efforts today to view medieval academic censures
solely in terms of their restriction of academic freedom.
In sum, while a reader may disagree with this or that particular interpretation, and while I still think that consideration of the doctrinal content of me-

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dieval censures is helpful and ultimately essential, this study of its procedural
side is a valuable and well documented contribution.
JOHN F.WIPPEL
The Catholic University of America

De potestate papae: Die päpstliche Amtskompetenz im Widerstreit der politischen Theorie von Thomas von Aquin bis Wilhelm von Ockham. By
Jürgen Miethke. [Spätmittelalter und Reformation, Neue Reihe, 16.]
(Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. 2000. Pp. x, 347. 158.00 DM.)
The concept of papal authority in the thirteenth century was relatively undifferentiated between its secular and ecclesiastical aspects, for the king had sacred duties and the pope secular. It took the radical turn of the fourteenth
century to clarify the ideological divide between them. Jürgen Miethke discusses this ideological divide in depth and how it was created. The effect of political theory in the formative phase of the lively debate concerning papal
authority in the first half of the fourteenth century is his topic. Miethke analyzes the documents which are our source for the debates at the university and
courts of the rulers,whereby the disciplines of theology,canon law,and the arts
shaped the language and form of discourse.
This is an excellent study of papal authority. It deals with complex issues that
have frustrated many scholars. The author brings clarity to the complicated picture of politics in France and Germany,especially at the courts of Philip the Fair,
Philip VI, and Louis the Bavarian, as well as focusing on the popes Boniface VIII
and John XXII. The university as well as the mendicant orders plays a large and
decisive role in this drama. The relationship between competing political forces
and the use of political theory as a means to determine the course of action or
to gain perspective on contemporary problems are drawn very clearly with the
concept of papal authority and its extent within the world providing the impetus for the debates. The theoretical achievement of the participants lent themselves to the justification of constitutional relationships and thus could be the
source for political action (cf. p. 203).
The author sees a multitude of opinions or a fruitful discourse coming from
all directions,which one might characterize as the nature of high scholasticism.
This study begins with the use of Aristotelian theory by Thomas Aquinas in De
regno ad regem Cypri and concludes with William of Ockham, who expresses
the theologians’ mistrust of the canonists. As the author says, Ockham is only
one of the many voices in the debates of the faculties. Nevertheless, the author
sees a process of integration at work, which would eventually provide a rich
source of material for the modern era, when political theory came into its own.
The limits for this study are delineated quite clearly by the author, essentially
from 1271 to 1350. Therefore,neither Torquemada nor Domenico de’Domenichi

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nor even Petrarch are mentioned in the body of the text. While Jean Gerson is
relegated to the notes, Robert Bellarmine is quoted in reference to Augustine of
Ancona, and Machiavelli mentioned only once. The author’s tentativeness to go
beyond his timeframe is alleviated only insofar as he points to the future although the gulf between Ockham and the era of Machiavelli and other modern
thinkers remains. The only exceptions are references to early fifteenth-century
clerics and the reform councils as well as to the success of certain texts into the
sixteenth century (e.g., p. 179).
Of the medieval scholastics, there is no mention of Remigio dei Girolami and
only one of a figure on the academic periphery, Ubertino da Casale. Places and
events are seen from the perspective of the intellectual elite or periti of the
time; therefore Saint Jacques in Paris is only mentioned in passing.
Besides the author’s valuable narrative concerning theory and politics of the
era, he presents the reader with a detailed description of the transmission of
manuscripts with pertinent comments on recent research and editions. The
abundant use of manuscripts is apparent in evaluating his topic. The relevant
ones are listed in the appendix,pp. 306–318. In citing recent scholarship on the
relationship between canon law and Roman law, the author notes a 7:1 ratio in
extant manuscripts of the medieval era.
Possible Greek connections dealing with political theory are not made by the
author except for Aristotelian theory and Pseudo-Dionysius. Proclus is mentioned only once in the notes (p. 106). For a brief discussion of correlations between Giles of Rome and Agapetus as well as between the Byzantine emperor
and the Roman pope, see my: “Giles of Rome and His Fidelity to Sources in the
Context of Ecclesiological Political Thought as Exemplified in De renunciatione papae,” Documenti e studi sulla tradizione filosofica medievale, 3
(1992), 145–165, at pp. 147–150.
Since the reception of Aristotle had just recently occurred, it was beyond the
field of vision for Western medieval theoreticians to access any correlation between sophisticated Byzantine political theory and their own. It was not until
the influx of Byzantine refugees that the situation was altered, some seventyfive years or more after the period under discussion.
The immanent nature of Miethke’s very thorough work and thus his concentration on Western Europe precludes any extended reflections on any possible
Byzantine connection, for which there is no contemporary documentary evidence.
The conceptual framework of the author’s study of papal authority is as follows: (1) the origins of the scholastic university, Thomas Aquinas’ “Mirror of
Princes,” and Boniface VIII as impetus for political reflection; (2) a turning-point
in political theory: initial discussion about papal authority, the issue of papal abdication, and Boniface VIII in conflict with France; (3) the Roman curia:
Tolomeo of Lucca and the Austin Hermits on papal authority; (4) Parisian responses: the dispatch versions of papal bulls,anonymous Quaestiones,and Jean

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Quidort; (5) the Council of Vienne: Guillelmus Duranti the Younger, Jean de
Pouilly and Petrus de Palude, and the relatively unknown William of Sarzano;
(6) early Avignon: Dante Alighieri’s Monarchia and Guido Vernani’s response,
John XXII,Augustine of Ancona,and Alvarus Pelagius;(7) political theory in practice: the assembly of Paris and Vincennes; (8) Marsilius of Padua; (9) William of
Ockham, Franciscan dissidents, and Ockham’s political theory.
While major figures are covered in depth, such peripheral figures as Godfrey
of Fontaines and Peter of Auvergne are discussed briefly. Giles of Rome has
been a stumbling block for many scholars. While I do not see a discrepancy in
his thought as he shifts from one arena to another, scholars have traditionally
sought congruences. The author understands this issue, which I see as a matter
of focus. In any event, one might have to agree with Miethke concerning the
consequences of Giles’ radical solution (see pp. 96–100).
Besides the general setting and thorough discussion of practical politics and
theory, the author offers valuable insights concerning the vitality of canon law,
political observations about Henry of Cremona, the close connection of Jean
Quidort to the French court (p. 117), the theoretical French positions in the era
of Boniface VIII and Philip the Fair differentiating between church and state
which were revived during the reform councils of the fifteenth century (p. 123),
Marsilius of Padua’s derivation of the potestas coactiva, and papal approbation
of the election of the German king.
To my knowledge Miethke has cited or utilized all the pertinent literature on
the subject at hand (Gerhard Barisch [1977] is presumably included in the author’s forthcoming co-edited volume of Lupold of Bebenburg’s political
works). His evaluation thereof is objective and therefore most useful for the
reader conversant in German. I recommend this book as a highly lucid, wellwritten, and eminently readable presentation on the evolution of political theory in medieval Western thought.
JOHN R. EASTMAN
Newport News, Virginia

The English in Rome, 1362–1420: Portrait of an Expatriate Community. By
Margaret Harvey. [Cambridge Studies in Medieval Life and Thought, Fourth
Series, 45.] (New York: Cambridge University Press. 1999. Pp. xv, 278.
$59.95.)
Rome between 1360 and 1420 was a place of fluctuating fortunes. The papal
exile at Avignon, the return of Gregory XI immediately followed by the outbreak of the Great Schism,and the following forty years of a divided church and
papacy, all took their toll and added their excitements. Only in 1420 did Martin V
return to re-establish Rome as the capital of a reunited church. Throughout those

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years, nevertheless, Rome continued, and continued to attract foreign residents.
Having already addressed relations between England and the papacy in two significant books, Margaret Harvey now turns her attention to a rather different aspect of connections between England and Rome in the later Middle Ages: the
persistent presence of an expatriate community,a small group who had uprooted
themselves to take their chances as permanent residents rather than transients.
Central to her analysis are the relatively extensive early records of the Hospital of St. Thomas at Rome,“the English Hospice,” founded in 1362. Drawing primarily on its collection of early deeds, Dr. Harvey meticulously and skillfully
reconstructs the milieu of the English in Rome in these busy years. The early
chapters establish the setting, examining the Rome which the English would
have known during this period. Attention then turns in chapter 3 to the early
years of the Hospital itself, followed in chapter 4 by a consideration of the less
successful English hospital of St. Chrysogonus, and the German hospice of St.
Andrew, which had strong ties with the English community. Thereafter the
people become the focus, examining the laity in general (chapter 5), the
women in particular (chapter 6), and finally the English in the curial administration in the years from the papal return to Italy in 1376 through to 1420 (they
merit two chapters, separated on no immediately obvious basis).
Up to this point, the discussion is necessarily somewhat general. Details are
deftly used to construct individuals’ careers and contexts, but the aim is certainly to depict a community. The last three chapters change tack significantly,
focusing on two striking individuals. John Fraunceys (whose career is analyzed
in chapter 8) was one of the curial hangers-on who managed to build his career
at Rome, having failed to exploit the potential of his connections to create a
niche for himself back in England. Chapters 9 and 10 concentrate on the last
pre-Tudor English curial cardinal, Adam Easton. Cardinal almost by accident, he
is important as perhaps the most prominent English expatriate at the papal
court. He was also a writer, taking on Wycliffe and contributing to debates
about clerical power. Both career and works are analyzed in some detail. Particularly important about these last chapters is their analysis of the difficulties
of maintaining contact over distance, difficulties which had a particularly significant impact on clerical careers. That is clearly demonstrated when looking
at successions to benefices: the rival stances of English common law and papal
canonistics resulted in ‘official’ lists of occupants of benefices which could be
very different at either end of the rope,generating complex negotiations and assorted chicaneries as rivals exploited the competing legal processes until
forced to some kind of compromise.
By drawing attention to the minutiae of personal contacts, and the reality of
experiences for those who chose to pursue their lives and careers in Rome, Dr.
Harvey has opened up new perspectives which must affect attitudes to issues
like pilgrimage, and the importance of credit networks and long-distance con-

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tacts among such displaced groups. Lively, informative, and useful, this is a book
which certainly deserves to be read widely.
R. N. SWANSON
University of Birmingham

L’imaginaire du sabbat: Edition critique des textes les plus anciens (1430 c.–
1440 c.). Edited by Martine Ostorero, Agostino Paravicini Bagliani, and
Kathrin Utz Tremp, in collaboration with Catherine Chène. [Cahiers lausannois d’histoire médiévale, Vol. 26.] (Lausanne: Université de Lausanne,
Section d’histoire, Faculté des Lettres. 1999. Pp. 571. Frs. 65.–.)
Were one to fix a date to the emergence of the idea of demonic witchcraft in
Western Europe, the decade of the 1430’s would be an obvious choice. Within
the space of only a few years, five important sources were written describing in
clear detail the basic stereotype of witchcraft that would persist throughout
the great witch-hunts of subsequent centuries. The authors described not just
acts of malevolent magic, but sorcerers acting as members of widespread
heretical cults, gathering at secret conclaves, worshiping demons, and engaging
in various execrable acts. In short, they depicted, for the first time, the image of
the witches’ sabbath.
The origins of the idea of the sabbath have been attracting increased scholarly attention for over a decade, ever since the publication of Carlo Ginzburg’s
provocative and problematic study Storia notturna (1989—in English as Ecstasies, 1991). The present volume performs a valuable function by bringing together all the major early sources in which this idea first appeared. These are:
the Lucerne chronicler Hans Fründ’s report on witchcraft in the diocese of Sion
in 1428, selections from the Dominican theologian Johannes Nider’s Formicarius, the brief anonymous tract Errores gazariorum, the French secular judge
Claude Tholosan’s treatise Ut magorum et maleficiorum errores manifesti
ignorantibus fiant, and a section from Martin Le Franc’s long poem Le Champion des Dames.
For each source, a scholarly edition of the original text is provided, along
with a facing-page French translation (except in the case of Martin Le Franc’s
Champion, originally written in French). Both the editions and translations are
of high quality. Wherever they overlap, for example, with editions in the much
earlier collection of Joseph Hansen, they easily supersede them. In the case of
Fründ’s account, it is revealed that Hansen inverted major sections of the text.
For the Errores gazariorum, full editions are presented of both known manuscript copies: the Basal University Library copy used by Hansen, and a significantly shorter but earlier copy discovered more recently in the Vatican Library
by Pierrette Paravy.

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In addition to fine editions and translations, the volume also contains meticulous technical introductions to the texts and extensive commentaries. In a
brief review such as this, there is no space to recount all the many facets of
these commentaries, ranging from detailed explication of technical points and
problems with the sources, to more generally applicable observations and arguments about the ideas they contain. All of the entries are skillfully done, however, and provide a wealth of information. Particularly valuable are the efforts
made to compare the idea of witchcraft emerging from these texts to that appearing in actual trials in the same period. The editors also provide an introduction and conclusion to the entire volume, in which they situate these texts
within the larger historical issues surrounding the origins of witchcraft. Suffice
to say that any scholar whose work touches on such issues will want to consult
this very valuable collection.
MICHAEL D. BAILEY
University of Cincinnati

The Register of John Morton, Archbishop of Canterbury 1486–1500,Volume III:
Norwich Sede Vacante, 1499. Edited by Christopher Harper-Bill. [Canterbury and York Society, Volume LXXXIX.] (Rochester, New York: Boydell
Press. 2000. Pp. xii, 324. $55.00.)
Professor Harper-Bill, already the editor of the first two volumes of Archbishop John Morton’s register, suggests that “perhaps most especially” this final
volume “provides further evidence of the conscientious efficiency of late medieval ecclesiastical administration, and of the general contentment of the English people with the religious environment in which they lived” (p. ix). The
register of the five-month vacancy at Norwich furnishes “perhaps the fullest account of the administration of any English diocese over a short space of time”
(p. 1). Harper-Bill has calendared in English “all the essential information” (p. 21)
of 832 entries. Of these the most extensive are wills (# 47–180), accounts of
monies owed to the archbishop by reason of the vacancy (# 181–233), and
records of the visitation of the diocese by the archbishop’s delegates and of
consistory court judgments resulting from the visitation (# 234–832). Of the
two appendices, the detailed itineraries of the archbishop’s commissaries are
especially valuable. Seventy-eight pages of indices complete the volume.
Of the fifty-five cases heard by the consistory court all but three concern sexual or marital issues. In the visitation records, because the comperta et detecta
are recorded in full, an “unusual [circumstance] for these ephemeral records”
(p. 4), sexual matters are not so overwhelmingly prominent; those records include multiple instances of failure to attend church, detention of a testator’s
goods, talking in church, superstition, and clerical non-residence and neglect of
church property. A few priests were suspended from office either during the
visitation or by the consistory court for contumacy, adultery, wearing secular
dress, lack of license, and ignorance.

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Obviously the great value of this volume is the documentary information provided to medievalists and especially to church historians. Certainly Harper-Bill’s
judgment of the wills in this volume—“too small a sample for any meaningful
analysis” (p. 11)—applies to the other categories of documents. Nevertheless,
the documents are especially valuable for the history of East Anglia at the end
of the fifteenth century and, when taken together with other documents made
available by societies like the Canterbury and York for other areas and periods,
they provide the documentation indispensable for historical analysis, in this
case for the last years of the medieval church.
It would have been helpful if to his enlightening introduction the editor had
added an explanation for the discrepancies in the totals of monies collected by
the archbishop’s delegates; the totals for eleven of the thirteen deaneries in the
archdeaconry of Norwich, for example, are incorrect. Despite their length and
the obvious care with which they were constructed, the indices have failings.
At least two of the six references (# 232–233) for Easton Bavents, for example,
are missing; a word processor should have caught this kind of error. Despite the
particularly user-friendly subject index, some additions would have been helpful, for example, under “Commemoration, liturgical—Mass” a subcategory of
“celebrated by secular priest,” since so many testators specified that a secular
priest was to sing Mass for them.
JOHN W. DAHMUS
Stephen F. Austin State University

Early Modern European
Ungarn, das Reich der Stephanskrone, im Zeitalter der Reformation und
Konfessionalisierung: Multiethnizität, Land und Konfession 1500 bis
1700. By Márta Fata. [Katholisches Leben und Kirchenreform im Zeitalter
der Glaubensspaltung, Vol. 60.] (Münster: Aschendorff Verlag. 2000. Pp. ix,
361. DM 59.00 paperback.)
The book by Márta Fata deals with the time period of the Reformation and
spiritual renewal from a Hungarian point of view, with religious politics of the,
rather bloody, events in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries in the historic
Hungary of King St. Stephen’s Crown, and draws—one may add—in a fully prepared and most knowledgeable manner, an ethnic and religious profile of the
period for the serious academic scholar, and/or the reader who does not read
the Magyar language or know much about this country’s history in east-central
Europe. The question of religious renewal,the progress made by,and mainly the
circumstances surrounding Luther, Calvin, and other religious reformers, bound
Hungary to the German empire, because many of the Hungarian religious reformers had pursued their studies at western universities in the Netherlands or
in the empire. The specific political and religious color of the age, and of geog-

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raphy—in historic Hungary,besides the Magyar stratum (following the directive
of King St. Stephen [d. 1038]: “Nam unius lingue uniusque moris regnum inbecille et fragile est”), many nationalities had been living next to each other
for centuries, as in neighboring Poland-Lithuania, or in Kiev—turned this
region into a battleground where the sphere of the Reformation and CounterReformation included Slovak (Upper Hungary), Croatian (together with Dalmatian and Slavonic) lands, or Transylvania with the region of the Temesvar
Banat (an area that belongs to Romania today), further the sub-Carpathian region (now part of Ukraine), and the Bachka and Serem lands that are part of
today’s little-Jugoslavia, not to leave out Burgenland, which forms the eastern region of Austria.
The author has analyzed objectively the lengthy flow of religious reformation
and the Catholic counter-renewal that went on among these various national
groups for several decades, keeping in mind the most particular circumstance
that the territory of historic Hungary had been, from 1541 to 1697, divided into
three parts because of the Ottoman-Turkish onslaught. The middle portion of
the country remained under Ottoman rule; the Catholic Habsburgs ruled the
western part, while the eastern region (Transylvania, and the partium) came
under the princes of Transylvania, who, most of the time, paid tribute to the
Turkish porte in Istanbul. Ms. Fata describes the situation in the first twenty
pages (in small print) of her book, and supports her observations with many
skillfully drawn maps (whose only shortcomings would be that, being small, the
maps do not show many details; there is a list of the maps on p. 361). The first
two chapters of the book depict Hungary before the Reformation and humanistic trends and discuss the Catholic attempts at religious renewal (in the footsteps of Erasmus), so that, in chapters three and four, she may debate the spread
of the Protestant Reformation among the ranks of the nobility and the businessminded professional middle class in various parts of the divided country,mainly
in the Habsburg portion and in Tranyslvania, drawing with forceful strokes a
picture of the rapid spread of humanism in the land. The next two chapters
deal with the “endangered” political position of both Protestants and Catholics
in the “royal,” that is, Habsburg, territories and present with painful detail the
continued struggle of the Calvinists and other smaller religious groups—as, for
example, of the Unitarians—for their survival. The last two chapters in the
work are devoted to the Catholic Counter-Reformation and the forced reCatholicization of Protestants under Emperor Leopold I (d. 1705). There follows, in small print, an eight-page survey of academic research in progress
among Hungarian scholars at the present, followed by a detailed bibliography
(pp. 293–324), a list of geographical names (pp. 325–339), of personal names
(pp. 341–359), and the already cited list of maps closes this well researched, important, and impressive, carefully printed volume, published in an appealing
and yet scholarly format.
Z. J. KOSZTOLNYIK
Texas A&M University

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Recinti: Donne, clausura e matrimonio nella prima età moderna. By
Gabriella Zarri. [Saggi, 516.] (Bologna: Il Mulino. 2000. Pp. 480 and index
of names. Lire 48,000; Euros 24.79.)
This book is a collection of articles, all but one (chap. 4) previously published in Italian from 1986 to 1999 (chap. 6 was also published in English),
about the lives of women in early modern Europe. Although not a monograph,
it does operate according to certain unifying themes, set out clearly and forcefully in the introduction, and covers a great deal of territory in women’s history,
particularly in Italian women’s history. Zarri considers, for example, monasticism, marriage, education, tertianship, and a host of representations of these different aspects of women’s lives.
The theoretical introduction addresses first of all the choice of title: she defines recinti as an adjective meaning enclosed or surrounded, and as a noun
meaning a pen, enclosure, or fence. Physically, therefore, it calls to mind the
monastery walls and the garden gates which kept women in a specific location;
metaphorically, it refers to virginity, Eden, and limitations on behavior. The
book, Zarri explains, is structured around the metaphorical use—explanations
of the ways that women’s lives were limited by but not closed off from society.
Many chapters begin with rehearsals of medieval precedents, from the dowry
inflation of the Quattrocento and Cinquecento which affected the monasteries
as it did family life, to the mystical marriage of the female saints which formed
precedents for both behavior and iconography in the early modern period.
However, the main purpose of the studies is neither historiographical nor
contextual; Zarri’s focal points are sixteenth- and seventeenth-century issues
including the Tridentine decree Tametsi (chap. 3); the female educational
institutions and practices, especially the work of the Company of St. Ursula
(chaps. 2, 5, 6, and 7); changes within monasteries due to new norms of claustration (chaps. 1 and 7); developing understandings of sanctity and virginity
(chaps. 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7); and other smaller issues including the wedding iconography of the Virgin Mary, clandestine marriages, and the context of changes in
marriage in the Jewish tradition.
Because so much of the volume has been published before, even non-Italian
readers will not be surprised by some conclusions, for example, the discussion
of class issues within the monasteries, and the difficulties which claustration
imposed on family obligations/desires. Still, the style of this book is very approachable, and I found even the more technical discussions of Tametsi and its
impact to be readable. The one new chapter (4),“Nozze mistiche e nozze sacre
tra medioevo ed età moderna” (“Mystical and Sacred Marriages from the Middle
Ages to the Modern Period”), develops some of the points in earlier chapters
and furthers the discussion on issues of concern to those studying confessionalization, sacraments, historical and religious sociology, and art history. Indeed,
chapters 3 and 4 form a unit both in the organization of the book and in theme:

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they discuss the “sacralization” of marriage as well as its modernization, the
“formalization and publication” of marriage ceremonies and the increasingly
solemn and yet extravagant occasions celebrating the union of individuals. The
Catholic Church used iconographical and literary references to mystical marriages and to the marriage of Mary and Joseph as educational tools, in catechisms as well as in church and public art, to suggest modes of behavior not
only during the public, ceremonial moment of celebrating the sacrament, but
also for the daily lives of married and unmarried women.
Both the lack of a concluding chapter and a good consultation apparatus are
to be lamented: as is true with many Italian publications, this book has only an
index of names and uses only footnotes without a bibliography. Nonetheless,
the articles themselves are valuable and readable, from the theoretical introduction to the detailed research on the lives of celibate as well as married
women.
KATHLEEN M. COMERFORD
Georgia Southern University

Le catholicisme à l’épreuve dans la France du XVIe siècle. By Marc Venard.
(Paris: Éditions du Cerf. 2000. Pp. 290. 175 F paperback.)
Unless they work directly on early modern Catholicism in France, Englishspeaking historians are not likely to know the importance of Marc Venard’s
work. For forty years he has been doing what Gabriel Le Bras and Canon Fernand Boulard had earlier begun to do and had urged the next generation of
French historians to continue: to measure, rather than merely speculate about,
the religious attitudes and practice of French Catholics before, during, and after
the Protestant Reformation—in other words, to construct a “religious sociology” (Le Bras) and “religious anthropology” (Alphonse Dupront) of early modern Catholicism in France. After his first, massive study of the ecclesiastical
province of Avignon,Venard turned his attention to other regions, notably Normandy. Over the years, he has collaborated with Dominique Julia and others in
ferreting out and making known the extant documents of episcopal and capitular canonical visitations of more than a hundred French dioceses, using over a
hundred categories of information about how priests viewed the religion of
their flocks and how the laity viewed the work of their priests. He has been at
the forefront of measuring and interpreting religious practice and the strength
of Catholicism in general.
This book gathers thirteen of Venard’s articles written between 1972 and
1995—all of which first appeared in conference proceedings or in journals not
readily accessible—grouped here into four sections. In the first,“Methodological Approaches,” the initial essay studies how historians have used the terms Réforme and Réformation and their chronological or thematic offshoots like

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Préréforme and Contre-Réforme. John O’Malley, Trent and All That: Renaming
Catholicism in the Early Modern Era (2000), has done this more exhaustively;
but Venard’s essay, written twenty-five years earlier, holds its value for the historian of the French Church. The second (and longest) article demonstrates how
archives of the diocesan visitations can be exploited by the historian/sociologist/anthropologist of religion. The section on “Confessional Confrontation”
contains two essays, the longer of which again exploits the parish visitations
and makes the point (repeated in several of the essays) that lay practice of Catholicism was strongest, and expectations of the clergy most stringent, in southeastern France. An anecdote from the visitation of the town of La Fare (Savoy)
records the parishioners’ view of their priest as a “good man,” but they complain that he is not trained sufficiently in the care of souls and that “he merely
says a low Mass in great haste.” The third section contains articles on the formation of seminaries (a failure in the sixteenth century, a success in the seventeenth), on the state of the French episcopate (better than generally thought),
and on the influence of St. Charles Borromeo in France (an article originally
published in English). The fourth section contains five articles on confraternities of devotion. In this reviewer’s opinion, the two articles just prior to them,
on the conflict between reformers and popular piety and on the movement of
confessionalization, are particularly good.
An excellent feature of the book are the updates to the articles, in which Venard evaluates each in hindsight and brings its bibliography up-to-date. An important omission in this latter regard is the work of Joseph Bergin, The Making
of the French Episcopate, 1589–1661 (1996) (reviewed ante, LXXXIV [January,
1998], 112–113).
The capstone of this book, placed appropriately at its end, is a short retrospective essay in which Venard explains why and how, in 1960, he decided to
confront the prevailing opinion in French historiography that Lucien Febvre and
Émile Léonard had already said all that could be said about religion in sixteenthcentury France. This book shows us how thankful we should be that he did.
JAMES K. FARGE, C.S.B.
Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies
Toronto

” In Christo ist weder man noch weyb“: Frauen in der Zeit der Reformation
und der katholischen Reform. Edited by Anne Conrad. [Katholisches
Leben und Kirchenreform im Zeitalter der Glaubensspaltung, 59.] (Münster/W.: Aschendorff Verlag, 1999. Pp. 232. DM 39.80.)
Nearly every one of these ten essays sets out research topics that urgently
need treatment. The relative lack of scholarship on women’s responses to the
Reformation, including the Catholic Reform, is itself a salient theme of this collection. Although in the list of authors, many of the contributors are styled as

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theologians—and several, too, as historians—their work here is not on religious
ideas in the abstract but rather the practical implications of the Reformation for
women’s everyday existence. Several essays are elementary surveys that may be
useful in the Germanophone undergraduate classroom but will tell the expert
nothing new. Indeed, as Nicole Grochowina (pp. 95–113) concedes, in her consideration of the scope for women’s action in the Anabaptist movement, that
[North] American research is farthest along. Alas, even at that, C. Arnold Snyder
and Linda A. Huebert Hecht, Profiles of Anabaptist Women (Waterloo, Ontario,
1996) has eluded her.
Other essays are of definite scholarly interest. Antje Rüttgardt (pp. 69–94)
takes up the pamphlet debate between 1523 and 1528 over female monasticism in particular. This polemic, waged with greater dynamism from the Evangelical side, quickly shifted from the inevitable burdens on nuns’ consciences as
a result of having been placed in convents against their will, to the principle
that women’s proper role lay in serving as wife and mother. Barbara Henze (pp.
129–151) notes that female appellants, as they sought to shape their own destinies before the new civil-and-ecclesiastical marriage courts, were inevitably
complicit in shifting power to the new authority. She sees both Catholic and
Protestant creeds as promoting a more interior, individualized religiosity than
their predecessors. Siegrid Westphal (pp. 152–171), examining post-Reformation
processes of scrutinizing moral behavior in Pfalz-Neuburg, notes the failure of
discipline from above wherever statist goals were clearly at odds with popular
ones. Gisela Muschiol (pp. 172–198) insists that the fate of each nunnery and
its inmates’ responses to religious change need to be studied within the context
of the convent’s social and economic relationships. Sisters in surviving houses
now turned away from prayer for others and toward the service of children, the
poor, the sick, or the uneducated. Lucia Koch (pp. 199–230) takes up the fate of
three Protestant (first Lutheran, then Calvinist) houses of female religious
(Stiftsdamen) in Nassau. Even in Protestant eyes they found their vindication in
teaching girls manners and virtuous habits, in fulfilling social requirements of
the regional lower nobility from which they mainly came,and in relieving those
in need.
The essays described are valuable additions to an understated subject. They
underscore the desirability of continuing to excavate information about past
women’s lives as well as constructing theories.
SUSAN C. KARANT-NUNN
The University of Arizona

L’identità dissimulata. Giudaizzanti iberici nell’Europa cristiana dell’età
moderna. Edited by Pier Cesare Ioly Zorattini. [Storia dell’Ebraismo in
Italia,Studi e testi,xx.] (Florence: Leo S. Olschki Editore. 2000. Pp. 395. Lire
85,000 paperback.)

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Professor Ioly Zorattini states that this is the first collection of articles devoted exclusively to crypto-Judaism, whose practitioners had various names in
their own time and today—Conversos, Marranos, New Christians, and Portuguese. Crypto-Jews were Christians, mostly from Portugal, converted by force
who practiced Judaism in secret or were waiting for the right circumstances to
become open Jews again. The eleven articles, nine in Italian, one in English, and
one in Portuguese, by well-known scholars and talented newcomers examine
crypto-Judaism in several parts of Italy in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.
One should start with Benjamin Ravid’s excellent synoptic article summarizing papal and Venetian policy toward New Christians who came to Italy and either openly or secretly became Jews again. Clement VII ruled in 1533,and Paul III
and Julius III reaffirmed, that those who had been baptized by force should not
be considered members of the Church. But Paul IV changed direction by burning twenty-six Judaizers in Ancona in 1555. By contrast, the Venetian government slowly came to adopt the earlier papal policy: it allowed New Christians
to come to Venice and live as Jews in the ghetto. In addition, it would not try to
discover if others living as Catholics outside the ghetto were crypto-Jews.
Moreover, the Venetian Holy Office dealt very mildly with those who came to
their attention through denunciations. The reasons were commercial: for the
sake of its trade the Venetian government believed that it had to honor guarantees given to Jewish merchants that they would not be investigated for their behavior. Several other studies in the volume examine the results of papal and
Venetian policies.
Ioly Zorattini provides a good study of the dangers and complexities that
crypto-Jews living outside the ghetto encountered in seventeenth-century Venice.
For example, Jewish law permitted endogamic marriage (uncle-niece or firstcousin unions), but canon law barred it. Thus, an endogamic union lacking
ecclesiastical dispensation gave evidence of crypto-Judaism. Death and burial
practices,purification rites,preparation of food,and keeping Jewish holidays involved clandestine activities and compromises for secret Jews, while close relations with Christians risked discovery. For example, prostitutes sometimes
denounced supposed Christian clients after seeing their circumcized penises.
But the penalties for uncovered crypto-Jews were invariably light, because of
Venetian policy described by Ravid.
Lucia Frattarelli Fisher provides an excellent study, rich in new material, of
crypto-Jews in Tuscany. In 1549 Duke Cosimo I awarded a sweeping safe-conduct
to Portuguese crypto-Jews coming to Tuscany, and his successors protected
them against the inquisition. The reason was trade: the dukes wished to build
up the port of Livorno and commerce in Pisa and Florence. While Jews in Florence were obliged to live in a ghetto after 1570, Jews in Pisa and Livorno might
live where they chose. In time the crypto-Jews rose in Tuscan society and included two professors of medicine of Portuguese background at the University
of Pisa. But they did not meld into Tusan society. For example, although the

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descendants of the Portuguese rose high enough in wealth and position to intermarry with members of the Tuscan upper class, they did not. Aron di Leone
Leoni provides much information about Jews and crypto-Jews in Ancona and
Pesaro through a diligent search through local notarial archives.
The other articles are shorter. Ariel Toaff summarizes from his previous scholarship the benevolent policy of Pope Alexander VI toward Jews in the Papal
State. For example, a five-year-old Jewish girl went to a convent asking to be
baptized. The parents protested; the nuns would not let her go, but Alexander
VI ordered her returned to her parents. The pope’s policy was motivated more
by the desire to win financial support from Jewish bankers than views ahead of
his times. Maddalena Del Bianco Cotrozzi discusses the problems of Jewish
women in crypto-Jewish households in Venice. Sometimes they disassociated
themselves from the religious decisions of their spouses by becoming Jewish
or remaining Catholic. Silvio G. Cusin analyzes and publishes a Kethubbà, a
solemn marriage contract in which the husband guarantees to safeguard the
rights of his wife, of 1634 written in Italian. Brian Pullan points out how Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice may echo episodes in Venetian Jewish life as uncovered in inquisition trials. Carla Boccato describes the life of the second wife
of Gaspar Ribiera, the wealthy and colorful Jewish merchant who danced
beyond the reach of the Venetian inquisition. The last two articles deal with
Portugal. Elvira Azevedo Mea provides a short summary of the Portuguese
inquisition and the trials of crypto-Jews there. Andrea Zanardo offers anthropological hypotheses concerning the survival of Portuguese crypto-Judaism.
The overall quality is very high. This is a worthy addition to the fourteen volumes (published 1980 to 1999) of Venetian Holy Office trials of Judaizers,
1548–1734, ably edited by Ioly Zorattini and his collaborators.
PAUL F. GRENDLER
Chapel Hill, North Carolina

An Answere vnto Sir Thomas Mores Dialoge. By William Tyndale. Edited by
Anne M. O’Donnell,S.N.D.,and Jared Wicks,S.J. [The Independent Works of
William Tyndale, Volume 3.] (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of
America Press. 2000. Pp. xlix, 496. $79.95.)
Whose side are you on in the debate between Sir Thomas More and the translator of the Bible,William Tyndale? Today,More and Tyndale enthusiasts are joining hands in academic partnership. Such collaborations would have infuriated
the two gentlemen in question, were they alive today. Could it be, though, that
their scholarly descendants know them best?
In this new edition of Tyndale’s “Answer,” students of the Reformation will
find a wealth of fascinating material;the editors have done their homework,and
their explanations of Tyndale’s text are detailed, lucid, and admirably fair.

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We know Tyndale first and foremost as a translator; and as he describes them
in the “Answer,” his dilemmas over terminological choice (i.e., finding the right
English words, with the right degree of generality or specificity) will strike a
chord with linguists everywhere.
Better still, the “Answer to More” lets us hear Tyndale the translator speaking
to us in his own authorial voice. As always with this writer, spotting early appearances of cherished English idioms (“pick a quarrel,”“safe and sound,”“go to
pot”) gives much pleasure. Some of Tyndale’s spellings (“axe” for “ask,”“kinge of
Englonde”) hint intriguingly at Tudor pronunciation.
But more than a translator or writer,Tyndale is showcased here as a preacher
and Reformer (the “Answer” contains nearly a thousand biblical references).
And Tyndale and More are not pen-pals, but two Scriptural scholars in a fight to
the death.
Some of Tyndale’s insults draw blood (quite literally). With vivid verbs of action (“There [More] biteth /sucketh / gnaweth . . .”), he depicts More as an animal, consumed with anger (“he rageth . . .”), a legalistic Cerberus snarling at
Hell’s gate. On a more serious note, whereas modern More biographers describe him as a man independent of the Papacy,Tyndale begs to differ with that.
Who, do you suppose, is closest to the truth?
Time and again, however,Tyndale leaves controversy aside and returns to the
importance of keeping the Commandments, and embracing the shedding of
Christ’s blood in memory of Him (in today’s jargon, we might say that Tyndale
“stays on message”). And yet, despite his single-minded focus,Tyndale is always
pushing the argument away from tit-for-tat, and in the direction of broad universalizing principles, as the following paragraph shows:
And the herte here begynneth to mollyfye and wax softe and to receaue health and
beleueth the mercy of God and in beleuynge is saued from feare of euerlastynge
deeth and made sure off euerlastynge lyfe / and then beinge ouercome wyth thys
kindnesse / begynneth too loue agayne and to submitte hyr selfe un to the lawe of
God to lerne them and to walke in them. (p. 196)

At first glance the More/Tyndale controversy yields little of the psychological
insight that modern readers yearn for. What does come across plainly, however,
is Tyndale’s clinical aversion to members of the priesthood, the “oiled and
shaven” ones, from whose ranks he sprang. When we read of the abuses of Catholic ritual, including auricular confession (“filthy priapish confession which ye
spew in the eare”),we can only wonder: what did Tyndale witness,or personally
experience, that made him feel so strongly about this, and from an early age?
In “Answer” we observe the use of the first person singular (“I feel,” “I believe”), as Tyndale describes a feeling faith that is also deeply personal. This inward focus is to be expected from a fugitive living in enforced isolation far from
home. A man once so outspoken in England,he must now behave circumspectly
in his adopted countries.

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Tyndale argues that women may preach in emergencies. Are we stretching a
point to ask whether this unexpectedly pragmatic statement has a bearing on
Tyndale’s own personal circumstances? Adaptability under pressure is a useful
asset for a man on the run, who must face regular crises and the ever-present
threat of exposure.
We have mentioned Tyndale’s single-mindedness. In repeating certain messages to his audience over and again, is he not telling himself what the stakes
are, is he not reminding himself once again of the reasons why he has committed himself to a life of turmoil? And is he not also keeping faith with the past,
as a sturdy bulwark in an uncertain world?
Ultimately, we are left with the sound of Tyndale’s voice. It is a voice of confidence, but also tinged with something else. What, exactly? Tyndalians will
sense a premonition in the Answer’s closing words; his loss is our loss:
But ye because ye haue no power to delyuer them to sathan to blynde theyr myndes / ye deliuer them to the fyre to destroy their flesh / that no moare is sene of
them after then the asshes. (p. 215)

NEIL L. INGLIS
Bethesda, Maryland

Clerical Marriage and the English Reformation: Precedent, Policy and Practice. By Helen L. Parish. [St Andrews Studies in Reformation History.]
(Burlington, Vermont: Ashgate. 2000. Pp. xii, 276. $94.95.)
Clerical marriage became a central issue not only in polemical literature but
also in the formation of confessional identities and the royal policy of midTudor England. In six chapters, Helen Parish of the University of Reading examines the theological and moral concerns in the debate over clerical celibacy
that engaged evangelical polemicists such as John Bale, William Tyndale, and
George Joye, and their conservative opponents including Stephen Gardiner,
Thomas Martin, and Richard Smith. Parish carefully places this controversy of
1530–1570 into the broader context of support for clerical marriage by continental reformers including Luther and Melanchthon. In her last chapter, she
considers the actual practice and reception of clerical marriage by analyzing
quantitative and anecdotal evidence from selected dioceses.
The great strength of this work is that it succeeds in convincing the reader of
the theological importance of the issue of clerical marriage even though the
polemical literature was often riddled by scurrilous remarks and personal attacks on opponents. Parish methodically reviews the reformers’ position as informed by their doctrine of salvation by faith alone, their critique of the nature
and efficacy of the sacrifice of the Mass and the priest’s sacramental role, their
use of Scripture as the litmus test for the validity of vows, and the secondary

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place they assigned to the testimony of the early Church Fathers and arguments
from history. The response of conservative English polemicists to such arguments receives ample coverage as well. That evangelical doctrine did not always translate into policy is evident in Parish’s attention to the frustration of
the English Reformers who found their own monarchs,except during Edward VI’s
brief reign, unsympathetic to the demand for the implementation of clerical
marriage as a sign of genuine religious reform.
In the last chapter, doctrine gives way to practice. After examining clerical
marriages under Edward VI and the subsequent Marian deprivations of married
clergy in the dioceses of Chichester, Winchester, Salisbury, and Lincoln, Parish
concludes that the safer position is “to suggest that many evangelical clergy
chose to marry, rather than to claim that married clergy as a group were more
sympathetic to the Reformation” (p. 217). Parish’s brief comments on Queen
Elizabeth’s early reservations concerning married clergy recall the slow reception of religious innovations documented by scholars such as Christopher
Haigh and Eamon Duffy.
There are a few problems in this work. Parish would have been wise to clarify initially the distinction between the obligation of celibacy assumed by the
secular clergy and the vow of chastity made by regular clergy. (Some attempt at
clarification is made in a footnote on page 139 where she points out that the
polemicists themselves failed, probably deliberately, to make such a distinction.) Given Parish’s close attention to the polemical and doctrinal affiliation between continental and English evangelical Reformers, this reader was
disappointed with the lack of attention to the output of continental conservative polemicists, such as Johannes Eck and Johannes Cochlaeus, who were also
facing challenges to the traditional status of the clergy.
Yet Helen Parish’s book is a welcome addition to the work of Eric Carlson
and Peter Marshall and a valuable resource for Reformation scholars seeking to
connect the debate on clerical marriage to major theological issues of the day.
Parish hints at a growing support by the late sixteenth century for a respectable
married clergy who might model a disciplined Protestant household. Further
exploration of such a shift in social attitudes would provide a more complete
understanding of the relevance of clerical marriage for early modern England.
ELLEN A. MACEK
The University of Tennessee

Providence in Early Modern England. By Alexandra Walsham. (New York: Oxford University Press. 1999. Pp. xvii, 387. $85.00.)
During the past half a decade Alexandra Walsham has established herself as
one of the best of the young historians working on the English Reformation.
Like many of them she has been following the trail blazed by Patrick Collinson,

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of understanding the process by studying its results rather than its causes: in
her own words, by considering the “how” rather than the “why” or “when.”
Such a methodology fits well with the current preoccupation with cultural
studies, and with cultural relationships between different levels of society, and
this book represents one of its triumphs.
The title is something of a shorthand.“Early modern England” stands here (as
now so often) for the period between the accession of Elizabeth and the outbreak of the Civil War, and “providence” signifies publicly articulated attitudes
to catastrophic natural events,from earthquakes and plagues to monstrous births
and sudden deaths. The source material consists mainly of two different but related printed genres: tracts and sermons by Protestant divines and cheap sensationalist literature. The comparisons and contrasts between the two are
illuminating in themselves, and the market for both suggests that to a reasonable extent they can be considered to reflect wider public attitudes. It is part of
the quality of Dr. Walsham’s work, however, that she sets both in a context
which ranges from folklore to medieval devotional works to tapestries and funeral monuments. The text is well illustrated with woodcuts taken from some
of the principal texts.
The conclusions of the book are characteristically multivalent and subtle. Beliefs in the providential origin of disasters and prodigies reveal the limited impact of the Reformation, in that they show strong continuities with medieval
and ancient attitudes and stubbornly included aspects which ministers thought
theologically suspect. On the other hand, they also illustrate the transformative
power of the Reformation, by showing how the new religion remolded the
older ideas in its own form, and uncoupled them from Catholic theology. It
emerges as both the long, uneven, and officially imposed process of Christopher Haigh and the “howling success” of Diarmaid MacCulloch. Providentialism represented one of the areas in which divines most strongly and angrily
distanced themselves from what they held to be popular beliefs and those of
populist literature, but in reality they had a far closer interaction with the latter,
and relied far more on negotiation and compromise with it, than their fulminations suggest. For a long time, providentialist discourse served to unite English
Protestants and to give them a sense of membership of an elect nation, but as
divisions between them widened from the 1620’s, it became a divisive and subversive force which was eventually largely discredited by its association with
partisan and sectarian polemic.
Niggling doubts must remain as to how far even the spectrum of attitudes
represented by these printed sources really represented that of society at large,
but this may be as close to the truth of the matter as we will ever get. More than
ever before, moreover, studies such as this are providing a sense of the period
between 1560 and 1640 as a distinctive one in English history, in which initial
Protestant success created a polity and culture too dynamic, complex, and inse-

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cure to survive the strains of the age. The English-speaking world still lives in
its ruins.
RONALD HUTTON
University of Bristol

Apocalypse How? Baptist Movements during the English Revolution. By Mark
R. Bell. (Macon, Georgia: Mercer University Press. 2000. Pp. ix, 299. $35.00.)
Mark Bell’s welcome study of the various Baptist groups in the seventeenth
century, primarily before 1660, relies extensively on the studies of Murray
Tolmie,Bryan Ball and B. R. White.Yet his approach is unique because of the significance he attaches to millenarianism in interpreting the history of these
groups. The General (Arminian) Baptists, he argues, developed a relatively sophisticated organization as a result of their missionary zeal, which in turn was
rooted in their apocalyptic tenets.The Particular (Calvinist) Baptists emerged from
the Henry Jacob-John Lathrop-Henry Jessey circle in an attempt to re-establish
the apostolic church under the authority of King Jesus, an effort grounded in
apocalyptic convictions. Likewise, Bell avers that the Baptist call for liberty of
conscience was framed in the context of the apocalyptic struggle between the
forces of Christ and Antichrist. For a while the Baptists formed an uneasy alliance with the Levellers, but whereas the latter argued for sweeping reforms
based on inherent rights, the Baptists envisioned reform through the prism of
millenarianism. The alliance unraveled, Bell contends, when the threat of Presbyterian domination faded, the Baptists recognized their fundamental differences with the Levellers, and at least some Baptists began to endorse the
government in apocalyptic terms.
As I have asserted with respect to Presbyterians and Friends in Ireland, Bell
makes a compelling argument that the General and Particular Baptists, especially in the years following their break with the Levellers, developed organizational structures and strong leaders that enabled these movements to become
proto-denominations, thereby laying the groundwork for them to become modern denominations in a later age. Bell astutely charts how the more conservative
Baptists,who were increasingly willing to accommodate society,dominated these
proto-denominations,forcing the more apocalyptically minded Baptists into the
Fifth Monarchist and Seventh-Day Baptist movements. Bell takes issue with
White and B. S. Capp, arguing for a much closer relationship between Baptists
and Fifth Monarchists; a majority of the latter, he suggests, endorsed believers’
baptism. With the coming of the Protectorate, the Fifth Monarchists and the
more moderate Baptists split when the eschatological tenets of the former
prompted them to denounce the Cromwellian regime for its apostasy. Unlike
the Baptists, the Fifth Monarchists eschewed organizational development and
thus eventually disappeared, though somewhat later than Bell suggests, for

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there were identifiable Fifth Monarchists in the late 1680’s. He draws some
intriguing parallels between the Fifth Monarchists and Seventh-Day Baptists,
noting that both groups reacted against the waning apocalyptic outlook in
English society and the extent to which the more moderate Baptists reached
an accord with society. According to Bell,as the Fifth Monarchist movement disintegrated, those members who desired to remain in opposition to society
became Seventh-Day Baptists rather than rejoining the Particular or General
Baptists. Although open-membership, open-communion Baptists—he calls
them “Independent Baptists”—are noted throughout the book,more systematic
analysis would have been welcome.
Bell’s well-argued volume is an important contribution to Baptist studies. Unfortunately,it is marred by a major breakdown in copyediting and proofreading,
including references to “Straffordshire” rather than Staffordshire, and “Fenstation” rather than Fenstanton.
RICHARD L. GREAVES
Florida State University

Catholics in a Protestant Country: The Papist Constituency in EighteenthCentury Dublin. By Patrick Fagan. (Dublin: Four Courts Press. Distributed
in the U.S. by ISBS, Portland, Oregon. 1998. Pp. 201. $45.00.)
The road on which Maureen Wall set the study of eighteenth-century Ireland’s Catholic community many years ago is one on which travelers are prone
to the loss of a sense of historiographical direction. The amelioration of the
condition of penal-era Catholics by late twentieth-century historians has been
interesting. However, one is often left wondering what it explains. It would be
good to have it more often related, for example, to general understandings of
the relationship between religion and society in eighteenth-century Europe or,
again, to the pre-eminence of religion in later Irish conflict. Still, while awaiting
revelations of relevance, one welcomes the ongoing work.
Patrick Fagan has now for many years devoted himself to the diligent observation of eighteenth-century Catholic Ireland and provided interesting reading
for those,who,like himself,enjoy walking its highways and byways. In this present work a sense of purposeful walking has been supplied by the historians’
agreement with eighteenth-century Protestants about the insubstantiality of
the Papists’ afflictions. The rubric for Fagan’s composition is disagreement with
the remark of Charles O’Conor of Belanagare that people like him were in “a
low way.” The disagreement is unwarrantable. People like O’Conor were Catholic gentlemen and they had very good reason to consider themselves to be in
a low way, as had the Catholic Church in Ireland, in view of the continuing failure to restore the regal authority of James III. Fagan’s study seems to presume

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that O’Conor’s reference is to the Catholic community as a whole, which entertained no serious hopes of a reversal of fortunes. “Low” is a relative term, to
be interpreted with reference to expectations and moral convictions.
It is true in a measure that the value of Fagan’s work is but little altered by the
author’s choice of a positive or negative view of the condition of the Catholics or
by the presence or absence of any particular historiographical influence. Such a
book’s worth, it may be said, lies in its array of interesting information. We may
make of that information what we will. However, it is also true that such a book
has a serious obligation to present itself with an attractive, integrating theme,
such as Cornelius Nary and Sylvester Lloyd themselves supplied for Fagan’s biographical studies. The present work, having but a reading of the opinions of historians to unify it, is less fortunate. Perhaps it would be best to assume that this
book is simply about Dublin,a specifically Catholic continuation,as it were,of the
“portrait of Dublin” offered by the author some years ago.1 This assumption
would justify the long preliminary discussion of the city’s population, as well as
the excursus into the history of Freemasonry in the city, which interrupts depiction of the Catholic presence in professional life. It would fail, however, to justify
the venture into political history of the second chapter,a dull chronology of Catholic attempts to influence the legislature in the earlier part of the century.
C. D.A. LEIGHTON
Bilkent University, Ankara

Late Modern European
Hippolyte Delehaye: Hagiographie critique et modernisme. By Bernard Joassart. 2 vols. [Subsidia hagiographica, 81.] (Brussels: Société des Bollandistes. 2000. Pp. viii, 442; 443–897. 150 Euros paperback.)
Although interest in critical church history and in hagiography has not been
entirely absent in scholarship on the modernist period, it has not, until recently,
received the attention it deserves. Brigitte Waché’s 1992 biography of Louis
Duchesne has gone a long way toward redressing the balance. Although not a
biographical study,Joassart’s work on the Bollandist Hippolyte Delehaye (1859–
1941) takes another significant step in illuminating these areas.
Joassart acknowledges his subject’s contributions to “positive” hagiograpical
research in the Bollandist tradition, especially in the area of Byzantine hagiography. But his focus is on the more “reflexive” side of Delehaye’s production, on
works of method and synthesis based on that research experience. These include Les légendes hagiographiques (1905, 1906, and 1927), Les origines des
cultes des martyrs (1912), Les Passions des martyrs et les genres littéraires
(1921), Sanctus (1927), and Cinq leçons sur la méthode hagiographique
Patrick Fagan, The Second City: Portrait of Dublin 1700–1760 (Dublin: Branar, 1986).

1

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(1934). It is the first of these, the Légendes, that constitutes the core of this
study, as Joassart traces the difficulties it encountred, within the Society of Jesus, then with the Holy Office, and with integralist opponents of critical approaches. The focus is appropriate, as the Légendes in its own right functioned
as a “manifesto of critical hagiography” (p. vii) and remains a classic (an English
translation was reprinted in 1998). Beyond this, it opens a perspective onto the
controversies raised by the use of historical method in turn-of-the-century Catholicism.
After some preliminary materials—a chronology of Delehaye’s life, a helpful
list of Jesuit authorities, a chronological bibliography of Delehaye’s publications, and a note on archival sources—Joassart traces in Part I the route followed by Delehaye in becoming a Bollandist. Part II fills in Bollandist
background: the history and operating practices of this group of Jesuit scholars
formed for the critical study of the lives of the saints. It then surfaces the difficulties the Bollandists encountered, culminating in Roman censorship of the
Analecta Bollandiana, imposed in 1901. Despite repeated efforts on the part
of the Bollandists, this surveillance would remain in place until 1920. This constituted the climate in which the Légendes appeared, first as a series of articles
in the Revue des questions historiques in 1903, and in expanded book form in
1905. That climate worsened specifically with respect to the Bollandists as a result of three hagiographical controversies which surfaced in the course of 1906
(the year in which a second edition of the Légendes appeared), reinforced papal and curial suspicion of Bollandist activity, and evoked from the Jesuit
Provincial the comment, “L’hagiographie est un terrain brûlant” (p. 203). That
same year a liberal Italian journal included Delehaye’s name, along with George
Tyrrell’s, in its short list of Jesuit “modernists.”
Part III opens with an examination of integralist attacks on the Légendes over
the course of 1912–1914 and various interventions which were made to save it
from the Index. A second chapter provides the background to the issuance of
the third edition of the Légendes in 1927. Then follows a summary of the
book’s contents, and its reception by contemporary scholars. A final chapter
treats the four other “reflexive” works noted earlier.
The second volume provides documentation, much of it previously unpublished,in the form of correspondence—some of it selectively quoted in the first
volume—along with relevant documents. In a second section the reports of
Roman censorship from 1901 through 1914 are given. A final section identifies
(where possible) authorship of articles and reviews in the Analecta through
1902.
The subtitle of these volumes indicates their wider significance. The focus on
the contexts and career of Delehaye’s Légendes lends coherence to an account
that illuminates the workings of the Bollandists, the perceptions of Jesuit and
Vatican authorities, and the dynamics of the modernist crisis. While Delehaye is
less well known than Duchesne, due primarily to the specialized nature of his
work, his publications along with those of his fellow Bollandists contributed to

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a perception of a larger critical research front that encompassed both church
history and biblical exegesis. That connection was not lost on modernists (cf.
pp. 388–389) or on their integralist opponents (pp. 266 ff.). Despite its focus
Joassart’s study should appeal to multiple readerships, from those interested
in hagiography to those concerned with broad intellectual currents active in
nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Catholicism.
These carefully researched volumes obviously benefit from Joassart’s own experience as a Bollandist. He resists any temptation to canonize his predecessor,
and his treatment of men of varying ideological persuasions is, on the whole,
even-handed—not to be taken for granted when dealing with this period of
church history. Since the treatment of themes is not strictly chronological and,
given the considerable cast of characters, this study requires attentive reading.
It is well worth the effort.
C. J.T.TALAR
St. Mary’s Seminary & University

Hitler, the War and the Pope. By Ronald J. Rychlak. (Huntington, Indiana: Our
Sunday Visitor. 2000. Pp. xiv, 468. $19.95 paperback.)
The literature on the pontificate of Pius XII has now reached dimensions that
surpass what has been published on any other successor of St. Peter. Because
he occupied the Holy See at one of the terrible moments in human history,
World War II and the accompanying Holocaust of the Jews, attention is understandably given to his action in regard to these tragic happenings. A fashion was
set by a German dramatist, Rolf Hochhuth, no expert historian: Pius XII was the
silent Pope. Research, however, showed that this was a superficial, erroneous interpretation of the events. Hence the controversy that we have seen. Now from
the extensive literature a work of superb scholarship and most mature judgment appears.
The author, Ronald J. Rychlak, comes from an important legal and academic
background. But he will be judged on the intrinsic quality of his work. He
adopts a special structure in the presentation of his material. After some preliminaries there are seventeen chapters dealing with the careers of Pius XII and
Hitler and the beginning and course of the war, with special attention to the
Holocaust. Not many authors give the early years of the Führer, with his days in
prison; not many either recount the first phase in the life and official status of
Eugenio Pacelli,his appointments before he became Secretary of State to Pius XI
and his successor as Pope. But the later earth-shaking events are here given full
attention.
In Chapter XVIII of the book the author poses twelve questions which may
be asked about Pius XII and gives complete, satisfying answers. Then comes an
epilogue, a chapter in which the author analyzes and offers valid criticism of

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the book which bore the title Hitler’s Pope—which carried the record-breaking
falsehood in a world where falsehood abounded—a reference to the Pope’s
“collusion” with Hitler’s anti-Semitism! I shall presently show the idiocy of such
a remark. Had I met the author on television I would have asked him whether
he was preparing the companion volume, “Winston Churchill, Hitler’s Prime
Minister.” Our author elegantly demolishes his bit of pathos.
There is then an afterword by a commentator, Robert P. George, briefly setting the book in a deservedly favorable context. Then comes treasure trove: 130
pages entitled “End Notes.” These pages comprise a most abundant annotation
to the main text. They reveal a phenomenal amount of reading. The author’s
clear, graceful style, which makes his main text a delight to read, does not desert
him here, for the notes, which in number are slightly short of two thousand, are
not mere references but explanation, at times quite detailed. It is easy to see future university students working on dissertations delving deeply into the vast
accessible treasure.
For the author shows that he has omitted nothing. He uses works like my
own book on the Pope, all the Jewish writings available to him at the time of
writing,especially all the primary sources,the state papers,the Nuremberg transcript, the Vatican War Documents, any and every article that has relevance.
There is no comparable, certainly no superior writing which manifests command of literature and telling discernment, in recent historical literature.
The book is a landmark. I should make it clear that every major event in the
life of Pius XII is dealt with; every question raised about him is answered and
answered satisfactorily to the total confusion of his critics.
Professor Rychlak will rejoice at the recent Jewish contribution to the literature on Pius XII, for, as he shows, this is a sticking point. The highly respected
English (though Jewish) historian, Sir Martin Gilbert, in a second work dealing
with the tragic period defends Pius XII; so did Professor Richard Bratmein, a
Jewish staff member of Washington University. So did Michael Tagliacozzo, a
leading Israeli expert on the Holocaust, who wrote thus: “Pope Pacelli was the
only one who intervened to stop the deportation of Jews [from Rome] on 16
October, 1943, and he did a great deal to hide and save thousands of us.”
Pinchas Lapide, whose work our author used, reckoned that Pius XII had
saved 860,000 Jewish lives. But now comes the supreme tribute from a Jewish
historian of impeccable credentials. Rabbi David Dalin of New York, in an article in The Weekly Examiner (February 26), proposes that the State of Israel
proclaim Pius XII “Righteous among the Nations,” the highest honor it can bestow, in recognition of his vast rescue of threatened Jews. In this work Pius XII
was unique among world statesmen. Sir Martin Gilbert has shown that the Allied Powers refused to bomb the railway line to Auschwitz, which would have
saved thousands of lives; their planes were flying over the area!
I am happy that Professor Rychlak, among the very many Jewish expressions
of gratitude which he records, relates Chief Rabbi Herzog’s messages to the

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Pope and to Delegate Roncalli (Pope John XXIII) in Istanbul in this sense. I had
a long interview with this great Jewish personality at Easter time, 1957. When I
mentioned Pius XII he became enthusiastic and asked me to convey his blessing to the Pope. When I did so the Pope beamed with joy.“I think,” I added,“that
the Jews are grateful for what you did for them.” The Pope’s reply: “I wish I
could have done more.”
MICHAEL O’CARROLL, C.S.SP.
Blackrock College
County Dublin

French Catholicism: Church, State and Society in a Changing Era. By Sandy
Tippett-Spirtou. (New York: St. Martin’s Press. 2000. Pp. xviii, 238. $65.00.)
The years spanned in this work, 1930–1998, certainly constitute a “changing
era” both in French Catholicism and in the larger world. However, the author of
this book, a lecturer in civilization at the University of Caen, tends to concentrate on the last thirty years and emphasizes the neuralgic issues of the gender,
education, political action, and church governance. The result is a study more
sociological than historical, based largely on published and journalistic sources,
rather than on archival research. The author’s own preferences, especially as regards the ordination of women and radical reform of the Church,are not veiled.
For a serious analyst of contemporary French Catholicism, this work will
prove disappointing on three levels. On the theological level, the absence of
any ecclesiological framework is disturbing and leads to such statements as:
“. . . Papal encyclicals pronounce the Pope’s infallible views on Catholic teachings on political and social issues” (p. 1). On the historical level, the absence of
sound research produces conclusions such as:“Surely figures relating to church
attendance are not indicative of anything other than an adherence to tradition”
(p. 64). On the textual level,this work is marred by several lapses,factual as well
as stylistic, which careful editing could have corrected; for example,“This [Second Vatican] Council, only the second of its kind in the history of Christianity . . .” (p. 3), is clearly incorrect, while the phrase, “Systems for electing
bishops . . .” (p. 150), should read “Systems for selecting bishops. . . .”
The history of twentieth-century French Catholicism is simultaneously complex, colorful, and controversial. This book admittedly conveys a selective sense
of the controversies within the French Church in the years 1930–1998, but offers very little insight into its rich, vital complexity. The works of Etienne Fouilloux and Gérard Cholvy will prove far more rewarding for serious historical
study of contemporary French Catholicism than the book under review.
FRANCIS J. MURPHY
Boston College

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Catholiques et Communistes: La crise du progressisme chrétien, 1950–1955.
By Yvon Tranvouez. [L’histoire à vif.] (Paris: Editions du Cerf. 2000. Pp. 363.
FFr 165 paperback.)
Nine of the twelve chapters of this superbly researched work first appeared
as separate articles in varied, specialized publications. For this study, Tranvouez
has revised, expanded and supplemented these articles and produced a well integrated, highly nuanced monograph.
The central focus of this book is the semi-monthly review, La Quinzaine.
Tranvouez painstakingly examines every aspect of La Quinzaine from its initial
appearance in November, 1950, to its condemnation by the Holy Office in February, 1955, and its final issue one month later. The special significance of La
Quinzaine lies not in its limited readership, which Tranvouez carefully reconstructs from subscription data, but rather in its role as the voice of the Christian
progressive movement in France.
The Christian progressives occupied a unique position on the French Catholic spectrum, to the left of Témoignage Chrétien. The distinguishing feature of
La Quinzaine was its double commitment to the Church and to the worker
movement. In the polarized world of the Cold War and in the turbulent upheaval of French Catholicism in the early 1950’s,Tranvouez convincingly demonstrates the incompatibility of a simultaneous loyalty to the teaching of the
Church, on the one hand, and to the Communist-dominated worker movement,
on the other. As a result, the eventual condemnation of La Quinzaine could be
seen as the final chapter in the fascinating, frustrating, and fractious conflict between Paris and Rome, most dramatically symbolized by the censure of the
priest-worker “experiment” in 1954.
The book is written for specialists in twentieth-century French Catholicism.
Tranvouez uses an amazing array of primary sources, especially the archives of
La Quinzaine. He places the review in the longer tradition of French Catholic
thought by showing its links to both Temps Présent and Lamennais. Through
this carefully crafted study of one current of French Catholic thought, a fuller,
richer picture emerges of the convulsive condition of the French Church in the
decade following World War II.
FRANCIS J. MURPHY
Boston College

American
The Encyclopedia of the Irish in America. Edited by Michael Glazier. (Notre
Dame, Indiana: University of Notre Dame Press. 1999. Pp. xxiii, 988.
$89.95.)

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In his “Introduction” to The Encyclopedia of the Irish in America,the editor,
Michael Glazier, recalls his own emigration from Ireland to America, the “cold
winter afternoon when I stood on the deck of the Saxonia and watched Ireland recede into the horizon.” More than five million men, women and children
shared that experience, watching their native Ireland “recede” and disappear
over the horizon as they traveled to a new home in the United States. Today
more than forty million Americans trace their ancestry to the people who made
that journey. From Richard Butler of Tipperary, who landed somewhere near
Ocracoke Island on what is now the coast of North Carolina in 1584, to yesterday’s immigrant,and the ten,eleven,or twelve generations in between,the number of Irish Americans must reach into the hundreds of millions. Glazier’s
compendium of their experience is long overdue, but these sheer numbers and
the diversity and breadth of Irish American backgrounds suggest why an encyclopedia of Irish American history is such a daunting task and has not been
done before.
Glazier’s book has met this formidable challenge. It is exceptionally well
thought through. One feature Glazier rightly points to with pride in his “Introduction” is the inclusion of separate essays on the Irish in all fifty states and all
major American cities. That alone is a great help to anyone with even a casual
interest in Irish Americans, for it means that they can find a short, comprehensive narrative and basic data on the Irish in any part of the United States.
Glazier also notes a special effort to make the volume broadly inclusive of the
wide range of the Irish experience in America. He points, in particular, to a special effort to include the oft-neglected history of Protestant Irish immigrants
and their descendants in the volume. Here the Encyclopedia achieves mixed
success. The volume does, indeed, include many entries on important people,
places, events, or organizations in the history of Protestant Irish immigrants or
their children and grandchildren. For example, it has a neat description of the
Eagle Wing project, an attempt by Ulster Presbyterians to emigrate to America
in 1636 thwarted by bad weather. David Doyle also turns in his usual, superbly
well-informed and provocative work in a rich and interesting entry on the
“Scots Irish or Scotch Irish.” The Encyclopedia also provides a full presentation
of the controversial “Celtic origins” interpretation of southern culture by the
authors of that interpretation, Grady McWhiney and Forrest McDonald, in an
entry on the “Irish Heritage of the South.” Nevertheless, some possible topics
that would seem pertinent to the history of Protestant Irish Americans, particularly the Ulster Irish migrants of the colonial or Revolutionary eras, are neglected. There is an entry—and rightfully so—on John L. Sullivan, the famous
turn-of-the-century Irish Catholic boxer, for example, but there is none on John
Sullivan, the Revolutionary war general and later Governor of New Hampshire.
There is also none on the “Regulators,” the largely Irish rebels from the southern backcountry who rose against eastern elites before the American Revolution, or similarly, the “Paxton Boys,” again largely Irish, who slaughtered native

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Americans in a protest of the Quaker-controlled government’s conciliatory Indian policies in colonial Pennsylvania.
Such few omissions, however, scarcely detract from the Encyclopedia’s great
value and wonderful contribution to the study of the Irish in America. The
breadth of this massive, wide ranging, and extraordinarily informative book of
eight hundred entries and 979 pages is stunning. Most of the essays are tightly
written, rich with useful detail, analytical, and reflect easy familiarity with the
best scholarship. Edward O’Day and Patrick Conley, two veteran and knowledgeable historians of Irish America, for example, have written excellent pieces
on their specialties, O’Day’s on the Irish in Massachusetts and Conley’s on the
Irish in Rhode Island. Other excellent entries range from David Fitzpatrick’s
long discussion of “Emigration: 1801 to 1921” to Michael Gordon’s short, but informative and inclusive, discussion of the Orange Order. The volume also offers
a wealth of important statistical information. Patrick Blessing’s article on the
“Irish in America” is especially noteworthy in this regard.
Moreover, if the Protestant Irish are somewhat slighted despite Glazier’s best
efforts, the Encyclopedia fully documents the religious life of Irish Catholics
and their central role in American Catholicism. There are entries on nearly
every important Irish American member of the hierarchy, from John England,
Bishop of Charleston in the 1820’s, to John Patrick Cardinal Cody, Archbishop
of Chicago, a century and a half later. There are also essays on numerous priests
and sisters, such as Father Edward Flanagan, founder of Boys Town, Daniel Harrington, a noted biblical scholar, Sister Ignatia Gavin, a pioneer in the treatment
of alcoholism, and Alice Lalor, Mother Teresa, foundress of the Visitation Sisters
in America. The Encyclopedia includes helpful entries on religious orders originating in Ireland, such as the Irish Christian Brothers and the Presentation Sisters from Ireland, as well. Yet the Encyclopedia’s rich treatment of Irish
American Catholicism is not limited to entries on church figures, organizations,
or institutions; it informs essays throughout the book, including entries on the
Irish in states as diverse as New York and Florida.
Ultimately, the true value of an encyclopedia becomes apparent not in assessing the editor’s plans or making one’s way through all eight hundred plus
articles, but in using it as an encyclopedia should be used: as a reference tool.
The true value of an encyclopedia is evident only when one needs to quickly
find often wildly random bits and pieces of information for a class lecture or an
article or to settle an argument: the number of Irish-born living in San Francisco
in 1880, for example; or the titles of Mary McCarthy’s books, or the dates of
Maurice Francis Egan’s diplomatic assignment in Denmark. I have had occasion
to make several such demands on the Encyclopedia in the last few months and
in this, the most practical and best test, this much-needed and worthy volume
has proved to me that it is an indispensable resource for anyone interested in
the Irish in America.
TIMOTHY J. MEAGHER
The Catholic University of America

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From Savages to Subjects: Missions in the History of the American Southwest.
By Robert H. Jackson. (New York: M. E. Sharpe. 2000. Pp. xvii, 151. $48.95.)
In From Savages to Subjects, Robert Jackson gives voice to the indigenous
people who inhabited Spain’s frontier in North America. This volume, part of
the “Latin American Realities” series edited by Robert M. Levine, integrates Jackson’s previous scholarship with the work of other Borderland historians into a
revisionist history of the Spanish missions. To Jackson, the history of the Spanish mission program “is far more complex than the older image of pious missionaries sacrificing their lives to save the souls of savage natives . . .” (p. xi).
Mission history must be understood,according to Jackson,from the perspective
of what it did to Indian people.
Those familiar with Jackson’s previous works will find considerable similarity
here. Eschewing any semblance of a narrative, the volume is topically arranged.
The chapters that form the core of the book focus on subjects Jackson has written on before: economic aspects of missions, mission construction, social and
cultural changes,Indian resistance,and the demographic collapse of indigenous
people. Within each topical chapter, he compares various mission regions, especially Texas, Pimería Alta, Baja and Alta Californias. Jackson includes numerous illustrations and graphs to bolster his points.
Jackson’s primary contention is that the missions failed to achieve their primary goal of transforming Indian people into a reasonable resemblance of hispanicized Catholics, but in the process significantly degraded Indian cultures
and destroyed vast numbers of native people. He offers many reasons why the
mission system failed. Mission economic concerns were counter-productive to
native well being; mission dormitories were unhealthy environments; mission
policy of segregating males and females contributed to declining fertility rates.
Jackson devotes considerable space, too, to Indian resistance and notes its
prominent role in checking the spread of Spanish culture in the Southwest.
There is much to applaud in this volume. That Jackson pays special attention
to the economic motives of mission operations highlights a topic unheeded by
most scholars. His treatment of population decline is extremely important. Jackson’s recitation of Indian motives for accepting congregation into missions is
the most complete to date. In addition, he relates the collapse of the mission
system from the perspective of what that event meant for indigenous people.
Some problems,however,do exist. While the subtitle leads one to believe this
is a history of missions in the American Southwest, Jackson pays scant attention
to New Mexico, the area of the greatest concentration of missions. In fact, he
devotes more than twice as much space to Baja California than he does to New
Mexico. Moreover, since the New Mexico mission field is largely ignored, this is
only a study of post-1700 mission developments. And finally, Jackson oversimplifies his assessment of mission priests. He assumes that a level of homogeneity existed in their motivation and deeds from the late sixteenth through the
early nineteenth century. For example, among the Franciscans he fails to note

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the differences in recruitment, training, and indoctrination between Propaganda Fide priests who only began to serve in the late 1600’s and those missionaries put in the field through the Franciscan province of Santo Evangelio
in Mexico City. The dissimilarities between these two groups might explain notable contrasts in the mission systems in New Mexico and Alta California or
Texas.
JIM NORRIS
North Dakota State University

Elizabeth Bayley Seton: Collected Writings. Volume I: Correspondence and
Journals, 1793–1808. Edited by Regina Bechtle, S.C., and Judith Metz, S.C.
(Hyde Park: New City Press. 2000. Pp. xxx, 563.)
This collection of letters introduced the present reviewer to an Elizabeth
Seton not met in the biographies. The letters are a window into her feelings
and, above all, her faith, since letters in this volume come from the years before
she became known as Mother Seton, the Foundress of the Sisters of Charity at
Emmitsburg. These letters introduce us to Elizabeth Bayley Seton, the young
woman of Episcopal faith in the early nineteenth century. For this reason the
collection is not only important for an understanding of her organizational abilities, her broad and sensitive relationships, and her faith, but also for the same
reasons, they may be valuable to social historians of the era.
These are the letters of a young bride, a young mother of five children, and
the close friend of several women. It is a collection of the journal and letters of
a young woman when her husband’s business faced bankruptcy, a woman who
nursed those whom she deeply loved and who faced their deaths with the
peace and equanimity of the person of faith. Elizabeth Bayley Seton exhibited
the readiness to do whatever she could for her terminally ill husband;she found
comfort and support from his business colleagues, and, at the same time, was
open to the Spirit within her. Finally these letters are those of one who valued
her call to Catholicism more than friends and a peaceful, comfortable life.
The editors are to be congratulated for a valuable collection not only for the
Sisters of Charity and all those who honor her as the first native-born saint of
the United States, but also for all who wish to know more about how life was
lived by the merchant class in the early years of our Republic. The Acknowledgements, Introduction, Biographical Note, and Genealogy are adequate preparation for reading for anyone not already familiar with the life of Elizabeth
Seton. The scholar will appreciate the list of Abbreviations (archival designations); and the one who is unacquainted with the standards of modern editions
of letters will find the contents less disturbing if he or she has taken the time to
read the Editorial Procedures for Volume One. Throughout the text there are
ample footnotes which are complete enough to satisfy the reader who only references a portion of the work. The index seems accurate when the word that

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is indexed appears directly in the text; however, there is no indication of
whether the item is found within the text or in a footnote. On the other hand,
one might have a problem if one looks for a concept or theory. This reviewer
checked “apostolic succession” and found the nearest reference to it on page
316 rather than 315 as given in the index; the idea is again referred to on page
369, but in neither place was there a clear definition. One would not expect it
in the letters—Elizabeth Seton and her correspondents would have recognized
the reference. But the definition is missed, especially since the editors were so
careful to note other terms (or numbers of psalms) that would not be known
by all interested readers.
So many aspects of life that we who live in the twenty-first century take for
granted, at least in the so-called “developed” world, become realities when confronted with the opposite in the letters of a young, educated, and relatively affluent young woman in the early nineteenth century. After reading this volume,
one is left with a greater understanding of the deep friendship of women with
one another, sometimes referred to as a characteristic of women in the early
nineteenth century. The frequency of serious illness and death, even among the
young, seems to be written in bold print. One is struck by the formal,“My dear
Sir” in the greeting of a letter of Elizabeth to her father. Still the letters show a
deep love and desire to be with her father: “one letter from my Father in Eleven
days is rather hard, but I have hopes of the next Post producing what to me is
of inconceivable value” (to Dr. Richard Bayley, 13 March [1801]). American
Catholic historians will surely look forward to subsequent publications for further insights into the early days of the Church in the United States from its first
native-born saint.
BARBARA MISNER, S.C.S.C.
Merrill, Wisconsin

The Early Works of Orestes A. Brownson. Volume I: The Universalist Years,
1826–29. Edited by Patrick W. Carey. [Marquette Studies in Theology, No.
23.] (Milwaukee: Marquette University Press. 2000. Pp. vi, 410. Paperback.)
Orestes A. Brownson is arguably the most formidable intellect in the history
of American Catholic thought. Shortly after his death in 1876, his son Henry F.
Brownson began the task of collecting and editing his father’s works. He published The Works of Orestes A. Brownson between 1882 and 1887.
The end of a turbulent religious pilgrimage had brought Brownson into the
Roman Catholic Church in 1844. During the next thirty-two years as a lay editor and public intellectual,he saw his share of controversy. Not wishing to leave
his father vulnerable in death to hostile critics, Henry Brownson decided to include in The Works only the writings of his father’s Catholic period. Orestes
Brownson had been forty-one years old when he became a Catholic. His son’s

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editorial decision meant that the first fifteen years of Brownson’s intellectual
life are not represented in The Works.
Patrick Carey of Marquette University has undertaken to remedy this lack.
The present volume is the first in a projected seven-volume series of Brownson’s Early Works to be published by Marquette University Press. One can only
marvel at Orestes Brownson’s sheer prolixity. Each of the twenty volumes of his
already published Works runs to more than five hundred pages. Carey’s first volume is more than four hundred pages in length with six more volumes projected.
This volume contains thirty-three selections from Brownson’s years as a Universalist minister between 1826 and 1829. The selections are arranged chronologically with most coming from the last two years of the period. There are
eleven selections from 1828 and twenty-one from 1829, Brownson’s last and
most tumultuous year in the Universalist fellowship. Carey has chosen a variety
of selections that range from essays and editorial statements to eleven sermons
and two personal creeds, and conclude with Brownson’s parting messages to
the Universalists. Brownson’s Universalist writings open a window on to that
shifting religious landscape that was home to what Nathan Hatch terms the
“democratization” of American Christianity. Contemporary Universalists will
find a glimpse of their own history in these pages. Carey’s thirty-page introduction brings to life the place and time of rural New York in the early Republic.
In these selections, the young Brownson turns the no-popery rhetoric of
priestcraft and inquisition against the Protestant clergy. He critiques both orthodox Calvinism and evangelical revivalism, opposes Sabbath schools and foreign missions as sectarian, and finally bids farewell to the Universalists so that
he will not be bound by any sect. In the midst of all of this, Brownson can surprise the reader with a modest defense of religious images.
Carey has done his editorial work well. His notes are helpful but not intrusive. Readers will be grateful to Marquette University Press for making them
footnotes rather than endnotes. There are an “Index of Biblical References” and
a thorough “Index of Names and Subjects.” This volume and the series it introduces belong in any library with a serious collection in the area of American religious history.
WILLIAM L. PORTIER
Mount Saint Mary’s College
Emmitsburg, Maryland

Hartford’s Catholic Legacy: Leadership. By Dolores Liptak, R.S.M. (Hartford,
Connecticut: Archdiocese of Hartford. 1999. Pp. x, 437.)
Sister Dolores Liptak’s story of the Catholic Church in Connecticut presents
individuals worthy of admiration and imitation. Readers of Hartford’s Catholic

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Legacy: Leadership will find an impressive account of episcopal authority in
the Diocese, and later Archdiocese, of Hartford. In less than 200 years, Catholicism made stunning advances in Connecticut. Without presenting a hagiography of Connecticut’s bishops, Dr. Liptak nonetheless reveals how men of great
faith employed time and talents toward constructing Catholic institutions. This
book offers instructors inspiring stories of leading Catholics in one state of the
Union.
The diocese’s first bishops demonstrated dedication, albeit in different manners, to Connecticut’s poor immigrant Catholic population. Bishop William
Tyler (1843–1849) modeled humility and charity through visits to the needy.
Tyler’s mission also included appealing for financial support from Vienna and
Paris and recruiting priests from Dublin. Bishop Bernard O’Reilly (1850–1856)
actively defended Catholics from violations of religious liberty and threats of violence. O’Reilly’s successor, Bishop Francis P. McFarland (1858–1874), frustrated attempts to portray Catholicism as un-American, encouraged Catholics to
support the Union during the Civil War, and accepted invitations to speak at
Protestant churches.
In responses to challenges from continued immigration, the diocese undertook dramatic changes. Connecticut produced half of the nation’s firearms
by 1860, and such industrial strength attracted Irish and German immigrants
seeking employment. Connecticut’s Catholic population doubled during the
1850’s. The bishops encountered immigrants from increasingly diverse ethnic
and linguistic traditions. From 1879 to 1934, Bishops Lawrence S. McMahon
(1879–1893), Michael Tierney (1894–1908), and John J. Nilan (1910–1934) created national parishes for these arriving Poles, Italians, Hungarians, Lithuanians,
and Slovaks. These bishops recruited priests from eastern and southern Europe,
and sent clerics to study in European seminaries so that they might better serve
these non-English-speaking immigrant populations.
The Catholic Church in Connecticut confronted new challenges after the substantial development of the 1930’s and 1940’s. In 1953 Connecticut’s Catholic
population reached nearly 750,000—33% of the state’s 2.25 million residents.
The Holy See established the Archdiocese of Hartford, whose Metropolitan accepted responsibility for the Diocese of Providence (Rhode Island) and for Connecticut’s newly created Dioceses of Bridgeport and Norwich. Despite recent
reversals in the diocese’s steady growth, Hartford ranks fourteenth in size nationally and fifth in donations to Catholic charities. Archbishop Daniel A. Cronin
(1991–present) has promoted vocations to the priesthood, evangelization, and
social justice as the archdiocese’s goals for the twenty-first century.
Hartford’s Catholic Legacy deserves consideration for various courses, and
provides a useful resource for scholars of the Catholic Church in Connecticut.
Readers and researchers would have benefited from more photographs, a
chronology, and a bibliography, but Liptak’s story reads well, carefully follows
academic standards, and highlights critical decisions in facilitating Catholic

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533

worship in Connecticut. Liptak demonstrates particularly cogent understanding of immigration’s impact on U.S. Catholicism. Leadership would also provide a strong addition to a course on Connecticut history. While signs of
numerical decline inspire re-examination of diocesan activity, Liptak offers a
broad panorama of Catholicism’s successes in Connecticut.
THOMAS CARTY
Springfield College

Saint Joseph’s: Philadelphia’s Jesuit University. 150 Years. By David R. Contosta. (Philadelphia: Saint Joseph’s University Press. 2000. Pp. xiv, 420.
$45.00.)
This handsome, richly and tastefully illustrated book recounts the history of
a Jesuit college whose image is typical of early Catholic, especially Jesuit, colleges in the United States. The various Jesuit provinces in this country tended
to stay for a long time with a scholastic model they knew and trusted. Their
schools could not have wandered far from that model either in curricula, academic calendars, disciplinary codes, or student profiles. These educational avenues were traveled at Saint Joseph in Philadelphia and, for that matter, in every
nineteenth-century Jesuit college.
The author, a professor of history in Chestnut Hill College, Pennsylvania, is
careful to search for characteristics of Saint Joseph’s that over the years distinguished it from rank-and-file Jesuit colleges, although frequently this required
an abundance of effort and ingenuity. He makes many of them come to life:
alumni who read the book can be proud of their alma mater. They can see it mature through a variety of collegiate stages until it achieved university status in
1978. And as a precursor to this emblem of maturity, they see an even more dramatic change—and in fact a rupture in Jesuit educational tradition—in a 1970
policy admitting women. Some Catholic colleges (DePaul in Chicago, for example) despite a chilly ecclesiastical atmosphere, had been enrolling women for
about a half-century; so Saint Joseph’s was hardly a trail blazer; yet its policy was
decidedly avant garde. In addition, these changes at Saint Joseph’s were accompanied by a shift from a largely commuter school to a thriving residential campus. Contosta is right not to make too much of this—or any of the shifts in the
school’s location—for it is mainly myth that a commuter’s academic experience
is necessarily inferior when squared with the awkward insinuation of residential superiority.
In company with most Catholic colleges of the seventh and eighth decades
of the twentieth century, Saint Joseph’s revised its governance structure to
make it comply with a corporate model long since adopted in American private
colleges. Besides, the new structure allowed for a more ready access to public
funds which had for years been declared by a zealous misreading of the doc-

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trine of separation of church and state to be foreclosed to religiously-related
schools.
Catholic colleges were frequent beneficiaries of a local ordinary’s interest in
them. He might secure land and buildings, supply funds or authorize diocesan
collections, or designate a parish and the revenue therefrom to religious communities willing and able to establish a college. Many of these ventures were
unsuccessful, but not because of a bishop’s lack of support: the American hierarchy was never blind to the worth of Catholic higher education. At Saint
Joseph’s, Dennis Cardinal Dougherty, adopting the vision of his predecessors,
visited affection on the college and exhibited several signs of substantial support that went well beyond a spiritual embrace.
Doubtless a praiseworthy account of Saint Joseph’s, this book nevertheless
suffers from a casual rendering of bibliographical entries and notes: it is at least
annoying to find authors’ names or book titles confused or incorrect. Without
analytical arrangement the worth of the index is seriously reduced.
EDWARD J. POWER
Boston College, Emeritus

Catholic Priests of the Diocese of Wilmington: A Jubilee Year 2000 Commemoration. Compiled by Thomas J. Peterman. (Devon, Pennsylvania: William
T. Cooke Publishing, Inc. 2000. Pp. iv, 400. $35.00.)
The Diocese of Wilmington, Delaware, is fortunate to have among its priests
Father Thomas Peterman, who has such an interest in and dedication to the
craft of history. The work reviewed is a successor to his first book on diocesan
priests in Wilmington, which was published shortly after the diocesan centennial in 1968, Priests of a Century, 1868–1968 (Cooke Publishing Company,
Devon, Pennsylvania). That book included 125 biographical sketches on priests
who were either deceased or retired from active ministry. The new book has
346 entries and includes priests in active ministry at the time of publication.
This work does not attempt to study these lives in the context of either
diocesan, national, or universal church history. It simply gathers in one place
the key facts about diocesan priests, and a few religious priests with long
service in the diocese, e.g., Adrian Fuerst, O.S.B., the late Rector of St. Meinrad
Seminary, Indiana. Each essay has an accompanying picture and the details of
birth, education, ordination, and pastoral assignments. When sources of personal knowledge give the author insight on significant events involving the
priest, Father Peterman mentions them. For the eight ordinaries, one coadjutor,
and one “assisting” bishop (James Burke, Dominican, who helped Bishops
Thomas Mardaga and Robert E. Mulvee from 1978 until his death in 1994) there
are more details and some commentary.

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535

For each essay, the first book contained source references and these are absent from the present work. This might limit its immediate usefulness to diocesan historians, but it does not take away from its assistance to priests and
people in the diocese today. The reviewer knows of a priest who, at daily Mass,
uses the Ordo “necrology” in congruence with this book in encouraging his
congregation to remember and pray for those who once stood at the same altar. In providing for history’s great task of letting memory serve the needs of today, Father Peterman and those who helped him have given something
important for this diocese. The Diocese of Wilmington from 1868 to 1974
served the spiritual needs of Catholics in three states (all of Delaware, nine
counties in Maryland, and two in Virginia). With the establishment of the Diocese of Arlington in 1974, the two Eastern Shore Counties in Virginia became
part of the Diocese of Richmond. Father Peterman, in his introduction, acknowledges that this is only a small part in the ministry of the whole church,
but the lives of the priests described were and are vital to those served.
JOSEPH R. MCMAHON
Wilmington, Delaware

Thomas Verner Moore: Psychiatrist, Educator and Monk. By Benedict
Neenan, O.S.B. (New York and Mahwah, New Jersey: Paulist Press. 2000.
Pp. vi, 336. $29.95 paperback.)
This biography of Thomas Verner Moore (1877–1969) is a well-researched,
well-organized, and well-presented revision of a doctoral dissertation written in
the Department of Church History of The Catholic University of America. The
author’s major professor, Christopher J. Kauffman, contributes a foreword in
which he introduces Moore, justly, as a “singularly fascinating figure” in the history of twentieth-century American Catholicism.
Moore came on the scene when “new models” of Catholic leaders had
emerged. After its opening in 1889, The Catholic University of America provided a venue for some priest-scholars among them. As a young Paulist, Moore
studied at the university under Edward A. Pace, a pioneer in experimental psychology, who himself had studied in Germany under Wilhelm Wundt, the
founder of this new specialized field. Pace appreciated his student’s aptitudes.
Psychology and psychiatry became the fields of Moore’s academic and clinical
career, which he pursued until 1947.
Although rooted firmly in Thomistic philosophy, Moore was eclectic in his
approach to his scientific work and clinical practice. Sometimes, as Neenan recounts, he was criticized by other Catholics for his acceptance of concepts or
techniques that they considered incompatible with sound philosophy or doctrine. The varied sources of influence upon Moore, both in psychological theory and in clinical practice, are traced conveniently and adequately for general

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biographical purposes. Specialists may want to test Neenan’s assessments by recourse to original works.
The fascination of Moore’s life is derived particularly from his lifelong pursuit
of a synthesis between the active and the contemplative urges in his soul.
Neenan portrays him as constantly attempting “to blend contrasts and to reconcile contradictions” (p. 21). Moore first found an outlet for his activism in a
Paulist vocation. His academic and professional training was received while he
was a member of this American “missionary” congregation. At age forty-two, after service in World War I, he left the Paulists to seek a more “balanced” life as a
Benedictine, soon hoping to establish a community of scholars for prayer and
contemplation near The Catholic University of America, within the English
Benedictine congregation,thus founding St. Anselm’s Abbey. Then,retiring from
the university at age seventy, as its statutes required, he left also the Benedictine
order to embrace the eremitical life of the Carthusians at Miraflores in Spain,
only to undertake in 1950 a foundation in Vermont of the first, and thus far the
only, American charterhouse, in which he lived from 1950 to 1960. Neenan
cites the spiritual works in which Moore sought instruction and inspiration for
his journey.
The bibliography appended to this study includes a list of Moore’s publications, both scholarly and popular, arranged in chronological order.
C. JOSEPH NUESSE
The Catholic University of America

Youth Ministry in Modern America: 1930 to the Present. By Jon Pahl. (Peabody,
Massachusetts: Hendrickson Publishers. 2000. Pp. xvi, 248. $16.95 paperback.)
The Lutheran theologian and church historian Jon Pahl, associate professor
of American Religious History at Lutheran Theological Seminary in Philadelphia, is an exemplar among the small-but-growing-number of scholars seriously
examining the role of youth culture within twentieth-century American religion. He is the author of a masterful centennial history of the Lutherans’ late
Walther League, Hopes and Dreams of All: The International Walther League
and Lutheran Youth in American Culture, 1893–1993 (Wheat Ridge, 1993). A
labor of love published by a Chicago-based Lutheran social ministry, it was deserving of the wider platform which a quality university press could have provided.
Pahl’s new book, Youth Ministry in Modern America: 1930 to the Present,
grew out of an assignment for a Lilly Endowment-funded project on spiritual

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537

formation in modern America. Contrary to the implications of its comprehensive title, however, the book is in no sense a thoroughgoing history of youth
ministry in the American church, but rather an extended historical essay infused with generous helpings of theological discussion. Pahl examines the
evolution of youth ministry within four streams of American Christianity—
mainline Protestant, Roman Catholic, evangelical, and African-American
Protestant—by looking at, respectively, the Walther League, the Young Catholic
Workers (YCW), Youth for Christ (YFC), and congregational youth ministries
within various black Protestant traditions. In Pahl’s analysis the story of these
traditions’varied approaches to the problems of adolescent identity and the riddle of youth culture reflects a gradual move away from “purity” (defined as attempts to shelter youth from meaningful engagement with cultural problems
and certain “adult” roles and behaviors) toward “practice” (defined as churches’
engaging teens in active “experiments and risks” with adult roles and responsibilities). Those who accommodated this process—in this telling, YFC and
African-American Protestants—prospered and survived. Those who did not,
such as the Walther League—which fell prey to haggling over Sixties-style culture and politics—and the YCW—victims of a growing bureaucratization and
emphasis on study—shriveled and died.
As it stands, Youth Ministry in Modern America is a volume which would be
a beneficial read for academics as well as seminarians, theologians, and pastoral
staff who are interested in the direction and nature of contemporary youth
ministry. That said,from a scholar’s angle,its methodology,and aspects of its historical and cultural analysis are ultimately disappointing. In terms of approach,
Pahl’s selection of the YCW—a tiny operation as compared to the Catholic
Youth Organization—is a puzzling choice, given its unrepresentative reflection
of the (much) larger Catholic scene. One would logically expect that Catholic
youth ministry would be judged by a more representative expression likened to
what Pahl did in his treatment of the Lutherans and evangelicals. Another, different, inconsistency is reflected in Pahl’s analysis of youth programs in AfricanAmerican Protestant congregations. While the other groups are treated with a
discerning historical and cultural treatment, Pahl’s treatment of a few black
churches’ youth ministries tends toward an anthropological mix of interviews,
field visits, and anecdotes which produce the predictably uncritical reportage
of a sympathetic white academic. Even if Pahl’s presentation of these thriving,
activist African-American churches’ approach to their youth is right on target, it
is so selective as to offer little compelling evidence of broader historic trends,
successes, and failures of the mass of black congregations’ dealings with their
young people.
Still, Youth Ministry in Modern America is a book that anyone interested in
this topic will want to read. Toward the end of the book (p. 149) Pahl notes that
he is in the midst of writing a larger, more thorough analysis of the role which
America’s religious youth played in re-shaping American culture in the twenti-

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eth century and in ending what Sydney Ahlstrom termed “the great Puritan
epoch.” Youth Ministry in Modern America should be viewed as something of
a thinking exercise en route to that larger work.
LARRY ESKRIDGE
Institute for The Study of American Evangelicals
Wheaton College
Latin America
A Wild Country out in the Garden: The Spiritual Journals of a Colonial Mexican Nun. Selected, Edited, and Translated by Kathleen A. Myers and
Amanda Powell. (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press.
1999. Pp. xxxv, 386. $39.95.)
This book represents an important moment in the evolution of historical and
literary studies of Hispanic nuns’ writings. The pioneering research and writings of the historians Josefina Muriel and Asunción Lavrin first brought attention to the field of Hispanic nuns’ writings, as did the groundbreaking work of
literary scholars and critics Electa Arenal and Stacey Schlau. Arenal and Schlau’s
1989 bilingual anthology and critical and literary study of Hispanic nuns’ writings (Untold Sisters: Hispanic Nuns in Their Own Works) was a seminal project for which Amanda Powell provided translations of the primary texts
included in the book.
Myers and Powell divide the major part of their book into two chapters. They
preface them with an introduction focusing on the style and language of the selected texts, whose translation and order present formidable stylistic and organizational obstacles. The first chapter contains a compilation of translated and
edited selections taken from Sor María de San José’s twelve volumes of writings
held in the John Carter Brown Library archives. The passages are chronically ordered and offer examples of different genres and types of spiritual and personal
accounts. Each selection highlights themes that offer an interesting and informative representation of colonial life in New Spain and a species of (auto)biography. In part the autobiographical structure results from the chronological
order of the selections, which begin with Sor María de San José’s formative
years, her entrance into the Augustinian convent in Puebla, and her departure
from there to assist in the foundation of a sister convent in Oaxaca. Subsequent
selections highlight thematic elements and well-known literary tropes in nuns’
and lay religious’ spiritual writings such as difficulties with daily conventual life
and relationships with sister nuns, spiritual struggles with demons, and personal doubts that characterize religious life. Thus, spiritual and secular institutions are revealed in a very personal way, and cultural values are presented in a
constructive and engaging manner.
The second chapter is a well-documented and thorough study of literary and
historical themes and colonial interests in the New Spain era of Mexico’s his-

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539

tory. In addition to the period’s history, we learn of the parameters and expectations of colonial Spanish-American religious life. Scholars and students in history and literature will most likely take advantage of this second chapter
although the general reader, especially one unfamiliar with the period, may
wish to read it first. The book ends with a glossary intended for the nonspecialist reader, an extensive bibliography, and two appendices. The first gives
a chronology of the writing of the volumes and of Sor María de San José’s life;
the second presents a history of the Augustinian nun’s writing career.
This book is accessible to English-speaking specialist-scholars, students, and
educated general readers. It is significant because it offers the non-Spanish
reader an opportunity to appreciate a remarkable woman’s talents and life. It
also serves cross-disciplinary interests and gives students and scholars an opportunity to understand the cultural and social pressures and institutions that
dictated much of colonial Mexican mores and ideas, especially in regard to
women and their writings.
JENNIFER L. EICH
Loyola Marymount University

Piety, Power, and Politics: Religion and Nation Formation in Guatemala,
1821–1871. By Douglass Sullivan-Gonzalez. (Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania: University of Pittsburgh Press. 1998. Pp. xv, 182. $45.00.)
Using rarely accessible church documents and underused nineteenthcentury Central American materials, Douglass Sullivan-Gonzalez brings fresh
perspectives and much-needed clarity to the complex issues surrounding the
Rafael Carrera years in Guatemala. It is indeed exciting that the author was able
to get access to the Archivo Histórico Arquidiocesano Francisco de Paula García
Pelaez (AHAG) to peruse previously closely guarded collections. Both he and
the present-day church archivists are to be praised for the opportunity to cooperate. Access to the very substantial William Joyce Griffith Guatemalan Collection at the Kenneth Spencer Research Library at the University of Kansas, as
well as the Mormon,Texas, and Tulane holdings, doubtless strengthens the quality of Piety, Power, and Politics.
The author guides the reader from the end of the liberal era of Mariano
Gálvez to the rise of caudillo Rafael Carrera, the transition to Vicente Cerna, and
the reimposition of liberalism under Justo Rufino Barrios. After detailing the
pervasive damage inflicted by the liberal policies of Francisco Morazán on
Guatemalan church finances and the numbers of regular and secular church
personnel, Sullivan-Gonzalez perceptively characterizes the changeable and diverse power relationships in nineteenth-century Guatemala.
“What becomes clear in this analysis of popular religiosity in the indigenous
highlands is that the church was the weakest link in the triangular forces of

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state, church, and society” (p. 52–53). What Rafael Carrera skillfully accomplished was to absorb much of the traditional authority of the Church, thereby
projecting himself as the major de facto broker and defender of indigenous interests. Under Carrera, indigenous groups used the cofradías as a defense
against capitalistic labor demands, which meant that the official church was
rebuffed while Carrera was considered a protector of their financial interests
and their cherished traditions against the encroaching creole and ladino landowners.
What is especially ironic is that Carrera, more effectively than Gálvez or Barrios, contributed in decisive ways to the formation of Guatemalan nationhood.
“Although not too religious personally, Carrera perceived that he needed the
church, politically, to pacify the rebellious easterners” (p. 126). Carrera crassly
used the Church to obtain and to amplify his power. Priests found their policies
opposed by lay church leaders and the rug pulled out from under them by Carrera. Especially frustrating was the relentless pressure on the Guatemalan
clergy to contribute to the financial appetite of the state.
Archbishop García Peláez compromised the longitudinal effectiveness and
strength of the Guatemalan clergy by preferring to make interim appointments
rather than permanent priests. His rationale was to circumvent the influence of
presidential patronage which gave positions to personnel loyal to Carrera
rather than to the broader mission of the Church. From many perspectives the
clergy felt that they were overworked, underappreciated, taken advantage of,
and occasionally threatened by the very parishioners they were assigned to
care for.
Data for the decline in church personnel are firmly documented and explained. The author notes the faltering condition of Guatemalan church finances, but adds that few complete records for the post-independence period
exist in church archives to provide exact data.
Reference to the concept of “miasmas” appears in Honduran church documents at least three decades years before the date assigned by the author.
Students of Central American culture and church history enthusiastically
welcome this important study of Guatemalan reality.
GENE ALAN MÜLLER
El Paso Community College
El Paso, Texas

NOTES AND COMMENTS

Association News
The president of the American Catholic Historical Association, Patrick W.
Carey, has appointed Margaret Susan Thompson of Syracuse University to the
Committee on the John Gilmary Shea Prize for a three-year term. The committee for 2001, therefore, consists of Thomas Kselman of the University of Notre
Dame (chairman), Robert C. Figueira of Lander University, and Professor
Thompson.
Professor Carey has also appointed Ralph Keen of the University of Iowa to
the Committee on the John Tracy Ellis Dissertation Award for a three-year term.
The committee for 2001, therefore, consists of James Muldoon of the John
Carter Brown Library (chairman), James T. Fisher of Saint Louis University, and
Professor Keen.

Report on the Joint Spring Meeting of the American Catholic
Historical Association and the Canadian
Catholic Historical Association
Saint Michael’s College and Victoria College, University of Toronto, sponsored the joint meeting of the American Catholic Historical Association and the
Canadian Catholic Historical Association on April 6, and 7, 2001. This was the
first formal joint meeting of the two associations. The organizing and program
committee consisted of William J. Callahan and Joseph Goering, representing
the ACHA, and Terence J. Fay and Mark McGowan, representing the CCHA. Approximately one hundred participated in the meeting. Americans and Canadians were equally represented among the participants. A reception was given by
Saint Michael’s College at which welcoming remarks were made by President
Richard Alway of Saint Michael’s College, President Roseann Runte of Victoria
College,and Monsignor Samuel J. Bianco,Rector of Saint Michael’s Cathedral,on
behalf of Cardinal Aloysius Ambrozic, Archbishop of Toronto, who was in
Rome. The president of the CCHA, Vicki Bennett, and the president of the
ACHA, Patrick Carey, welcomed the members of both associations attending
the dinner. Each expressed the hope that the two associations would meet
again in the future.

541

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Forty-seven papers were given at seventeen sessions. Three sessions were devoted to Canadian topics. David Higgs served as chair for “Missionary Activity in
French North America” with papers by Gregory S. Beirich,“A Lost Presence: The
Franciscans in French North America”; Madeleine Grace,“French Jesuit Martyrs
of North America: Jean de Brébeuf and Isaac Jogues”; and Blandine CheliniPont,“Mgr. de Mazenod et les débuts des Missionnaires Oblats en Amérique du
Nord.” The session on “The Church in Québec after the Second World War” was
chaired by Roberto Perin with papers by Lucia Ferretti, “Trois Rivières’s Orphanages, 1930–1960: Institutions Facing Major Changes”; Michael Gauvreau,
“‘The Presence of Heroism in Our Lives’: Youth Catholicism and the Cultural
Origins of the Quiet Revolution, 1931–1958”; and Denyse Baillargeon,“‘L’Ecole
des Parents’: The Development of a Catholic Lay Perspective on Family Ideologies and Child-Rearing.” Elizabeth Smyth chaired the session “Aspects of North
American Catholicism” with papers by Fred McAvoy, “The Canadian Government’s Establishment of Diplomatic Relations with the Vatican,” and Sheila
Andrew, “The Contribution of Convent Education to the Development of
Canadian New Brunswick.”
Four sessions were devoted to Catholicism in the United States and Canada.
Brian Hogan served as chair for “Social Justice” with papers by Elizabeth Rapley,
“Feeding the Hungry: Caring for the Poor in an Affluent Society”; Francis J.
Sicius, “Peter Maurin’s Canadian Years: Social History as Biography”; and Anne
M. Klejment,“Women as Insiders and Outsiders in the Church: Dorothy Day and
Sister Thea Bowman.” Lorna Bowman served as chair for “Current Scholarship
in the Historiography of Women Religious” with papers by Veronica O’Reilly,
“Writing a Congregational History from the Perspective of the Insider-Expert”;
Patricia Byrne, “Writing a Congregational History from the Perspective of the
Outsider-Expert”; and Elizabeth Smyth,“Researching Historical and Contemporary Perspectives on Professional Education Across Congregations.” Brian
Clarke chaired the session on “The Catholic Struggle with Political Institutions”
with papers by Edward Smith,“Catholics and Community in Hamilton, Ontario,
1880–1914”; John P. Comiskey,“For God and Country: The Meeting of Political
and Religious Minds in Nineteenth-Century Canada”; and Jeffrey Marlett,“Social
Justice, Southern Style: Father Arthur Terminiello’s Integration Projects in Alabama, 1936–1946.” Mark McGowan chaired the session on “Popular Catholicism in the United States and Canada.” Papers were given by Terence J. Fay,
“Catholics in Transition: The Pivotal Years in Canada, 1960–1967”; James
O’Toole,“The Practice of Confession”; and Margaret M. McGuinness,“Eucharistic Practice and Devotion.”
Four sessions focused on the history of American Catholicism. James O’Toole
chaired the session on “Creating the American Parish” with papers by Michael
W. Maher,“Dying Well in Milwaukee: Seventeenth-Century Roman Devotion in
an Early Twentieth-Century American City”; Robert J. Horak, Jr.,“The Origins of
a Czech Redemptorist Parish in East Baltimore”; and Edward J. Thompson,
“Chronicling the Social Ministries of Clergy and Laity in the Archdiocese of
New York via the Medium of Oral History.” Richard Wiggers chaired the session,

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543

“Catholicism and Liberalism in the ‘American Century’” with papers by James
Garneau,“The First Inter-American Episcopal Conference,November 2–4,1959:
Canada and the USA Called to the Rescue of Latin America”; Thomas A. Lynch,
“‘America, Grateful Child of Mother Europe’: Francis Spellman and His Unflappable Americanism”; Zachary R. Calo, “Saving American Liberalism: Catholic
Thought on the Religious Foundations of Freedom, 1930–1945”; and Thomas J.
Carty, “‘I Find Saint Paul Appealing, and Saint Peale Appalling’: How the ‘Religious Right’ United Liberals behind John F. Kennedy’s 1960 Presidential Campaign.” Earl Boyea gave the comment. William Portier served as chair for
“Challenging American Catholic Laity at Mid-Century,” with papers by Cecilia
Moore,“Pastoring the Tar Heels: Bishop Vincent S. Waters and Desegregation in
the Diocese of Raleigh, 1953”; Courtney L. Carlson,“Informal versus Specialized
Catholic Action: The Examples and Distinctions of Chicago, Boston, and
Philadelphia,” and Sandra Yocum Mize,“The Emerging Laity, 1940–1962.” David
O’Brien chaired the session on “Tradition in Twentieth-Century American Catholicism” with papers by John Bieter, “Lay Leadership in the Confraternity of
Christian Doctrine in the American South and West, 1920–1950,” and James McCartin,“The Family Rosary Crusade, 1940–1965.”
Five sessions were devoted to the history of Catholicism outside of Canada
and the United States. Constance H. Berman chaired the session,“Secundum Litteram: Literal Exegesis and Cultural Change in Medieval Christianity” with papers by Robert Ziomkowski,“The Literal Meaning of Genesis and the School of
Chartres”; Sean Eisen Murphy, “The Letter of the Law: Abelard, Moses, and the
Problem of Being a Eunuch”; and Abigail Firey,“Literal or Spiritual? The Exegesis of Pollution in the Adversus Iudaeos of Amulo of Lyons.” Nicholas Terpstra
served as chair for “Reform and Renewal in Early Modern Europe” with papers
by Thomas B. Deutscher, “The Episcopal Curia of Novara and the Disciplining
of the Clergy: A Comparison of Two Eras, 1574–1614, 1753–1800”; Robert E.
Scully,“The Failure of Mary Tudor’s Catholic Restoration: The International Dimension”; and Thomas Worcester, “Imagining Saint Louis in the Age of Richelieu.” William J. Callahan chaired the session on “The Church in a Time of
Upheaval” with papers by Richard Lebrun,“Joseph de Maistre’s Defence of the
Spanish Inquisition,” and Thomas Jodziewicz,“Father John Thayer (1758–1846):
Convert and Controversialist.” Jacques Kornberg chaired the session on “European Catholicism between the Wars.” Papers were given by Martin R. Menke,
“The Role of Hochland and German Catholics: Perspective on Nationalism,
1918–1933,” and Kevin P. Spicer, “Who is Neighbor? Jews and Catholics in the
Diocese of Berlin during the Third Reich.” Paul V. Kollman chaired the session
“The Catholic Church and the Failure of Inculturation in India and Zimbabwe,
1935–1975” with papers by Nicholas M. Creary,“A ‘Do-Nothing’ Organization?:
The Catholic African Association and Lay Initiatives to Inculturate Christianity
in Colonial Zimbabwe, 1935–1974,” and Matthew N. Schmalz, “Inculturation
and Irony in the Rise and Fall of a North Indian Catholic Mission.”
One session, “Catechetical Applications in Missionary Practice: The Early
Modern Experience,” focused on three continents. Papers were given by Patrick

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Holt,“Gaelic Catechesis: The Irish Franciscan Experience in Scotland”; Mauricio
Damián Rivero, “To Banish the Huacas: Catholic Theology in Andrean Catechisms”; and James T. Carroll,“Catholic Catechetical Adaptations among Native
Peoples of North America in the Nineteenth Century.”
WILLIAM J. CALLAHAN
University of Toronto

Conferences, Meetings, Seminars, and Workshops
A concluding discussion of the first of three Summer Research Workshops of
the Center for Advanced Holocaust Studies took place in Washington, D.C., on
June 29, 2001. The topic was “The Churches and the Holocaust: The Responses
of Laity, Clergy, and Church Authorities,” and two of the eight participants were
Michael Phayer of Marquette University and Kevin P. Spicer, C.S.C., of Stonehill
College. At the end of the second two-week workshop, on July 13, the discussion will focus on “Locating the ‘Righteous’ of France.” Among the eight workshop participants will be Oscar L. Cole-Arnal of Waterloo Lutheran Seminary
and Wilfrid Laurier University, Sandra Horvath-Peterson of Georgetown University, and Francis J. Murphy of Boston College.
This year’s conference on Kirchliche Zeitgeschichte will take place in Ustron, in southern Poland not far from Kattowicz, on September 15–19. The
theme is “From nationalist confrontation to European collaboration: The role of
the Churches in the paths of Germany and Poland.” Further information may be
obtained from one of the organizers, Gerhard Ringshausen of Lüneburg, at his
e-mail address: ringshau@mailhost.uni-lueneburg.de.
Two more congresses (see ante [January, 2001], page 132) will commemorate the 600th anniversary of the birth of Nicholas of Cusa. The Dutch-Flemish
Center for Cusanus Studies, the Center for Ethics at the Catholic University of
Nijmegen, and the City of Deventer are organizing an international conference
on the relevance of Cusanus’thinking on religious and cultural pluralism for the
intercultural encounter at the stage of the twenty-first century. The languages
of the congress will be English and German. During the days of the congress,
September 20–23, 2001, many exhibitions and events related not only to
Nicholas of Cusa as a historical person but also to intercultural encounters and
religious tolerance will take place throughout Deventer, the city of the Devotio
Moderna, Erasmus, Descartes, and Locke. Full information may be obtained
from Inigo Bocken, in care of the Center for Ethics, The Catholic University of
Nijmegen, Erasmusplein 1, 6525 Nijmegen, The Netherlands; e-mail: i.bocken@
phil.kun.nl.
The other international congress will be held at the Universities of Coimbra
and Salamanca on November 5–9, 2001, under the title “Coincidência dos opostos e concórdia: caminhos do pensamento em Nicolau de Cusa.” The program is
available from João Maria Bernardo Ascenso André in care of the Faculdade de

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545

Letras,Praça da Porta Férrea,3000-447 Coimbra,Portugal;telephone: 23985998;
fax: 239836733; website: http://www.uc.pt/lif.
The Folger Institute will sponsor and Barbara Diefendorf of Boston University will direct a seminar entitled “Practices of Piety: Lived Religion in Early
Modern Europe.” It will meet every Friday afternoon from September 21 to December 7,2001. Ritual,worship,and spirituality will be studied as they emerged
across Catholic, Anglican, Lutheran, and Reformed traditions. Applications
for general admission should be addressed to the Folger Institute, The Folger
Shakespeare Library, 201 East Capitol Street, S.E., Washington, D.C. 20003 and
must be received by September 4. Information may be requested by e-mail
(institute@folger.edu) or obtained through the website (www.folger.edu).
Manuscripta and the Vatican Film Library will hold the twenty-eighth annual
Saint Louis Conference on Manuscript Studies on October 12–13, 2001. Topics
ranging from antiquity to the early-modern period will be addressed. Inquiries
regarding presentation of papers and registration should be sent to the conference committee at Vatican Film Library, Pius XII Memorial Library, Saint Louis
University, 3650 Lindell Boulevard, St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3302; e-mail:
passga@slu.edu; website: http://www.slu.edu/libraries/vfl.
A workshop on “The Holocaust as Sanctioned Murder: Lessons for the
Twenty-first Century” will be held on July 22–27, 2002, in Aberystwyth, Wales,
as part of the eighth conference of the International Society for the Study of European Ideas. Proposals of papers, accompanied by brief abstracts, should be
submitted by December 1, 2001, to Donald Dietrich in care of the Department
of Theology, Boston College, Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts 02467; telephone:
617-552-4799; fax: 617-522-0794; e-mail: donald.dietrich@bc.edu.
An international conference on the theme “Christianity and Native Cultures
with special Attention to Women’s Issues” will be held at Saint Mary’s College,
Notre Dame, Indiana, on September 19–22, 2002. The scholarly presentations
will range from the early centuries through the Middle Ages and the ages of explorations and colonialism to the post-colonial and contemporary periods.
Keynote speeches and topical papers given by experts will cover all the major
regions of the world. Proposals for papers or full sessions and requests for information should be addressed to the chairman of the conference, Cyriac K.
Pullapilly in care of the Department of History, Saint Mary’s College, Notre
Dame, Indiana 46556; telephone: 219-284-4468; fax: 219-284-4866; e-mail: pullapil@saintmarys.edu. Proposals must be received by October 1, 2001; registration, for which the basic fee is $50, must be completed by July 15, 2002.

Archives
Two hundred and fifty documents that had been kept in the manuscript collections of the Catholic University of America have been transferred to the
archives of the Diocese of Charleston. It is believed that the papers were taken

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to Washington by Peter Guilday in the 1920’s, when he was conducting research for his biography of Bishop John England, although they contain material not used in that work. More than half of the letters were written by or to
James Wallace, who was born in Kilkenny, Ireland, entered the Society of Jesus
in 1807, was ordained priest in 1815, taught mathematics, chemistry, and
physics at Georgetown College in Washington and then at the New York Literary Institute, was sent in 1818 by the Archbishop of Baltimore, Ambrose
Maréchal, to Charleston to restore order at St. Mary’s Church, taught at Columbia College (now the University of South Carolina) from 1820 to 1834 and published several scientific articles, and left the Society of Jesus but functioned as a
diocesan priest until he died. Also included in the documents are manuscripts
relating to Bishop Patrick Lynch’s appointment as a delegate of the Confederacy to the Holy See,correspondence between Pope Pius IX and the President of
the Confederate States, Jefferson Davis, and Bishop Lynch’s statement on the destruction wrought by Union forces on church property in South Carolina. The
diocesan archivist, Mary Giles, personally carried the manuscripts from Washington to Charleston. She has completed an inventory and hopes to finish cataloguing the papers before the end of this year.

Beatifications
On March 11, 2001, at a Mass in St. Peter’s Square, Pope John Paul II beatified
233 priests, religious, and lay people who were victims of the terrible religious
persecution unleashed during the Spanish Civil War. These martyrs, the Pontiff
said,“were not involved in political or ideological struggles, nor did they want
to be concerned with them. . . . They died solely for religious motives.” In his
homily he also declared: “They were killed for being Christians, for their faith in
Christ, for being active members of the Church. Before dying, all of them, as
stated in the canonical processes for their declaration as martyrs, forgave their
executioners from their heart.” They represented the Church throughout Spain,
coming from thirty-seven dioceses. The priests all happened to be in Valencia,
carrying out their respective ministries and apostolic activities; they were
grouped in the same canonical process in accordance with current canonical
legislation. The group includes a large number of diocesan priests—thirty-eight
from Valencia and two from Zaragoza—eighteen Dominicans, four Friars Minor,
six Friars Minor Conventual, and twelve Capuchins, eleven Jesuits, thirty Salesians, one priest of the Sacred Heart of Jesus (Dehonian), and the chaplain of La
Salle College of Bonanova, Barcelona, with five Brothers of the Christian
Schools, sisters of many different religious congregations, and lay men and
women, mothers and fathers of families, young men, members of the then flourishing Spanish Catholic Action and other associations of the secular apostolate—people of all ages,professions,and social status.“The testimonies we have
received,” John Paul continued,“speak of honest, exemplary people whose martyrdom sealed lives that were interwoven with work, prayer, and religious commitment to their families, parishes, and religious congregations. Many of them

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547

in life had already enjoyed a reputation for holiness among their countrymen. It
could be said that their exemplary conduct prepared them in a way for the
supreme confession of faith that is martyrdom.”
One of the five Servants of God whom the Holy Father beatified on April 29,
also at a Mass celebrated in St. Peter’s Square, is the first Puerto Rican to be so
honored. Carlos Manuel (Charlie) Rodríguez Santiago was born in Caguas on
November 22, 1918. In his first year of high school he experienced what would
later become a severe gastrointestinal disorder, viz., ulcerative colitis, which
caused him much suffering for the rest of his life. This illness prevented him
from completing his second year of studies for a bachelor’s degree at the University of Puerto Rico in Río Piedras. Nevertheless, he remained a voracious
reader; his interests included the arts, science, philosophy, and religion. He
learned to play the organ for the sacred music he was promoting. Carlos
Manuel worked as an office clerk in Caguas, Gurabo, and at the Agriculture Experiment Station, which was part of the University. He spent his salary to foster
understanding of the sacred liturgy. Using articles on liturgical subjects, which
he translated and edited, he began publishing Liturgy and Christian Culture.
With a priest in Caguas he organized a Liturgy Circle and with another priest
the Te Deum Laudamus Choir. In Río Piedras he successfully labored to increase
religious faith and practice among the professors and students. As his “disciples” grew in number, he moved with them into the Catholic University Center
and set up another Liturgy Circle (afterwards called the Círculo de Cultura Cristiana), where he transmitted a balanced philosophy, combining the natural and
the supernatural, the ancient and the modern. He continued his publications
and also organized Christian Life Days for the students. He promoted the active
participation of the laity in the liturgy, the use of the vernacular, and especially
the observance of the Easter Vigil. He reminded the faithful to be joyful because
they are called to live the joy and hope that Christ brought with his resurrection. Following aggressive surgery, he was diagnosed with advanced terminal
rectal cancer and died on July 13, 1963. This layman’s process of beatification
was one of the shortest in recent years, lasting only nine years. His cause is also
unique in having been carried forward by the laity, mainly by the university students with whom he developed his apostolate.
On April 24 in a plenary session of the Congregation for the Causes of Saints
the Holy Father promulgated a decree recognizing the Armenian Archbishop of
Mardin, Ignatius Choukrallah Maloyan, who was killed in 1915, as a martyr for
the faith. On the same day Armenians around the world commemorated the
genocide of their people living in the Ottoman Empire in 1915–1918. Also on
April 24 the Pope officially recognized the martyrdom of twenty-seven members of the Ukrainian Catholic Church who died at the hands of Nazi invaders
and communist occupiers, in Soviet gulags or as the result of their imprisonment; the group includes Mykola Charnetsky, apostolic exarch of Volyn and
Pidlyashia, seven other bishops, fourteen diocesan and religious priests, three
sisters, and a layman (father of a family) as well as the Ruthenian Bishop
Teodoro Romzsa, apostolic administrator of Mukacheve, who was killed in

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1947. The prefect of the Congregation, Cardinal José Saraiva Martins, later explained: “The recent political changes that have taken place in Eastern Europe
have finally made it possible to collect the proofs of their martyrdoms.” In the
same session of the Congregation the Pope recognized the “heroic virtues” of
(among others) the French priest, hermit, and ascetic Charles de Foucauld
(1858–1916), who was murdered in Algeria. His writings led to the foundation
of the Little Brothers of Jesus, the Little Sisters of Jesus, and several other communities marked by a life of real poverty and by dialogue with non-Christians,
especially Muslims. The first steps toward his beatification were taken by the
prefect apostolic of Ghardaia in 1927, and the relevant documents were forwarded to Rome in 1947. (Visit the website: http://www.charlesdefoucauld.
com.)

Anniversary
To commemorate the second centenary of the birth of John Henry Newman
(February 21, 1801) Pope John Paul II wrote a letter on January 22 to the Archbishop of Birmingham, the Most Reverend Vincent Nicholas, calling the Venerable Servant of God “a sure and eloquent guide in our perplexity.”

Prize
The Jewish Book Council presented the 2000 National Jewish Book Award in
Jewish-Christian Relations on March 29, 2001, to Susan Zuccotti for her book
Under His Very Windows: The Vatican and the Holocaust in Italy (published
by Yale University Press). See the review by Vincent A. Lapomarda, S.J., ante
(April, 2001), pages 343–345.

Publications
A conference was held in Brixen (Bressanone) on February 10–12, 2000, on
the theme “Die Bistümer und ihre Pfarreien” within the framework of the publishing project directed by Erwin Gatz and entitled “Geschichte des kirchlichen
Lebens in den deutschsprachigen Ländern seit dem Ende des 18. Jahrhunderts.”
The papers presented on that occasion have now been published in Heft 3–4
of the Römische Quartalschrift for the year 2000 (Volume 95), as follows:
Georg Schöllgen,“Ortskirche (Diözese) im frühen Christentum” (pp. 131–143);
Helmut Flachenecker, “Das Bild der Ortskirche in mittelalterlichen Bistumschroniken” (pp. 144–166); Klaus Ganzer, “Gesamtkirche und Ortskirche auf
dem Konzil von Trient” (pp. 167–178); Alois Schmid, “Die Reformpolitik der
fränkischen Bischöfe im Zeitalter der Aufklärung” (pp. 179–203); Franz Xaver
Bischof, “Das Bild der Ortskirche in der Gallia christiana und in theologischen
Enzyklopädien des 19. und 20. Jahrhunderts” (pp. 204–218); Dominic

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549

Burkhard,“Staatsknechte oder Kirchendiener” (pp. 219–249); Erwin Gatz,“Die
Diözesanbischof und sein Klerus im deutschsprachigen Mitteleuropa von der
Säkularisation bis zum Zweiten Vatikanischen Konzil” (pp. 250–261); Bertram
Meier,“Die Diözese in der ‘Communio ecclesiarum’” (pp. 262–275); and Erwin
Gatz,“Kirche und Katholizismus seit 1945” (pp. 276–280).
“Frauen in der franziskanischen Bewegung” is the theme of the articles published in the second number of Wissenschaft und Weisheit for 2000 (Volume
63), as follows: Martina Kreidler-Kos, “‘Ich halte dich für eine Gehilfin Gottes
selbst.’ Die Frauenfreundschaften der heiligen Klara von Assisi” (pp. 179–213);
Benedikt Mertens, OFM, “Die Dynamik des geistlichen Weges: Bewegung
und Fortschritt im Vokabular der Klaraschriften” (pp. 214–224); Fortunato
Iozzelli, OFM, “Eine franziskanische Büsserin: Margareta von Cortona (†1297)”
(pp. 225–235); Bardo Weiss, “Die franziskanische Bewegung und die frühe
deutsche Frauenmystik” (pp. 236–258); Leonhard Lehmann, OFMCap., “Maria
Angela Astorch (1592–1665): Mystikerin des Breviers und der Tat” (pp.
259–272); Thomas Berger, “‘So weit nämlich gieng die von den Franzosen uns
überbrachte Freiheit, dass man selbst das Tageslicht kaufen musste.’ Mitteilungen aus der Chronik des Tertiarinnenklosters bei Weisenau vor der kurfürstlichen Residenzstadt Mainz zum Ende des 18. Jahrhunderts” (pp. 273–323); and
Terziana Merletti, SFP, “Franziska Schervier—vita e fondazione” (pp. 324–338).
The quincentenary of the birth of Fray Alonso de Orozco (1500–1591) is celebrated in the issue of Revista Agustiniana for September–December, 2000
(Volume XLI). Following an introduction by the editor, Rafael Lazcano, are articles by Teófilo Aparicio, “Beato Alonso de Orozco: ‘Varón santo y hombre de
doctrina insigne’” (pp. 807–842); Luis Resines, “El ‘Catecismo’ de Alonso de
Orozco entre los catecismos del XVI” (pp. 843–870);Ignacio Monasterio,“Beato
Alonso de Orozco (1500–1591)” (pp. 871–887); Laurentino María Herrán Herrán,“La ‘ayuda semejante’ a Cristo en los escritos del Beato Alonso de Orozco”
(pp. 889–923); Antonio Montes, “Los 25 domingos ‘post Pentecostes’” (pp.
925–956); Jesús Domínguez Sanabria, “Perseverancia en el seguimiento de
Cristo” (pp. 957–989); Teófilo Viñas,“El Bto. Alonso de Orozco en la obra del P.
Luciano Rubio” (pp. 991–1017); Tomás Cámara,“Los procesos informativos de
la santidad de Alonso de Orozco y su beatificación en 1882” (pp. 1019–1060);
and Rafael Lazcano, “Bibliografía: Alonso de Orozco (1500–1591)” (pp.
1061–1081). Blessed Alonso’s miracles in view of his canonization were recognized by Pope John Paul II in a plenary session of the Congregation for the
Causes of Saints on April 24, 2001.
The 250th anniversary of the birth of St. Clement Maria Hofbauer is celebrated in the first fascicle of the Spicilegium Historicum Congregationis SSmi
Redemptoris for 2001 (Volume XLIX) with the following articles: Rolf Decot,
C.SS.R., “Klemens Maria Hofbauer im politisch-geistigen Umfeld seiner Wiener
Zeit” (pp. 3–28); Marian Brudzisz, C.SS.R., “Vicende dei Redentoristi-Bennoniti
dispersi e tentativi di Clemente Hofbauer di ricostruire la vita communitaria,
1808–1820” (pp. 29–56); idem,“Le ‘devozioni’ nella chiesa di San Bennone e le

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Costituzioni dei novizi redentoristi a Varsavia, 1787–1808” (pp. 57–230); and
Giuseppe Orlandi, C.SS.R.,“I redentoristi a Triberg nei documenti dell’Archivio
di Stato di Modena” (pp. 231–264).
The editor of Collectanea Cisterciensia, Dom Armand Veilleux, O.C.S.O., has
devoted the first number of 2001 (Volume 63) to the sesquicentenary of the
Abbey La Pierre-qui-Vire. After an introduction by the abbot, Damase Duvillier,
one finds “La Père Jean-Baptiste Muard (1809–1854). Repères biographiques”
(pp. 10–13);“Les fondations du Père Muard: Pontigny (1842), la Pierre-qui-Vire
(1850)” (pp. 14–43); several writings of Père Muard (pp. 44–57);“L’adhésion à
la réforme de Dom Casaretto, Province de Subiaco (1854–1859)” (pp. 58–77);
“Quand la République expulsait les moines . . . (1901–1920)” (pp. 78–106); and
“La Province française de la Congrégation de Subiaco (2000)” (pp. 107–116).
Marking the retirement of Jay P. Dolan from the faculty of the University of
Notre Dame, the issue of U.S. Catholic Historian for winter, 2001 (Volume 19,
Number 1), contains the following articles under the heading “The American
Catholic Experience”: Philip Gleason, “A Half-Century of Change in Catholic
Higher Education” (pp. 1–19);Joseph M.White,“Perspectives on the NineteenthCentury Diocesan Seminary in the United States” (pp. 21–35); Kathleen Sprows
Cummings,“‘Not the New Woman?’: Irish American Women and the Creation of
a Usable Past, 1890–1900” (pp. 37–52); Anita Specht,“The Power of Ethnicity in
a Community of Women Religious: The Poor Handmaids of Jesus Christ in the
United Strates, 1868–1930” (pp. 53–64); Mary Linehan,“‘Nazareth College Leads
the Way’: Catholicism, Democracy, and Racial Justice at a Southern College,
1920–1955” (pp. 65–77); Jeffrey M. Burns,“Beyond the Immigrant Church: Gays
and Lesbians and the Catholic Church in San Francisco,1977–1987” (pp. 79–92);
R. Scott Appleby,“Historicizing the People of God: The Cushwa Center and the
Vision of Its Founder” (pp. 93–98); and Martin E. Marty, “Locating Jay P. Dolan”
(pp. 99–108).

Personal Notices
James F. Garneau has been appointed academic dean of the School of Theology and of the College of Liberal Arts in the Pontifical College Josephinum,
Columbus, Ohio.
Thomas J. Shelley has been promoted to the rank of professor in the Department of Theology in Fordham University.
Thomas W. Tifft has been appointed rector of Saint Mary Seminary,Wickliffe,
Ohio (Diocese of Cleveland), where he had previously been vice rectoracademic dean.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS

“The Purification of Memory”: The “Narrow Gate” of the Jubilee. Antonio Maria
Sicari, O.C.D. Communio, XXVII (Winter, 2000), 634–642.
The Church Confronts the Faults of the Past. Bruno Forte. Communio, XXVII
(Winter, 2000), 676–687.
Church History as Vocation and Moral Discipline. Hans J. Hillerbrand. Church
History, 70 (Mar., 2001), 1–18.
Church Historians of the Early Twentieth Century: Adolf von Harnack
(1851–1930). W. H. C. Frend. Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 52 (Jan.,
2001), 83–102.
Lucien Febvre,Luther et les Allemands. Peter Schöttler. Bulletin de la Société de
l’Histoire du Protestantisme Français, 147 (Jan.–Mar., 2001), 9–66.
Intransigeance catholique et “monde moderne” (19e–20e siècles). Étienne Fouilloux. Revue d’histoire ecclésiatique, 96 (Jan.-June, 2001), 71–87.
Catholic Church Politics and Evolution Theory, 1894–1902. Barry Brundell.
British Journal for the History of Science, 34 (Mar., 2001), 81–95.
La questione della libertà religiosa: momenti di un dibattito dalla vigilia del Vaticano II all’inizio degli anni novanta. Silvia Scatena. Cristianesimo nella storia, XXI (Dec., 2000), 587–643.
“Undigested Past.” The Archives of the Roman Congregation for the Doctrine of
the Faith. Bruno Boute. Bulletin de l’Institut Historique Belge de Rome,
LXXI (2001), 243–285.
New Periodicals for New Ideas. On the Birth of the Revue d’Histoire ecclésiastique. Jo Tollebeek. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 95 (Apr.–June, 2000),
391–429.
Genèse et organisation de la revue internationale de théologie Concilium.
Hadewych Snijdewind. Cristianesimo nella storia, XXI (Dec., 2000),
645–673.
La mémoire des catacombes de Rome. Philippe Foro. Bulletin de Littérature Ecclésiastique, CII (Jan.–Mar., 2001), 25–38.

551

552

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

Le leggende di fondazione dei santuari cristani della Basilicata. Gabriele De
Rosa. Ricerche di Storia Sociale e Religiosa, XXIX (July–Dec., 2000),
35–46.
Aquileia chiesa centrale tra Alpi, Adriatico e Danubio. Vittorio Peri. Ricerche di
Storia Sociale e Religiosa, XXIX (July-Dec., 2000), 193–203.
I seminari della Basilicata. Maria Antonietta De Cristofaro. Ricerche di Storia Sociale e Religiosa, XXIX (July–Dec., 2000), 161–191.
Kosovo in the History of the Serbian Church. Veselin Kesich. St Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly, 44 (3–4, 2000), 279–308.

ANCIENT

La Chiesa di Roma in età severiana. Cultura classica,cultura cristiana,cultura orientale. Ilaria Ramelli. Rivista di Storia della Chiesa in Italia, LIV
(Jan.–June, 2000), 13–29.
Factores, oportunidades e incentivos para la misión en la Iglesia prenicena.
Ramón Trevijano Etcheverría. Salmanticensis, XLVII (Sept.–Dec., 2000),
393–432.
A Note on the Christians’ Presence in the sacer comitatus before 313 A.D.
Alexandra Madgearu. Aevum, LXXV (Jan.–Apr., 2001), 111–117.
Constantine’s Speech to the Assembly of the Saints: Place and Date of Delivery.
T. D. Barnes. Journal of Theological Studies, 52 (Apr., 1001), 26–36.
The Making of Monastic Demonology: Three Ascetic Teachers on Withdrawal
and Resistance. David Brakke. Church History, 70 (Mar., 2001), 19–48.
Patronage, Pastoral Care and the Role of the Bishop at Antioch. Wendy Mayer.
Vigiliae Christianae, LV (1, 2001), 58–70.
La persecución del emperador Juliano a debate: los cristianos en la política del
último emperador pagano (361–363). Carlos Buenacasa Pérez. Cristianesimo nella storia, XXI (Dec., 2000), 509–529.
L’image de Julien l’Apostat chez saint Grégoire de Nazianze. Philippe Molac.
Bulletin de Littérature Ecclésiastique, CII (Jan.–Mar., 2001), 39–48.
The Passio S. Typasii Veterani as a Catholic Construction of the Past. Alan
Dearn. Vigiliae Christianae, LV (1, 2001), 86–98.
L’ère Priscillien ou la grande faute du christianisme. Michel Grandjean. Revue
de Théologie et de Philosophie, 132 (4, 2000), 361–376.
La réutilisation des sanctuaires païens par les chrétiens en Grèce continentale
(IVe–VIIe s.) Laurence Foschia. Revue des Études grecques, 113 (July–Dec.,
2000), 413–434.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

553

I latori della corrispondenza di Agostino: tra idealizzazione e realtà. Matilde
Caltabiano. Augustinianum, XLI (June, 2001), 113–148.
A New Manuscript of Lucian’s Letter on the Discovery of the Relics of St.
Stephen (CPL 575). Craig A. Gibson. Manuscripta, 42 (Mar., 1998), 53–63.
The Collapse of a Collegial Church: North African Christianity on the Eve of Islam. Maureen A. Tilley. Theological Studies, 62 (Mar., 2001), 3–22.
Il Decretum Gelasianum. Nota in margine all’autorità della chiesa di Roma alla
fine del sec. V. Vittorino Grossi. Augustinianum, XLI (June, 2001),
231–255.
L’immagine del vescovo nelle Vitae Santorum di Venanzio Fortunato. Davide
Fiocco. Augustinianum, XLI (June, 2001), 213–230.
Thérouanne et son diocèse jusqu’à la fin de l’époque carolingienne: les étapes
de la christianisation d’après les sources écrites. Charles Mériaux. Bibliothèque de l’École des chartes, 158 (July–Dec., 2000), 377–406.

MEDIEVAL

Contributo ad un’indagine sui culti farfensi nei secoli IX–XI. Festività,titolazioni
di chiese e toponimi nelle opere di Gregorio di Catino. Claudia Gnocchi.
Rivista di Storia della Chiesa in Italia, LIV (Jan.–June, 2000), 31–69.
Bäche als Grenzen und Grenzen als Bäche. Die Beschreibung der Ränder des
Zehntbezirks der Urpfarrei Hambach (Montabaur) in der ersten Hälfte des
10. Jahrhunderts. Alte Ansichten und neue Erkenntnisse. Thomas Trumpp.
Jahrbuch für westdeutsche Landesgeschichte, 26 (2000), 7–34.
Liudprand von Cremona (Legatio Cap. 39–41) und eine bisher unbeachtete
west-östilche Korrespondenz über die Bedeutung des Jahres 1000 A.D.
Wolfram Brandes. Byzantinische Zeitschrift, 93 (2, 2000), 435–463.
Peribleptos (‘Sulu’) Monastery in Istanbul. Ferudun Özgümüs. Byzantinische
Zeitschrift, 93 (2, 2000), 508–520.
Kircheneinheit im 11.-13. Jahrhundert durch einen gemeinsamen Patriarchen
und gemeinsame Bischöfe für Griechen und Lateiner. Ernst Christoph Suttner. Ostkirchliche Studien, 49 (Dec., 2000), 314–324.
Feudo, vassallaggi e potere papale nello Stato della Chiesa (metà XI sec.-inizio
XIII sec.). Sandro Carocci. Rivista Storica Italiana, CXII (Dec., 2000),
999–1035.
Natura e ruolo dei conversi nel monachesimo vallombrosano (secoli XI–XV).
Da alcuni esempi d’area toscana. Francesco Salvestrini. Archivio Storico
Italiano, CLIX (1, 2001), 49–105.

554

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

From Tyrants to Soldiers of Christ: The Nobility of Twelfth-Century León-Castile
and the Struggle against Islam. Simon Barton. Nottingham Medieval Studies, XLIV (2000), 28–48.
The Ferrers Earls of Derby and the Crusades. Michael R. Evans. Nottingham Medieval Studies, XLIV (2000), 69–81.
Small Gifts, but Big Rewards: The Symbolism of Some Gifts to the Religious.
David Postles. Journal of Medieval History, 27 (Mar., 2001), 23–42.
Vision bei Hildegard von Bingen. Beobachtungen zur Vita Gottfrieds und
Theoderichs und zu den Visionsschriften Hildegards. Jörg Ulrich. Kerygma
und Dogma, 47 (Jan.–Mar., 2001), 14–29.
The Creation and Development of the St Asaph Cathedral Chapter, 1141–1293.
Matthew J. Pearson. Cambrian Medieval Celtic Studies, No. 40 (Winter,
2000), 35–56.
Naissance et premier développement d’un vinage exceptionnel: l’eau de saint
Thomas. Pierre André Sigal. Cahiers de civilisation médiévale, 44
(Jan.–Mar., 2001), 35–44.
Gli incontri di un canonico legista. Magister Vacarius teologo e polemista. Massimiliano Guareschi. Rivista di Storia e Letteratura Religiosa, XXXVI (3,
2000), 381–414.
“Postquam ipse marchio levavit crucem.” Guglielmo V di Monferrato e il suo ritorno in Palestina (1186). Aldo A. Settia. Bollettino Storico-Bibliografico
Subalpino, XCVIII (2, 2000), 451–472.
Peter the Chanter, Innocent III and Theological Views on Collective Guilt and
Punishment. P. D. Clarke. Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 52 (Jan., 2001),
1–20.
San Julián de Burgos. Fundamentos de la tradición sobre el origen del Santo (Ensayos nuevos). José Hernando Pérez. Burgense, 41 (2, 2000), 475–514.
The Three Marys of Bourges. Margaret Jennings. Downside Review, 119 (Jan.,
2001), 35–50.
The Success of the Order of Saint Victor. A Comparative Study of the Patronage
of Canonical Foundations in Thirteenth Century Flanders and Hainaut.
Erin Jordan. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 96 (Jan.–June, 2001), 5–33.
La Cour Notre-Dame de Michery: A Response to Constance Berman. Anne E.
Lester and William Chester Jordan. Journal of Medieval History, 27 (Mar.,
2001), 43–54.
Gregorio IX e la nascita delle “sorores penitentes” di santa Maria Maddalena “in
Alemannia.” Guido Cariboni. Annali dell’Istituto storico italo-germanico
in Trento, XXV (1999), 11–44.
Agnes of Prague and the Juridical Implications of the Privilege of Poverty. Joan
Mueller. Franciscan Studies, 58 (2000), 261–287.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

555

Talking about Ourselves: The Shift in Franciscan Writing from Hagiography to
History (1235–1247). Michael F. Cusato, O.F.M. Franciscan Studies, 58
(2000), 37–75.
Die Äbtissinnen des Zisterzienserinnenklosters Günterstal. Ernst Dreher.
Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 120 (2000), 5–51.
Martinus Polonus’ Chronicle of the Popes and Emperors: A Medieval Best-Seller
and Its Neglected Influence on English Medieval Chroniclers. WolfgangValentin Ikas. English Historical Review, CXVI (Apr., 2001), 327–341.
Freedom, Villeinage and Legal Process: The Dispute betwen the Abbot of Burton and His Tenants of Mickleover, 1280. David Crook. Nottingham Medieval Studies, XLIV (2000), 123–140.
Sinodi diocesane e concili provinciali in Italia nord-orientale fra Due e Trecento. Qualche riflessione. Andrea Tilatti. Mélanges de l’École française de
Rome, Moyen Age, 112 (1, 2000), 273–304.
Stigmata and Sense Memory: St Francis and the Affective Image. Jill Bennett. Art
History, 24 (Feb., 2001), 1–16.
Bonifacio VIII, l’affresco di Giotto e i processi contro i nemici della Chiesa. Postilla al giubileo del 1300. Agostino Paravicini Bagliani. Mélanges de l’École
française de Rome, Moyen Age, 112 (1, 2000), 459–483.
Philosophy’s Reward: The Ecclesiastical Income of Jean Buridan. William J.
Courtenay. Recherches de Théologie et Philosophie médiévales, LXVIII (1,
2001), 163–169.
A House Divided: San Pietro in Ciel d’Oro in Pavia and the Politics of Pope John
XXII. Sharon Dale. Journal of Medieval History, 27 (Mar., 2001), 55–77.
Looking Back in Anger: A Politically Inspired Appeal against John XXII’s Translation of Bishop Adam Orleton to Winchester (1334).Roy Martin Haines.
English Historical Review, CXVI (Apr. 2001), 389–404.
Vor 650 Jahren: Der Mord an den Juden im Oberrheingebiet. Barbara Henze.
Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 120 (2000), 109–121.
Masculinity, Crusading, and Devotion: Francesco Casali’s Fresco in the Trecento
Perugian Contado. Anne Dunlop. Speculum, 76 (Apr., 2001), 315–336.
Prolegomena to a new Edition of the Festial. Susan Powell. Manuscripta, 41
(Nov., 1997), 171–184.
Voluntarism and Conciliarism in the Work of Francis Oakley. Constantin Fasolt.
History of Political Thought, XXII (Spring, 2001), 41–52.
Un fichier inédit de clercs français du XVe siècle. Le “Fichier Lesellier” de la bibliothèque de Saint-Louis-des-Français à Rome. Thierry Kouamé. Mélanges
de l’École française de Rome, Moyen Age, 112 (1, 2000), 113–148.

556

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

Notai, causidici e studi notarili nella Milano del Quattrocento. Baldassarre
Capra, notaio, cancelliere e causidico della curia arcivescovile di Milano.
Cristina Belloni. Nuova Rivista Storica, LXXXIV (Sept.–Dec., 2000),
621–646.
SIXTEENTH CENTURY

Gli Ordini religiosi in Basilicata in età moderna. Maria Antonietta Rinaldi.
Ricerche di Storia Sociale e Religiosa, XXIX (July–Dec., 2000), 47–77.
A Note on Dürer’s So-Called Jabach Altarpiece. Joachim Jacoby. Bibliothèque
d’Humanisme et Renaissance, LXIII (1, 2000), 47–62.
Hermetismo y cábala cristiana en la corte de Carlos V: Egidio de Viterbo, Dionisio Vázquez, Cipriano de la Huerga. Gaspar Morocho Gayo. La Ciudad de
Dios, CCXIII (Sept.–Dec., 2000), 813–854.
La vida benedictina en Castilla durante el reinado del Emperador. La forja institucional y sus escollos. José García Oro and María José Portela Silva. La Ciudad de Dios, CCXIII (Sept.–Dec., 2000), 855–1007.
American Luther Research in the Twentieth Century. Scott Hendrix. Lutheran
Quarterly, XV (Spring, 2001), 1–23.
Why Did Louis de Rocherolles Commission a Stained-Glass Window for Beauvais in 1522? Michael W. Cothren. Art Bulletin, LXXXIII (Mar., 2001), 7–31.
Vom Benediktiner zum Täufer. Michael Sattler: Ein fast vergessenes Schicksal
der oberrheinischen Kirchengeschichte zur Zeit der Reformation. HansOtto Mühleisen. Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 120 (2000), 141–156.
Elisabeth Cruciger (1500?–1535): The Case of the Disappearing Hymn Writer.
Mary Jane Haemig. Sixteenth Century Journal, XXXII (Spring, 2001),
21–44.
Print, Orality and Communications in the Maid of Kent Affair. Ethan H. Shagan.
Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 52 (Jan., 2001), 21–33.
The Early Tudor Reformation in the Irish Pale. Henry A. Jefferies. Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 52 (Jan., 2001), 34–62.
Ebrei, papi, vescovi e inquisitori a Bologna alla metà adel Cinquecento. Le premesse dell’espulsione del 1569. Guido Dall’Olio. Annali dell’Istituto
storico italo-germanico in Trento, XXV (1999), 153–204.
Problemi relativi alle nomine episcopali dal concilio di Trento al pontificato di
Urbano VIII. Massimo Faggioli. Cristianesimo nella storia, XXI (Dec.,
2000), 531–563.
Der heiligen Gertrud von Helfta “both der göttlichen myltigkeit” in einer Lichtenthaler Handschrift von 1566. Maria Pia Schindele. Freiburger DiözesanArchiv, 120 (2000), 53–107.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

557

“Impudent and Abominable Fictions”: Rewriting Saints’ Lives in the English
Reformation. Helen L. Parish. Sixteenth Century Journal, XXXII (Spring,
2001), 45–65.
The Prodigal Son at Santa Justina: The Homily in the Borromean Reform of Pastoral Preaching. Benjamin W. Westervelt. Sixeenth Century Journal, XXXII
(Spring, 2001), 109–126.
Saint Denis, les Guise et Paris sous la Ligue, 1588–1590. Jean-Marie Le Gall.
French Historical Studies, 24 (Spring, 2001), 157–184.
L’applicazione dell’indice dei libri proibiti di Clemente VIII. Gigliola Fragnito.
Archivio Storico Italiano, CLIX (1, 2001), 107–149.
L’Histoire memorable de Jean de Léry ou l’apologie d’une double trahison.
Bruna Conconi. Bulletin de la Société de l’Histoire du Protestantisme
Français, 146 (Oct.–Dec., 2000), 669–686.
SEVENTEENTH AND EIGHTEENTH CENTURIES

Versicherungen fürs Fegefeuer. Bruderschaften und Liebesbünde nach Trient
am Beispel Salzburg (1600–1950).Rupert Klieber. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 96 (Jan.–June, 2001), 34–70.
Separated by Death? Burials, Cemeteries, and Confessional Boundaries in
Seventeenth-Century France. Keith P. Luria. French Historical Studies, 24
(Spring, 2001), 185–222.
Behavioral Contagion and the Rise of Convent Education in France. Marshall B.
Jones and Elizabeth Rapley. Journal of Interdisciplinary History, XXXI
(Spring, 2001), 489–521.
Alcuni Manuscripta Parisina e il fondatore del Nazareno. Tonino Caruso.
Archivum Scholarum Piarum, XXIV (No. 48, 2000), 39–101.
Saint Louise de Marillac: Bibliography to Present Day. Compiled by John Rybolt,
C.M. Vincentian Heritage, XIX (2, 1998), 283–294.
Politics: Spun Out of Theology and Prophecy: Sir Henry Vane on the Spiritual
Environment of Public Power. David Parnham. History of Political
Thought, XXII (Spring, 2001), 53–83.
Les bibliothèques de deux théologiens réformés au XVIIe siècle, l’un puritain
anglais, l’autre pasteur huguenot. Matthew Kadane. Bulletin de la Société
de l’Histoire du Protestantisme Français, 147 (Jan.—Mar., 2001), 67–99.
A Note on the Immaculist Patronage of Alexander VII: Chigi and the Pilgrimage
Church of Scherpenheuvel in the Low Countries. Maarten Delbeke. Bulletin de l’Institut Historique Belge de Rome, LXXI (2001), 167–200.
Patristique et politique dans l’Angelterre e la Restauration. Jean-Louis Quantin.
Rivista di Storia e Letteratura Religiosa, XXXVI (3, 2000), 415–448.

558

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

Le Scuole Pie a Brindisi (1664–1808). Alberto Tanturri. Archivum Scholarum
Piarum, XXIV (No. 48, 2000), 19–37.
Le grand aumônier de France et le diocèse de la Chapelle royale sous Louis XIV.
Alexandre Maral. Bibliothèque de l’École des chartes, 158 (July–Dec.,
2000), 475–506.
Per una lettura dei “Discorsi al Popolo Ebraico” di Padre R. Brasavola
(1654–1730). Goffredo Cianfrocca. Archivum Scholarum Piarum, XXIV
(No. 48, 2000), 103–136.
The First Modern Refugees? Charity, Entitlement, and Persuasion in the
Huguenot Immigration of the 1680s. John M. Hintermaier. Albion, 32 (Fall,
2000), 429–449.
A Blueprint for Tyranny? Sir Edward Hales and the Catholic Jacobite Response
to the Revolution of 1688. Daniel Szechi. English Historical Review, CXVI
(Apr., 2001), 342–367.
Diplomatic History as a Field for Cultural Analysis: Muslim-Christian Relations in
Tunis, 1700–1840. Historical Journal, 44 (Mar., 2001), 79–106.
Crisi di rapporti Stato-Chiesa nella Repubblica di Lucca (1713). Maria Luisa Trebiliani. Rivista di Storia della Chiesa in Italia, LIV (Jan.–June, 2000),
71–89.
Firmin Abauzit (1679–1767) ou de l’hétérodoxie discrète. Maria-Cristina Pitassi.
Bulletin de la Société de l’Histoire du Protestantisme Français, 146
(Oct.–Dec., 2000), 717–728.
L’homme derrière le cardinal. Les lettres orginales de Giuseppe Garampi à son
frère aîné Francesco (1752–1788) conservées dans le Fondo Eredi
Garampi à la Biblioteca Gambalunghiana de Rimini. Dries Vanysacker. Bulletin de l’Institut Historique Belge de Rome, LXXI (2001), 201–241.
Die Schannat-Hartzheimsche Sammlung der deutschen Konzilien (1759–1790).
Geschichte einer Schwer- und Spätgeburt. Hermann-Josef Sieben, S.J. Theologie und Philosophie, 76, (1, 2001), 1–30.
La biblioteca del cardinale Stefano Borgia. Giovanna Granata. Annali della
Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa, Serie IV, Quaderni, 2 (1998), 225–238.
Untersuchungen zur Säkularisation der Abtei St. Maximin hart vor Trier. Die
Überlieferung von Archiv, Bibliothek und Zimelien. Hans Wolfgang Kuhn
and Halgard Kuhn. Jahrbuch für westdeutsche Landesgeschichte, 26
(2000), 99–197.
L’insegnamento del greco nel seminario dei chierici di Cantania tra Settecento
ed Ottocento. Giuseppe Baldacci. Annali della Scuola Normale Superiore
di Pisa, Serie IV, Quaderni, 2 (1998), 245–256.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

559

NINETEENTH AND TWENTIETH CENTURIES

Monjes secularizados durante el trienio liberal. Miguel C. Vivancos, O.S.B. Studia Monastica, 42 (2, 2000), 379–391.
John Henry Newman. Advocacy of Conscience—1825–1832 (seguito). Fabio
Attard. Salesianum, LXII (July–Sept. 2000), 433–456.
La presse catholique sarthoise de la Monarchie de Juillet au Second Empire.
Olivier Gaudin. Annales de Bretagne et des Pays de l’Ouest, 108 (1, 2001),
71–98.
“Dans la même portion de la vigne”: le père Libermann et la mère Javouhey.
Bernard Ducol. Mémoire Spiritaine, No. 12 (2, 2000), 10–33.
Le Saint-Esprit et le Saint-Cœur de Marie: après l’union, une fidélité mal comprise. Michel Legrain. Mémoire Spiritaine, No. 12 (2, 2000), 34–55.
Entre Bible et Navette en Picardie septentrionale: XIXe siècle, le renouveau.
Jean-Marie Wiscart. Bulletin de la Société de l’Histoire du Protestantisme
Français, 146 (Oct.–Dec., 2000), 743–772.
Protestantisme et protestants dans la Revue des deux mondes (1848–1870).
Yves Hivert-Messeca. Bulletin de la Société de l’Histoire du Protestantisme Français, 146 (Oct.–Dec., 2000), 773–819.
Stadt—Land—Religion. Der badische Kirchenstreit im Mikrospektrum (1853–
1855). Dominik Burkard. Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 120 (2000),
197–247.
Un jésuite au service de la France du Second Empire: les missions du père Cohen dans le désert de Syrie et d’Arabie. Gérald Arboit. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 96 (Jan.–June, 2001), 88–100.
Acton: The Lay Theologian. Victor Conzemius. Cristianesimo nella storia, XXI
(Dec., 2000), 565–584.
Expertise ethnologique et expansionnisme ecclésiastique. Le Cardinal Lavigerie
et les Pères Blancs en Tanzanie. Michael Singleton. Neue Zeitschrift für
Missionswissenschaft, 57 (1, 2000), 15–32.
Marriage in Norwegian Missionary Practice and Discourse in Norway and Madagascar, 1880–1910. Line Nyhagen Predelli. Journal of Religion in Africa,
XXXI (1, 2001), 4–48.
Henri Bremond et l’Angelterre. Bruno Neveu. Revue des Sciences Philosophiques et Théologiques, 84 (Oct., 2000), 593–621.
Le jeune Bremond et la littérature. Jean-Pierre Jossua. Revue des Sciences
Philosophiques et Théologiques, 84 (Oct., 2000), 623–633.
Die Beziehung des Kirchenhistorikers Paul Maria Baumgarten zu Koblenz. IsaMaria Betz. Jahrbuch für westdeutsche Landesgeschichte, 26 (2000),
305–345.

560

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

Bishop Alfred Tucker and the Establishment of a British Protectorate in Uganda
1890–94. Tudor Griffiths. Journal of Religion in Africa, XXXI (1, 2001),
92–114.
The Forgotten Origins of the Ecumenical Movement in England: The Grindelwald Conferences, 1892–95. Christopher Oldstone-Moore. Church History, 70 (Mar., 2001), 73–97.
Encounters with the Enemy? Academic Readings of Missionary Narratives on
Melanesians. Bronwen Douglas. Comparative Studies in Society and History, 43 (Jan., 2001), 37–64.
Die “deutsche” Indexreform Leos XIII. Oder: Der ausgefallene Fall des Altkatholiken Franz Heinrich Reusch. Hubert Wolf. Historische Zeitschrift, 272
(Feb., 2001), 63–106.
Harnack e Loisy e il dibattito sul metodo storico-critico. Giovanni Sale, S.I. La
Civiltà Cattolica, 152, I (Jan. 6, 2001), 36–49.
Katholizismus und Universität. Joseph Sauer in den Kulturkämpfen seiner Zeit.
Claus Arnold. Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 120 (2000), 261–281.
Pre-Vatican II English Catholicism: The Case of Oliver Welch. Adrian Hastings.
Downside Review, 119 ( Jan., 2001), 11–34.
Freiheit und Prädestination. Der Ansatz des Dr. Josef Heiler, Pfarrer von Triberg.
Karlheinz Ruhstorfer. Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 120 (2000), 157–188.
La Compañía de Jesús en España entre 1936 y 1989. I. De la Guerra Civil a la crisis de los años setenta (1936–1970). Alfonso Álvarez Bolado. Estudios Eclesiásticos, 76 (Apr.–June, 2001), 145–191.
La crisi del 1938 fra Stato e Chiesa nella documentazione dell’Archivio Storico
Diplomatico del Ministero degli Affari Esteri. Mario Casella. Rivista di Storia della Chiesa in Italia, LIV (Jan.–June, 2000), 91–186.
Anglican-Orthodox Relations and the Religious Rehabilitation of the Soviet
Regime during the Second World War. Dianne Kirby. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 96 (Jan.–June, 2001), 101–123.
“No Longer Will We Call Ourselves Catholics in Wales but Welsh Catholics”: Roman Catholicism, the Welsh Language and Welsh National Identity in the
Twentieth Century. Trystan Owain Hughes. Welsh History Review, 20
(Dec., 2000), 336–365.
Atteggiamenti educativi dell’arcivescovo Giovanni Battista Montini (1954–
1963). Tomasz Kadzinski. Salesianum, LXII (July–Sept., 2000), 457–482.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

561

AMERICAN AND CANADIAN

Heiden, Juden oder Teufel? Milleniarismus und Indianermission in Massachusetts 1630–1700. Hans-Dieter Metzger. Geschichte und Gesellschaft, 27
(Jan.–Mar., 2001), 118–148.
Joining Signs with Words: Missionaries, Metaphors, and the Massachusett Language. Laura J. Murray. New England Quarterly,LXXIV (Mar.,2001),62–93.
Puritanism and Refinement in Early New England: Reflections on Communion
Silver. Mark A. Peterson. William and Mary Quarterly, LVIII (Apr., 2001),
307–346.
Becoming Baptists: Conversion in Colonial and Early National Virginia. Jewel L.
Spangler. Journal of Southern History, LXVII (May, 2001), 243–286.
Richard Boardman: American Methodism’s First Superintendent. Kenneth Cain
Kinghorn. Asbury Theological Journal, 55 (Fall, 2000), 17–35.
The Revolutionary William White and Democratic Catholicity. George K.
Hotchkiss. Anglican and Episcopal History, LXX (Mar., 2001), 40–74.
An Annotated List of the Writings of Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton (4). Compiled by
Judith Metz, S.C., and Regina Bechtle, S.C. Vincentian Heritage, XIX (2,
1998), 367–404.
A Newly Discovered Document and a Fresh View of an American Leader:
Bishop William White’s An Essay on High-Church Principles. William
White; Cynthia McFarland, Ed. Anglican and Episcopal History, LXX (Mar.,
2001), 4–39.
“Liberty, Tyranny and Ethnicity: The German Reformed “Free Synod” Schism
(1819–1823) and the Americanization of an Ethnic Church. Steven M. Nolt.
Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography, CXXV (Jan.–Apr.,
2001), 35–60.
Bishop John England and the Possibilities of Catholic Republicanism. Daniel F.
Kearnes. South Carolina Historical Magazine, 102 (Jan., 2001), 47–67.
From Revivalism to Anti-Revivalism to Whig Politics: The Strange Career of
Calvin Colton. James D. Bratt. Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 52 (Jan.,
2001), 63–82.
To Seek, Suffer, and Trust: Ascetic Devotion in a Modern Church on the Frontier.
David C. Thomas. Oregon Historical Quarterly, 102 (Spring, 2001), 48–71.
“Her Duty to Canada”: Henriette Feller and French Protestantism in Québec.
Randall Balmer and Catharine Randall. Church History, 70 (Mar., 2001),
49–72.

562

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

Conversation between Two Lutherans concerning Church Organizations.
Williard E. Mueller, Trans. Concordia Historical Institute Quarterly, 74
(Spring, 2001), 30–53.
Membership in a Religious Commune: The Shakers, 1850–1870. Metin M.
Coşgel and Bradley B. Andrew. Explorations in Economic History, 38
(Apr., 2001), 273–295.
Pioneers and Padres: Competing Mythologies in Northern and Southern California, 1850–1930. Glen Gendzel. Western Historical Quarterly, XXXII
(Spring, 2001), 55–79.
Bishop Hill: An 1854 Description by Charles Wilson. John E. Norton. Journal of
Illinois History, 4 (Spring, 2001), 41–54.
Parenté et stratification sociale dans une paroisse rurale de la vallée du SaintLaurent au milieu du XIXe siècle. Christian Dessureault. Revue d’histoire de
l’Amérique française, 54 (Winter, 2001), 411–447.
“Her Sons and Daughters Are Ever on the Altar”: Fisk University and Missionaries to Africa, 1866–1937. James A. Quirin. Tennessee Historical Quarterly,
LX (Spring, 2001), 16–37.
American Vincentians in 1877–1878: The Maller Visitation Report (2). John Rybolt, C.M. Vincentian Heritage, XIX (2, 1998), 245–282.
Preparing for Mission: The Education of John H. C. Fritz. Ruth Fritz Meyer. Concordia Historical Institute Quarterly, 74 (Spring, 2001), 2–12.
Ist der Amerikanismus ein Katholizismus? Werner Kremp. Stimmen der Zeit,
219 (May, 2001), 333–344.
“A Fragment of Heaven on Earth”? Religion, Gender, and Family in Turn-of-theCentury Canadian Church Periodicals. Lynne Marks. Journal of Family
History, 26 (Apr., 2001), 251–271.
Memories of Younger Days (1901–1937). Maynard J. Geiger, O.F.M. Ed. Francis J.
Weber. La Gazeta del Archivo, (Winter, 2000–Spring, 2001), 2–35.
Les rituels du mariage dans la vallée du Haut-Richelieu: comparaison ville/campagne au XXe siècle. Martine Tremblay. Revue d’histoire de l’Amérique
française, 54 (Winter, 2001), 385–410.
La conversion œcuménique d’un évêque d’une Église: Le parcours œcuménique du cardinal Léger et de l’Église de Montréal au moment de Vatican II. Riccardo Burigana and Gilles Routhier. Science et Esprit, 52 (May–
Åug., 2000), 171–191.
Beginnings of “Laborers for Christ” in the Missouri Synod. Bernard O. Raabe.
Concordia Historical Institute Quarterly, 74 (Spring, 2001), 13–29.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

563

LATIN AMERICAN

Le vocabulaire religieux chez les chroniqueurs du Pérou aux XVIe et XVIIe
siècles. Roberte Manceau. Recherches de Science Religieuse, 89 (Jan.–
Mar., 2001), 67–86.
From the Counting House to the Field and Loom: Ecologies, Cultures, and
Economies in the Missions of Sonora (Mexico) and Chiquitanía (Bolivia).
Cynthia Radding. Hispanic American Historical Review, 81 (Feb., 2001),
45–87.
Una excomunión histórica. Teresa Morales de Gómez. Boletín de Historia y
Antigüedades, LXXXVIII (Jan.–Mar., 2001), 67–97.
La supremacía de la conciencia y su inviolabilidad. Luis Carlos Mantilla R.,
O.F.M. Boletín de Historia y Antigüedades, LXXXVIII (Jan.–Mar., 2001),
99–106.

OTHER BOOKS RECEIVED

Aram I, Catholicos of Cilicia. In Search of Ecumenical Vision. (Antelias,
Lebanon: Armenian Catholicosate of Cilicia. 2000. Pp. xii, 318. Paperback.)
Arrom, Silvia Marina. Containing the Poor: The Mexico City Poor House, 17741871. (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press. 2000. Pp. xiii, 398. $59.95
cloth; $19.95 paperback.)
Bachrach, Bernard S. Early Carolingian Warfare: Prelude to Empire. [The Middle Ages Series.] (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. 2001.
Pp. xiv, 430. $55.00.)
Barnes, Timothy D. Athanasius and Constantius: Theology and Politics in the
Constantinian Empire. (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press.
2001. Pp. xix, 343. $24.95 paperback.) Originally published in 1993 and reviewed by Charles Kannengiesser ante, LXXX (July, 1994), 561-565.
Baumgartner, Frederic J. Longing for the End: A History of Millennialism in
Western Civilization. (New York: Palgrave. 2001. Pp. xi, 286. $16.95 paperback.) First published in 1999 and reviewed by Clarke Garrett ante,
LXXXVI (April, 2000), 300-301.
Bermeo, Nancy, and Philip Nord. Civil Society before Democracy: Lessons from
Nineteenth-Century Europe. (Lanham, Md.: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc. 2000. Pp. xxxiii, 277. $69.00 cloth; $26.95 paperback.)
Bouchard, Constance Brittain. “Those of My Blood”: Constructing Noble Families in Medieval Francia. [The Middle Ages Series.] (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. 2001. Pp. xi, 248.)
Buchi, Ezio (Ed.). Storia del Trentino. II: L’età romana. [Istituto Trentino di Cultura: Storia del Trentino.] (Bologna: Società editrice il Mulino. 2000.
Pp. 643. Lire 90,000; Euros 46,48.) The last chapter is “Inizi cristiani nella
regione tridentina,” by Iginio Rogger (pp. 475-524.)
Calì, Vincenzo, Gustavo Corni, and Giuseppe Ferrandi (Eds.). Gli intellettuali e
la Grande guerra. [Istituto Trentino di Cultura. Annali dell’Istituto storico
italo-germanico in Trento, Quaderni, 54.] (Bologna: Società editrice il
Mulino. 2000. Pp. 425. Lire 48.000; Euros 24,79 paperback.)
Carile, Paolo. Le regard entravé: Littérature et anthropologie dans les premiers textes sur la Nouvelle-France. [Le CELAT.] (Sillery, Québec: Septentrion; Rome: Aracne Editrice. 2000. Pp. 222. Can $24.95 paperback.)

564

OTHER BOOKS RECEIVED

565

Chapter V is entitled “Lescarbot et Biard: la première querelle sur
l’évangélisation en Nouvelle-France” (pp. 129-149).
Cronin, Mike. A History of Ireland. (New York: Palgrave. 2001. Pp. xviii, 273.
$26.95.)
Donnelly, James S., Jr. The Great Irish Potato Famine. (Thrupp, Stroud, Gloucestershire: Sutton Publishing. 2001. Pp. xii, 292. $29.95.)
Eusèbe de Césarée. La théologie politique de l’Empire chrétien: Louanges de
Constantin (Triakontaétérikos). Ed. Pierre Maraval. [Sagesses chrétiennes.] (Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf. 2001. Pp. 216. 165 F paperback.)
Felloni, Giuseppe (Ed.). Inventario dell’Archivio del Banco di San Giorgio
(1407-1805). Vol. II: Affari generali, Tomo 1. [Pubblicazioni degli Archivi
di Stato, Archivio di Stato di Genova.] (Rome: Ministero per i beni e le attività culturali, Ufficio centrale per i beni archivistici. 2001. Pp. 383. Paperback.)
Fraschetti, Augusto (Ed.). Roman Women. Trans. Linda Lappin. (Chicago: The
University of Chicago Press. 2001. Pp. vi, 249. $20.00 paperback.) Originally published as Roma al femminile by Gius. Laterza & Figli Spa, RomaBari, in 1994. Three of the nine women are “Perpetua the Martyr” by
Emanuela Prinzivalli (pp. 118-140), “Helena Augusta: From Innkeeper to
Empress” by Franca Ela Consolino (pp. 141-159),and “Melania the Saint” by
Andrea Giardina (pp. 190-207).
Gallyon, Margaret (Ed.). The Visions, Revelations and Teachings of Angela of
Foligno: A Member of the Third Order of St Francis. (Portland, Ore.: The
Alpha Press. Distributed by International Specialized Book Services.. 2000.
Pp. xiii, 146. $22.95 paperback.)
Hampson, Daphne. Christian Contradictions: The Structures of Lutheran and
Catholic Thought. (New York: Cambridge University Press. 2001. Pp. xi,
323. $59.95.)
Hemrick, Eugene F. One Nation under God: Religious Symbols, Quotes, and
Images in Our Nation’s Capital. (Huntington, Ind.: Our Sunday Visitor
Publishing Division. 2001. Pp. 142. $6.95 paperback.) Four buildings on
Capitol Hill are the focus of this book: The United States Capitol, the
Supreme Court Building, the Jefferson Building of the Library of Congress,
and the National Gallery of Art. Also included is St. Joseph’s Church.
Hill, Charles E. Regnum Caelorum: Patterns of Millennial Thought in Early
Christianity. Second Edition. (Grand Rapids, Mich.: William B. Eerdmans
Publishing Company. 2001. Pp. xx, 324. $30.00 paperback.) The first edition was published by Oxford University Press in 1992.
Johnson, Timothy J. The Soul in Ascent: Bonaventure on Poverty, Prayer, and
Union with God. [Studies in Franciscanism.] (Quincy, Ill.: Franciscan
Press, Quincy University. 2000. Pp. xvi, 226. $16.95 paperback.)

566

OTHER BOOKS RECEIVED

Joselit, Jenna Weissman. A Perfect Fit: Clothes, Character, and the Promise of
America. (New York: Metropolitan Books. Henry Holt and Company. 2001.
Pp. ix, 257. $26.00.)
Katz, Michael B. The Price of Citizenship: Redefining the American Welfare
State. (New York: Metropolitan Books, Henry Holt and Company. 2001.
Pp. ix, 469. $35.00.)
Kosto, Adam J. Making Agreements in Medieval Catalonia: Power, Order, and
the Written Word, 1000-1200. [Cambridge Studies in Medieval Life and
Thought, Fourth Series.] (New York: Cambridge University Press. 2001.
Pp. xx, 366. $64.95.)
Lazzarini, Isabella (Ed.). Carteggio degli oratori mantovani alla corte
Sforzesca (1450-1500). III: 1461. [Pubblicazioni degli Archivi di Stato.]
(Rome: Ministero per i beni e le attività culturali, Ufficio centrale per i beni
archivistici. 2000. Pp. 470. Paperback.)
Miller, Gerald L., and Wilburn T. Stancil (Eds.). Catholicism at the Millennium:
The Church of Tradition in Transition. (Kansas City, Mo.: Rockhurst University Press. 2001. Pp. xiii, 218. $35.00 cloth; $20.00 paperback.) The first
essay is “‘Cold, Bare Ruined Choirs’? Reflections on the Nature of Catholic
History,” by Richard J. Janet (pp. 3-18).
More, Thomas. Utopia. New Translation with an Introduction by Clarence H.
Miller. (New Haven: Yale University Press. 2001. Pp. xxix, 173. $20.00
cloth; $6.95 paperback.)
Motsch, Andreas. Lafitau et l’émergence du discours ethnographique. [Imago
Mundi, No. 2.] (Sillery, Québec: Septentrion; Paris: Presses de l’Université
de Paris-Sorbonne. 2001. Pp. vii, 295. Can $34.95 paperback.)
Neuhaus, Richard John (Ed.). The Second One Thousand Years: Ten People Who
Defined a Millennium. (Grand Rapids, Mich.: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company. 2001. Pp. xii, 126. $14.00 paperback.) Contents: Robert
Louis Wilken,“Gregory VII and the Politics of the Spirit” (pp. 1-14); David
Novak,“The Mind of Maimonides” (pp. 15-27);Romanus Cessario,“Thomas
Aquinas: A Doctor for the Ages” (pp. 28-39); Robert Hollander, “Dante: A
Party of One” (pp. 40-51); Robert Royal, “Columbus and the Beginning of
the World” (pp. 52-65); Alister McGrath,“Calvin and the Christian Calling”
(pp. 66-75); Edward T. Oakes,“Pascal: The First Modern Christian” (pp. 7691); Mary Ann Glendon,“Rousseau and the Revolt against Reason” (pp. 92103); Jean Bethke Elshtain,“Abraham Lincoln and the Last Best Hope” (pp.
104-113); George Weigel, “John Paul II and the Crisis of Humanism” (pp.
114-124).
Ó Siochrú, Micheál (Ed.). Kingdoms in Crisis: Ireland in the 1640s. Essays in
Honor of Dónal Cregan. (Portland, Ore.: Four Courts Press. Distributed by
International Specialized Book Services. 2001. Pp. 288. $50.00.) Among
the thirteen essays published here are “7. John Barry: An Irish Catholic Roy-

OTHER BOOKS RECEIVED

567

alist in the 1640s,” by William Kelly (pp. 141-157), and “9. Lost in Rinuccini’s Shadow: The Irish Clergy, 1645-9” by Tadhg Ó hAnnracháin (pp. 176191).
Robinson, Joanne Maguire. Nobility and Annihilation in Marguerite Porete’s
Mirror of Simple Souls. [SUNY series in Western Esoteric Traditions.] (Albany: State University of New York Press. 2001. Pp. xvi, 178. $17.95 paperback.)
Ruby. Robert. Unknown Shore: The Lost History of England’s Arctic Colony.
(New York: Henry Holt and Company. 2001. Pp. xv, 300. $26.00.)
Ryan,James G. (Ed.). Irish Church Records: Their History, Availability and Use
in Family and Local History Research. New Edition. (Dublin: Flyleaf
Press. 2001. Pp. 208. IR£ 30 hardback; IR£ 22 paperback.) First published
in 1992 and reviewed by Janet A. Nolan ante, LXXXI (January, 1995), 147.
Schabel, Chris. Theology at Paris, 1316-1345: Peter Auriol and the Problem of
Divine Foreknowledge and Future Contingents. [Ashgate Studies in Medieval Philosophy.] (Burlington, Vt.: Ashgate. 2000. Pp. xi, 368. $89.95.)
Schwaller, John F. (Ed.). The Church in Colonial Latin America. [Jaguar Books
on Latin America, Number 21.] (Wilmington, Del.: Scholarly Resources,
Inc., Imprint. 2000. Pp. xxiii, 252. $55.00 cloth; $18.95 paperback.) Contents: I. Policy Issues: 1. Luis N. Rivera, “The Theological Juridical Debate” (pp. 3-26); 2. Robert C. Padden, “The Ordenanza del Patronazgo of
1574: An Interpretative Essay” (pp. 27-47); 3. John F. Schwaller,“The Ordenanza del Patronazgo in New Spain, 1574-1600” (pp. 49-69); II. Parochial
Issues: 4. Sarah Cline, “The Spiritual Conquest Reexamined: Baptism and
Christian Marriage in Early Sixteenth-Century Mexico” (pp. 73-101); 5.
Serge Gruzinski, “Individualization and Acculturation: Confession among
the Nahuas of Mexico from the Sixteenth to the Eighteenth Century” (pp.
103-120); 6. Karen Viera Powers, “The Battle for Bodies and Souls in the
Colonial North Andes: Intraecclesiastical Struggles and the Politics of Migration” (pp. 121-146); 7. Kenneth Mills,“The Limits of Religious Coercion
in Midcolonial Peru” (pp. 147-180); III. Cultural Issues: 8. Linda A. Curcio-Nagy,“Native Icon to City Protectress to Royal Patroness: Ritual, Political Symbolism, and the Virgin of Remedies” (pp. 183-208); 9. Stafford
Poole,“The Woman of the Apocalypse” (pp. 209-243).
Sherwood,Yvonne. A Biblical Text and Its Afterlives: The Survival of Jonah in
Western Culture. (New York: Cambridge University Press. 2000. Pp. xii,
321. $64.95 hardback; $24.95 paperback.)
Smyth, Jim (Ed.). Revolution, Counter-Revolution and Union: Ireland in the
1790s. (New York: Cambridge University Press. 2000. Pp. xii, 245. $59.95.)
Two of the twelve essays published here are “6. Class, Religion and Rebellion: Wexford in 1798,” by Daniel Gahan (pp. 83-98), and “11. Irish Christianity and Revolution,” by David W. Miller (pp. 195-210).

568

OTHER BOOKS RECEIVED

Stegemann, Ekkehard W., and Wolfgang Stegemann. The Jesus Movement: A
Social History of Its First Century. Trans. O. C. Dean, Jr. (Minneapolis:
Fortress Press. 1999. Pp. xx, 532. $25.00 paperback.)
Tornabuoni de’ Medici, Lucrezia. Sacred Narratives. Ed. and Trans. Jane Tylus.
[The Other Voice in Early Modern Europe.] (Chicago: The University of
Chicago Press. 2001. Pp. x, 300. $50.00 cloth; $20.00 paperback.) This volume contains nine laudi (poems of praise) and five storie sacre (narrative
poems based on the lives of biblical figures) by the most prominent
woman in Renaissance Florence.
Triay,Victor Andres. Bay of Pigs: An Oral History of Brigade 2506. (Gainesville:
University Press of Florida. 2001. Pp. xii, 200. $24.95.)
Valliere, Paul. Modern Russian Theology: Bukharev Soloviev, Bulgakov—
Orthodox Theology in a New Key. (Grand Rapids, Mich.: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company. 2000. Pp. x, 443. $42.00.)