Philip Gleason Professor emeritus of history, University of Notre Dame 2011 The Catholic Historical Review VOL. XCVII JULY, 2011 No. 3 WORKING IN A TRADITION BY PHILIP GLEASON* Distinguished historian Philip Gleason reflects on his work in American Catholic history, including influential mentors, research directions, publications, and other important aspects of his career. Keywords: American identity; Catholic higher education; Catholic medievalism; ethnic revival; Central-Verein; German American Catholicism; romanticism Baron Friedrich von Huegel has been described as a man who “loved to share, to be part of a tradition, both intellectually and spiritually; he wanted to be part of the past, and partner of the future too.”1 These words came to mind as I contemplated the work to be undertaken here. For while they express a sentiment any historian might endorse,they are especially apposite when one sets out to review a career in historical scholarship. In the case at hand, such an effort demonstrated how profoundly my career has been shaped as “part of a tradition, both intellectually and spiritually.” As to partnering with the future, that has been not so much a connection deeply felt as a goal devoutly hoped for. Whether, or to what degree, that hope has been realized is not for me to say. What follows will,therefore,be confined to sketching the path that led me into the tradition of scholarship on the history of American Catholicism and exploring how it intersected with other scholarly traditions and the more general tradition of Catholic thought in my own historical work. *Dr. Gleason is professor emeritus of history at the University of Notre Dame, email: J.P.Gleason.2@nd.edu. 1 Joseph P. Whalen, “Friedrich von Huegel’s Letters to Martin D’Arcy,” The Month, July–Aug. 1969, 36. 435 436 WORKING IN A TRADITION Beginnings None of this would have meant anything to me in 1953, when I began my graduate studies in history at Notre Dame. Far from aiming at a career in American Catholic history, I knew nothing about the subject and was completely oblivious to its existence as a field of specialization. Indeed, I did not see myself as prospective historical “scholar” at all. My goal—unconsciously self-limited by personal temperament and life experience—was simply to obtain the kind of advanced degree that would enable me to “teach at the college level.” Although I liked history and did well in the subject in high school and college, the idea of actually becoming a writer of history (or anything else) never entered my head. Coming from a farm and small-town background and being the first in my family to attend college, I took it more or less for granted that a bachelor’s degree should lead directly to gainful employment. For me, that meant becoming a high school teacher of social studies, which allowed some scope for specialization in history. In those days, it had not yet become common practice—at least not at the University of Dayton, from which I received a BS in education in 1951—for able students in a humanistic discipline to proceed directly from college to graduate school with financial support from the institution that accepted them.As a result, I spent two years in other employment— the first working in a civil service job, the second teaching eighth grade—before beginning my graduate studies. In view of my modest aspirations, by far the most important result of my initial contact with the tradition of historical scholarship was the dawning realization that I could become part of it. From the outset, my professors at Notre Dame gave me to understand that their students were to become researchers and writers of history, as well as teachers of the subject. One who did so was Father Thomas T. McAvoy, C.S.C., then head of the history department, who taught a required course in historical method and bibliography, the obvious purpose of which was to allow him to form his own judgment of new students. Nor did it take great sensitivity to discern that those who did not show promise of becoming historical scholars would not last long. M. A. Fitzsimons, James A. Corbett, and Marshal T. Smelser, from whom I also took classes in the first semester, tacitly conveyed the same point. To these men—and those encountered later as teachers, especially Aaron I.Abell,Thomas N. Brown, and Vincent P. DeSantis—I BY PHILIP GLEASON 437 owe a great debt of gratitude for introducing me to the tradition of historical scholarship they embodied. Although both McAvoy and Abell were scholars of American Catholic history who were actively publishing, there were no regular courses in that subject during my time as a graduate student. Both of these men had been trained as general U.S. historians—McAvoy at Columbia, Abell at Harvard. Naturally enough, McAvoy, who ran the department as a (usually) benevolent despot, drew on his own and Abell’s experience in designing a program that was conventional in its coverage and requirements.2 The need to establish Notre Dame’s scholarly credentials as a legitimate doctorate-granting institution likewise played a role in shaping the program. Graduate work at the doctoral level was new at Notre Dame; Catholic history was suspect in the academy at large, and a program narrowly focused on church history would undoubtedly have been dismissed as sectarian.3 From the practical point of view, graduate students had to be competent in some broad field of history or they could not hope to land a teaching position, even in a Catholic higher education institution. As a result of these factors, those who completed the program identified themselves not as religious historians—much less historians of Catholicism—but as American (or medieval, or European) historians with expertise in a conventionally recognized area of specialization.Thus, my fellow students and I were immersed in the tradition of historical scholarship broadly understood, but not in the tradition of Catholic historical scholarship as such. Of course, Catholicism as a spiritual and intellectual tradition pervaded the atmosphere of Notre Dame in the 1950s, and everyone in the department took religious issues seriously in various degrees.The work of McAvoy and Abell validated American Catholic history as an intellectually respectable focus of scholarly concentration, and they guided a number of graduate students into that area of research. In 1950, one of Abell’s advisees completed the first PhD dissertation in the newly organized doctoral program.4 I knew most of these early 2 For more on these matters, see Philip Gleason, “Thomas T. McAvoy, C.S.C.: Some Informal Recollections,” American Catholic Studies, 115 (2004), 59–68. 3 See Peter Novick, That Noble Dream: The “Objectivity Question” and the American Historical Profession (Cambridge, UK, 1988), pp. 174n, 203n, 366n. 4 Mary Harrita Fox, “Peter E. Dietz: Pioneer in the Catholic Social Movement” (PhD diss., University of Notre Dame, 1950); published as Peter E. Dietz: Labor Priest (Notre Dame, 1953). 438 WORKING IN A TRADITION dissertation writers only remotely or not at all; as nearly as I can recall, they had no effect on my thinking about an area of specialization.That was not quite the case with Father Anthony H. Deye, a man whom I knew well and greatly admired, and who often spoke of his research on the career of John B. Purcell, archbishop of Cincinnati from 1833 to 1880. Since I had grown up in southwestern Ohio, my curiosity was piqued by what I learned from him about the early history of Catholicism in that part of the world.5 Even so, the example of Deye and the overall atmosphere of receptivity to the history of American Catholicism did not prove sufficient to set me firmly in that scholarly direction. Nor did Abell suggest a topic in that area for my master’s thesis. Rather, that project, which led to my first scholarly publication, focused on how businessmen reacted to the agricultural depression of the 1920s.6 Other research projects done in graduate courses—including two that eventually resulted in published articles 7—were likewise unrelated to American Catholic history. Despite their ad hoc quality, these projects seem in retrospect to be classifiable as essays in intellectual history. I was not consciously thinking in those terms at the time, but I did take a course in American intellectual history from Brown that served to acquaint me with a fascinating and still relatively new genre of scholarship among American historians and perhaps nudged me in the direction of intellectual history as a field of specialization. However, the process of scholarly self-definition remained incomplete until intellectual history was combined with research interests in the interlinked histories of immigration and American Catholicism. What brought these elements together in a decisive way was the writing of a doctoral dissertation on German American Catholics. A Career-Shaping Dissertation I cannot remember precisely when McAvoy suggested a study of the German Catholic Central-Verein as a promising dissertation topic, 5 Anthony H. Deye, “Archbishop John Baptist Purcell of Cincinnati, Pre–Civil War Years” (PhD diss., University of Notre Dame, 1959). 6 The MA thesis, completed in 1955, provided the basis for “The Attitude of the Business Community toward Agriculture during the McNary-Haugen Period,” Agricultural History, 32 (1958), 127–38. 7 Philip Gleason,“A Scurrilous Colonial Election and Franklin’s Reputation,” William & Mary Quarterly, 3rd ser., 18 (1961), 68–84; Philip Gleason,“Moby-Dick: Meditation for Democracy,” The Personalist, 44 (1963), 499–517. BY PHILIP GLEASON 439 but it turned out to be the most important single event in the shaping of my scholarly career. It not only sealed my attachment to the tradition of American Catholic scholarship but also forged connections with other scholarly traditions. The fact that Notre Dame held rich sources on the Central-Verein’s history made the topic especially appealing. It also presented an interpretive challenge because the organization underwent a surprising shift of focus early in the twentieth century. Originally formed in 1855 as a simple federation of parish mutual aid societies that shared the broadly conservative stance of German American Catholics in the latenineteenth century, the Central-Verein transformed itself in the first decade of the twentieth century into the most reform-oriented of American Catholic societies. McAvoy believed this puzzling development deserved investigation and was eager to have someone undertake the task, using the papers entrusted to him by Frederick P. Kenkel, the Central-Verein’s longtime leader.8 He seemed to anticipate—probably on the basis of conversations with Kenkel—that I would find the impulse to reform originated in the perceived need to counteract “the rising tide of socialism,” to which German Catholic workers were thought to be particularly susceptible on account of the pronounced Germanic coloration of the socialist tradition. Socialism was, indeed, involved as a factor in the complex of influences affecting the Central-Verein’s shift of focus and later development, but this is not the place for a digest of my findings.9 The point here is that the topic invited treatment from the viewpoint of intellectual history, and the research brought me into intimate contact with the tradition of American Catholic history and immigration history. This is, of course, clearer in hindsight than it was at the time. At that point I was simply drawing on whatever scholarship I could find that helped me to understand the development of the Central-Verein as the outlines of that story began to emerge from analysis of the primary sources. The historiography of American Catholicism was the most directly relevant tradition. When I started dissertation work in 1957, study of 8 Kenkel, who received Notre Dame’s Laetare Medal in 1930, led the Central-Verein from 1908 to his death in 1952. 9 For a brief treatment, see Philip Gleason,“An Immigrant Group’s Interest in Social Reform:The Case of the German-American Catholics,” American Historical Review, 73 (1967), 367–79; for the full story, see Philip Gleason, The Conservative Reformers: German-American Catholics and the Social Order (Notre Dame, 1968). 440 WORKING IN A TRADITION the controversies that raged in the American Church in the 1880s and 1890s was by far the most active area of research among Catholic historians. Books and articles on the battles over “Americanization,” understood as a process affecting immigrants (especially Germans), and “Americanism,” understood as an ideological position, had been pouring forth since the mid-1940s.10 Two major summarizing studies—one by McAvoy, the other by Robert D. Cross of Columbia University—appeared just as my research was getting underway.11 Monsignor John Tracy Ellis’s two-volume biography of Cardinal James Gibbons, which was published in 1952, dealt with the whole spectrum of issues, and a number of his doctoral students at The Catholic University of America published monographs on various aspects of the conflict. Among the latter, the most helpful to me was The Catholic Church and German Americans by Colman J. Barry, O.S.B.12 Not only did it constitute an invaluable body of information on the German Catholics’ involvement in the quarrels of the Americanist era, it also established quite definitely that their collective stance was militantly “conservative.” By doing so, it highlighted the intriguing nature of the Central-Verein’s conversion to social reform, but left the interpretive problem unsolved. Thus the tradition of Americanist scholarship—Barry’s work in particular—set the stage beautifully for the research project I was to undertake. A second theme of Catholic historiography highly germane to my dissertation had to do with social and economic issues, particularly those relating to labor. This research interest, although much less actively pursued than Americanism, was not entirely unrelated to it. The permissibility of Catholic membership in the Knights of Labor had been one of the first issues to divide Catholic leaders in the 1880s, and Abell, the leading authority in the field, interpreted the “search for social justice” as a dimension of Catholic Americanization.13 Several doctoral dissertations, published and unpublished, con10 The vol. 11, no. 3 issue of the U.S. Catholic Historian (1993) is devoted to Americanism; see esp. pp. 1–7 for discussion of works that appeared in the 1940s and 1950s. 11 Thomas T. McAvoy, The Great Crisis in American Catholic History, 1895–1900 (Chicago, 1957); Robert D. Cross, The Emergence of Liberal Catholicism in America (Cambridge, MA, 1958). 12 John Tracy Ellis, The Life of James Cardinal Gibbons, Archbishop of Baltimore, 1834–1921, 2 vols. (Milwaukee, 1952); Colman J. Barry, The Catholic Church and German Americans (Milwaukee, 1953). 13 Henry J. Browne, The Catholic Church and the Knights of Labor (Washington, DC, 1949); Aaron I. Abell, American Catholicism and Social Action (Garden City, NY, 1960). BY PHILIP GLEASON 441 tained useful background information;14 two written by women religious dealt explicitly with the Central-Verein.The dissertation of Sister Mary Liguori Brophy provided a topically organized overview of its “social thought”; Peter E. Dietz, the subject of Sister Mary Harrita Fox’s work, played a brief but important role in the Central-Verein’s espousal of social reform.15 Besides the literature on American Catholicism, the tradition of scholarship on immigration and ethnicity obviously pertained to my topic.There was a considerable bibliography on German immigration in general, but, with the exception of Barry’s book, historical writing on German Catholics was sketchy in the extreme. In the 1950s, Oscar Handlin and his students at Harvard (one of whom was Brown, my teacher) greatly enriched and enlivened the historical study of immigration. At the same time, John Higham’s brilliant analysis of American nativism established his reputation as an outstanding intellectual historian.There was also a large body of sociological writing on immigration, much of which dealt with basic questions concerning ethnic identity, social and cultural assimilation, and the impact of generational change on efforts to preserve an immigrant people’s linguistic and cultural heritage.16 By applying insights from these traditions of scholarship to the printed and manuscript materials produced by the organization itself, I arrived at what seemed to me a convincing explanation of its shift of focus, and the effect of that shift on its future development.What I learned about the sources and nature of the Central-Verein’s social reform ideas also played a role in projects I later took up, but the 14 Vincent A. McQuade, The American Catholic Attitude toward Child Labor since 1891 (Washington, DC, 1938); Celestine J. Nuesse, The Social Thought of American Catholics, 1634–1829 (Washington, DC, 1945); James E. Roohan, American Catholics and the Social Question, 1865–1900 (New York, 1976; repr. of PhD diss., Yale University, 1952); and John P. J. Walsh, “The Catholic Church in Chicago and the Problems of an Urban Society, 1893–1915” (PhD diss., University of Chicago, 1948). 15 Mary Liguori Brophy, The Social Thought of the German Roman Catholic Central Verein (Washington, DC, 1941); Fox, Peter E. Dietz. A 1951 MA thesis done by Sister Mary Elizabeth Dye at Saint Louis University and later published as By Their Fruits: A Social Biography of Frederick Kenkel, Catholic Social Pioneer (New York, 1961) was much less useful than the works of Brophy and Fox. 16 For more on these matters, see Philip Gleason,“Crèvecoeur’s Question: Historical Writing on Immigration, Ethnicity, and National Identity,”Imagined Histories:American Historians Interpret the Past, ed. Anthony Mohlo and Gordon S. Wood (Princeton, 1998), pp. 120–43. 442 WORKING IN A TRADITION point here is that the dissertation set me on the way to thinking of myself as an intellectual historian with special interests in immigration/ethnicity and American Catholicism. Expanding Horizons That combination of interests proved to be surprisingly timely because the lamentable state of Catholic intellectual life had been the object of intense self-criticism for several years, and immigrant background was regularly cited as one reason for the embarrassing record of Catholics. Immigrant heritage likewise figured prominently as a negative factor in the related critique of Catholic parochial schools.The explosion of self-criticism dated from the publication in 1955 of Ellis’s landmark essay, “American Catholics and the Intellectual Life,” which drew heavily on his knowledge of history, both in marshalling evidence for the existence of a problem and in diagnosing its causes.17 By framing the issue in these terms, he vindicated the relevance of historical scholarship and at the same time opened a new field of investigation that seemed made to order for a beginner like myself. It was against this background that my article, “Immigration and American Catholic Intellectual Life,” was worked out.18 It drew, of course, on my just-completed dissertation and my general acquaintance with the literature of immigration, but forced me to think hard about how those materials related to the intellectualism problem. It also required me to read widely in American Jewish history, since the record of Jewish accomplishments in scholarship and the arts was frequently cited as evidence that immigrant origins should not be accepted as “explaining” why Catholics performed so poorly. I profited greatly from that exercise, which introduced me to a vast new literature. It also, incidentally, convinced me that the Jewish record was so extraordinary that it was the exception requiring explanation, rather than constituting a standard other groups could normally be expected to match. At the same time the article was published, another appeared that sprang from Brown’s offhand remark that pluralism was a better term 17 John Tracy Ellis, “American Catholics and the Intellectual Life,” Thought, Autumn 1955, 351–88. 18 Philip Gleason, “Immigration and American Catholic Intellectual Life,” Review of Politics, 26 (1964), 147–73. BY PHILIP GLEASON 443 than melting pot to apply to the situation of immigrants in American society. That awakened what was to become a long-standing fascination with the terminology used in the discussion of ethnic affairs, the first result of which was an article on the symbolic “melting-pot” itself.19 Publication, as I learned from these two articles, gives one visibility; that is, it attracts the attention of other scholars. In my case, it put me in contact with three historians whose interest in my work gave me the sense that I was a full member of the guild and opened the way to more active involvement in it. None of the three was a Catholic, but all were sensitive to the close connection between religion and immigration, and I profited greatly from their friendship. Victor R. Greene, a scholar of Polish immigration then at Kansas State University, shared the platform at a meeting of the American Historical Association when I presented my first conference paper; Timothy L. Smith, who was then at the University of Minnesota, made me part of a lively circle of young scholars working on immigration and religion; and John Higham of Johns Hopkins University asked me to contribute a volume of readings on American Catholicism in a series he coedited. These contacts likewise played a role in my becoming a charter member of the newly organized Immigration History Society.20 Colleagues at Notre Dame also moved my career along. My greatest debt of gratitude is, of course, to McAvoy, who not only directed my dissertation but also hired me as an instructor in 1959.21 Fitzsimons, 19 Philip Gleason, “The Melting Pot: Symbol of Fusion or Confusion?,” American Quarterly, 16 (1964), 20–46. 20 The volume in the Higham series was Catholicism in America (New York, 1970). The Immigration History Society (now known as the Immigration and Ethnic History Society) was formed in 1965; three decades later (1997–2000), I served as its president. 21 An offhand inquiry of McAvoy’s also led to my first publication that was not related to a thesis requirement or classroom assignment. One day in the archives, he came upon a letter in which Purcell referred to “the Mother Abbess of the free-lovers” at Yellow Springs, Ohio. Knowing I was from that part of the state, he asked if the reference meant anything to me. It did not, but it certainly seemed a matter worth pursuing, which led eventually to my article, “From Free-Love to Catholicism: Dr. and Mrs. Thomas L. Nichols at Yellow Springs,” Ohio Historical Quarterly, 70 (1961), 283–307. The Nicholses, it turned out, were radical utopian reformers of the ante-bellum era who were converted to Catholicism as a result of instructions received in a spiritualistic séance by Mary Gove Nichols, the “Mother Abbess” in the letter.The Nicholses moved to England around 1860; Bernard Aspinwall of the University of Glasgow discusses their activities there in “Social Catholicism and Health: Dr. and Mrs.Thomas Low Nichols in Britain,” The Church and Healing: Papers Read at the Twentieth Summer Meeting and the Twenty-First Winter Meeting of the Ecclesiastical History Society, ed. W. J. Sheils, [Studies in Church History, 19], (Oxford, 1982), pp. 249–70. 444 WORKING IN A TRADITION editor of the Review of Politics, invited me to review books for that journal and later encouraged me to edit a volume of essays by experts in various fields surveying the state of American Catholicism in the wake of the Second Vatican Council.22 Another request from a Notre Dame colleague was second only to the dissertation in its influence on the evolution of my scholarly interests. That request came from Robert Hassenger, a young sociologist of education who joined the Notre Dame faculty in 1965. At that time, American higher education, initially shaken by the demonstrations and violence set off by the free-speech movement at Berkeley, was moving rapidly toward crisis. Catholic colleges and universities were not yet deeply affected by what was euphemistically called “campus unrest,” but they, too, were restless.Years of self-criticism left Catholic academics persuaded of the need for root-and-branch reform and gave rise to the feeling—reinforced by winds of change coming from the Second Vatican Council—that something big was about to happen. In this atmosphere of uneasy expectation, Hassenger determined to put together a book of essays delineating the overall “shape” of Catholic higher education. Presumably because of my published work on immigration and the intellectualism question, he asked me contribute a chapter of historical background to this survey of the contemporary scene.23 In agreeing to this assignment, I had no idea that it would become a lifelong focus of specialization, the pursuit of which taught me most of what I know about American Catholic history.24 In fact, I did not even expect it to require much in the way of original research. However, it soon became evident that the secondary literature was spotty at best and all but nonexistent for the twentieth century. As a result, I spent the first half of a sabbatical year grappling with the subject and putting my findings into intelligible form. I was helped in this effort by my acquaintance with James H. Plough, a priest-graduate student working under McAvoy’s direc22 See Philip Gleason, ed., Contemporary Catholicism in the United States (Notre Dame, 1969). Fitzsimons edited the companion volume, The Catholic Church Today: Western Europe (Notre Dame, 1969). 23 Besides the Review of Politics article, I had published two more popular pieces on these matters:“Pluralism and the New Pluralism,” America, March 7, 1964, 308–12; and “Catholic Intellectualism Again,” America, January 23, 1965, 112–18. 24 For fuller discussion, see Philip Gleason, “An Academic Conversion Story,” U.S. Catholic Historian, 28, no. 3 (2010), 79–91. BY PHILIP GLEASON 445 tion on the early history of the Catholic Educational Association (CEA).25 Indeed, it may have been Plough who alerted me to the importance of the CEA’s published proceedings as a source. If so, it was a crucial piece of scholarly assistance because those proceedings constitute an indispensable record of the transformation Catholic colleges underwent between 1900 and 1925.26 The interrelated set of social, organizational, and ideological changes of those years gave Catholic higher education the “shape” it retained into the seventh decade of the twentieth century.27 Retrieving that story, aside from its intrinsic value historically, made possible a deeper understanding of the incipient emergence of the “religious identity” question in Catholic colleges and universities.And I was able to draw immediately on what I learned for topically oriented discussions of the eruption of academic freedom cases in the mid-sixties.28 In short, Hassenger’s request plunged me into the history of Catholic higher education, a subject I felt I had practically invented and was eager to explore more comprehensively. First, however, I had to revise my dissertation for publication, a task that opened into new lines of research and diverted me from the topic of higher education for several years. Identity Crises and Romanticism Looking back at the Central-Verein’s history from the vantage point of the turbulent mid-sixties, I could see that its experience was pertinent to the contemporary scene in a way not true only a few years earlier. Its now recognizable relevance hinged on similarities between 25 See James H. Plough,“Catholic Colleges and the Catholic Educational Association: The Foundation and Early Yeats of the CEA, 1899–1919” (PhD diss., University of Notre Dame, 1967). Formed in 1904, the CEA added National to its name in 1927, becoming the NCEA. 26 These sources also connected me to a local tradition because they revealed the key role played by Father James A. Burns, C.S.C., an earlier Notre Dame historian of Catholic education, in the CEA’s organization and reform efforts. 27 See Philip Gleason, “American Catholic Higher Education: A Historical Perspective,” in The Shape of Catholic Higher Education, ed. Robert Hassenger (Chicago, 1967), pp. 15–53. 28 See Philip Gleason,“Academic Freedom and the Crisis in Catholic Universities,” in Academic Freedom and the Catholic University, ed. Edward Manier and John Houck (Notre Dame, 1967), pp. 33–56; and Philip Gleason, “Freedom and the Catholic University,” National Catholic Educational Association Bulletin, 65 (November 1968), 21–29. 446 WORKING IN A TRADITION the Central-Verein’s situation at the turn of the century and that of American Catholicism as such in the aftermath of the Second Vatican Council.Then the Central-Verein was confronted by challenges to its existence brought on by a combination of external and internal changes. Externally, the major challenge derived from a precipitous decline in immigration from Germany, which dried up its main source of new members. Internally, the organization had to deal with the increasing preponderance of a more Americanized “younger generation,” whose feeling for things German was attenuated and for whom the Central-Verein’s traditional activities had little appeal. In other words, the Central-Verein faced what we had learned by 1968 to call an “identity crisis.” By that time, American Catholicism was struggling with radical changes brought on by a like combination of external and internal forces, and the expression identity crisis had become a cliché in commentary on the situation.29 I alluded briefly to the “exemplary value” of the Central-Verein’s experience in the concluding pages of the book published in 1968 and developed the idea more fully in the essay “The Crisis of Americanization” that appeared in the Fitzsimons-inspired volume the following year.30 Besides suggesting this analysis of the religious situation based on insights derived from the study of immigration, my return to the Central-Verein’s history led to another line of research that also proved timely: romanticism. The corporatist thinking that underlay the Central-Verein’s theory of social reform was deeply rooted in German romanticism, particularly in the romantics’ idealization of the Middle Ages. Kenkel was powerfully attracted by the organic unity and social harmony that supposedly pervaded the Ages of Faith. William Engelen, S.J., an authoritative interpreter of the Central-Verein’s social doctrine, came close to paraphrasing Novalis’s classic romanticization of the Middle Ages when he (Engelen) described the halcyon days when “In happy cities happy guilds, filled with the social spirit, spread true happiness to the smallest home and shop.”31 29 In 1968 Erik Erikson reported that facetious notices were posted at Harvard informing Catholic students when and where an upcoming “Identity Crisis” was to be held. See Erikson, Identity:Youth and Crisis (New York, 1968), pp. 15–16. 30 Philip Gleason,“The Crisis of Americanization,” Contemporary Catholicism in the United States, ed. Gleason, pp 3–31; Gleason, Conservative Reformers, pp. 219–20. 31 For Kenkel’s personal background and thinking, see Gleason, Conservative Reformers, pp. 91–102; for the tradition of German corporatism, see Gleason, Con- BY PHILIP GLEASON 447 I had taken note of these points in the dissertation, but they had no obvious contemporary relevance. In reading more widely for the revised version, however, I was struck—indeed, almost staggered—by the similarities between the mentality of the romantic era (roughly 1790s to 1830s) and the utopianism, neo-primitivism, and drive for personal liberation—all coupled with an intense longing for community—that characterized American society in the heyday of the “counterculture.”32 In 1967 I published a short article outlining some of these parallels and touched on the subject again in another essay published five years later.33 Among American Catholics, however, there was one area of stark contrast with historical romanticism. Although they were as much affected as others by contemporary currents of neo-romanticism, their view of the Middle Ages had undergone a complete reversal. In a change “so dramatic as to be palpable,” as a contemporary observer put it,34 American Catholics had, with varying degrees of vehemence, rejected what had previously figured in their tradition as a Golden Age, making the term medieval an all-but-hateful epithet. This astonishing turnaround prompted what became perhaps the most interesting and educational line of research that I ever undertook. Although I could find no previous history of American Catholic medievalism, the evidence of its existence was plentiful, with James J. Walsh’s widely circulated The Thirteenth, Greatest of Centuries (New York, 1907) being merely the best-known example. Of course, the immense literature on romanticism contained much on the medievalservative Reformers, pp. 138–43; for the quotation from Engelen, see Gleason, Conservative Reformers, p. 202. Novalis’s Die Christenheit oder Europa begins: “Those were fine magnificent times when Europe was a Christian country, when one Christendom inhabited this civilized continent and one great common interest linked the most distant provinces of this vast spiritual empire.” See the English translation in The Political Thought of the German Romantics, 1793–1815, ed. H. S. Reiss (New York, 1938), 126ff. For German romantic medievalism in general, I drew on Gottfried Salomon, Das Mittelalter als Ideal in der Romantik (Munich, 1922). 32 For an excellent contemporary description of the hectic American Catholic scene (which does not, however, refer to romanticism), see Andrew M. Greeley, Come Blow Your Mind with Me (Garden City, NY, 1971), esp. pp. 109–65. 33 See Philip Gleason, “Our New Age of Romanticism,” America, October 7, 1967, 372–75; and Philip Gleason,“Catholicism and Cultural Change in the 1960s,” in America in Change: Reflections on the 60s and 70s, ed. Ronald Weber (Notre Dame, 1972), pp. 82–96. 34 Donald J.Thorman, American Catholics Face the Future (Wilkes-Barre, PA, 1968), pp. 177–78. 448 WORKING IN A TRADITION ism that was one of its most prominent features. Pursuing this research, which acquainted me with many traditions of scholarship that were new to me, revealed five overlapping but distinguishable themes in Catholic medievalism: apologetic, romantic-aesthetic, social criticism, neo-Scholastic, and one deriving from disinterested scholarly curiosity.The resulting article did not fully explain why medievalism had fallen on hard times, but it established the “historical” character of the phenomenon. That is, it made clear that the tradition of Catholic medievalism—which had a spiritual, as well as intellectual, dimension35—took form in the context of romanticism, and that its subsequent course had been shaped by changing historical influences, of which the socio-religious upheaval of the 1960s was but the most recent.The whole episode also illustrated the reciprocal nature of the relationship between past and present. As I put it when I returned to the subject many years later, it showed that “the image of the past can help form the mentality of the present, while at the same time being itself shaped by that very mentality.”36 Institutions and People By 1970, I myself was well into middle age. Even so, I was taken aback when a new hire at Notre Dame referred to me as one of the “senior men” in the department.The two senior men most important to me had by then passed off the scene: Abell died in 1965, McAvoy four years later. I had been on the faculty for more than a decade, and two of my doctoral students had received their degrees—the first of twenty-seven from whose work I learned so much and whose continuing friendship has been among the greatest rewards of my career.37 Perhaps in keeping with my increasing venerability, I was 35 Thus the respected historian Martin R. P. McGuire could write in the mid-1930s, “… we ought to look upon our mediaeval researches as a high and necessary form of missionary activity.” See his essay, “Mediaeval Studies in America: A Challenge and an Opportunity for American Catholics,” The Catholic Historical Review, 22 (1936), 12–26, here 17. 36 See Philip Gleason, “Mass and Maypole Revisited: American Catholics and the Middle Ages,” The Catholic Historical Review, 57 (1971), 249–74.An expanded version of the article appeared in Philip Gleason, Keeping the Faith: American Catholicism Past and Present (Notre Dame, 1987), pp. 11–34, 228–36; quotation, p. 12. For another article on a related theme, see Philip Gleason, “Guilds and Craftsmen: Echoes of the Middle Ages in American Social Thought,” Studies in Medievalism, 1 (1982), 51–72. 37 Fourteen of these PhD students wrote on topics in American Catholic history. Space issues prevent acknowledging each of them individually—and also, of course, those who researched projects in other fields. BY PHILIP GLEASON 449 called on to serve a term as department chair from 1971 to 1974.The experience gave me a new appreciation of the role of administrators in making institutions function and the role of institutions in keeping traditions alive. Department chairs are low-level administrators, to be sure, but enhanced faculty participation in university governance was a lively issue at Notre Dame in those days, and for departments that meant having an increasingly decisive voice in hiring, granting tenure, and so on. Since this development gave faculty members greater influence in establishing the overall orientation of the department, it also made the “Catholic character” of the university a practical question that came into play in decisions about personnel. During my time as chair, the issue had not yet become really contentious (as it did later), but there was, nevertheless, uneasiness and tension. Up to the middle 1960s, a preference for Catholics in hiring was regarded as the appropriate policy at a Catholic university. By the end of the decade, however, some regarded that approach as outdated, parochial, counter to Notre Dame’s drive for excellence, and unprofessional—if not, indeed, academically disreputable. Without denying the desirability of adding diversity to our ranks, especially in view of the academic ecumenism that was bringing Catholic and Protestant historians into closer contact, I did not agree that religious commitment should have no part in hiring decisions at a Catholic university. Moreover, I believed that the history of Catholicism required special attention as the department’s most distinctive field of scholarly concentration and its principal contribution to the tradition of Catholic learning. For that reason, I regarded two of the positions filled during my term as chair as particularly important. The first of these new colleagues was Jay P. Dolan, who had studied with Martin Marty at the University of Chicago and joined the faculty as McAvoy’s replacement. He soon established himself as a major figure in American Catholic historiography, not only by his publications but also by virtue of his institution-building accomplishments—most notably in creating the Cushwa Center for the Study of American Catholicism and directing its activities for a quarter-century. The second important new hire was Father Marvin R. O’Connell, who earned his degree under Monsignor Philip Hughes, the historian of the English Reformation who taught at Notre Dame from 1955 into the early 1960s. O’Connell, then at the College of St. 450 WORKING IN A TRADITION Thomas in St. Paul, had already published two books; his third, a Langer-series volume dealing with the Counter-Reformation, appeared simultaneously with his arrival on campus. His later publications included five books on the history of Catholicism in France and the United States. O’Connell also served as department chair for six years, and appointments made during that time strengthened the department’s position in religious history. Although he was not a new hire in the sense of coming to Notre Dame from elsewhere and was primarily a specialist in twentieth-century American history, Father Thomas E. Blantz, C.S.C., should also be counted as adding to our resources in the history of American Catholicism. After McAvoy’s death, he served for several years as director of the Notre Dame Archives with its immensely valuable collection of Catholic Americana while teaching half time (he joined the department full time after he left the archives). Blantz also published biographies of two important figures in American Catholic history and succeeded O’Connell as department chair. After the Notre Dame history department, the institution that meant most to me in terms of personal friendships and scholarly encouragement was (and remains) the American Catholic Historical Association (ACHA). Its meetings became occasions of intellectual as well as social camaraderie with “fellow travelers in search of the past,” as the late Brother Thomas W. Spalding, C.F.X., once put it. It was there that I met Ellis and others among an older generation of historians, along with so many members of my own and younger generations that I fear any listing would omit someone whose work I respect and whose friendship I cherish. The ACHA is the professional society in which I have always felt most at home, intellectually and spiritually. It is an institution essential to the tradition of American Catholic historical scholarship, and my election as its president in 1978 is the academic honor I value most highly. The 1970s: Higher Education and Other Interests After completing my term as department chair in 1974, I devoted another sabbatical year to research on Catholic higher education, mainly on the nineteenth century. That proved very fruitful not only in what I learned about the colleges themselves but also about American Catholic history more generally. For example, from research on the role of John Carroll, then bishop of Baltimore, as BY PHILIP GLEASON 451 founder of Georgetown University, I learned how closely collegiate and seminary studies were linked in the antebellum era—and how crucially important the early bishops considered the colleges to be in meeting the greatest problem of that era: the desperate shortage of priests.The research also revealed that the proliferation of institutions and the resulting competitive tensions had been present from the beginning. In addition, the Carroll project gave me a new appreciation of the depth and richness of the Jesuit tradition in education and persuaded me that the Ratio Studiorum was the curricular starting point of the Catholic liberal arts tradition in this country.38 Analysis of the diary kept by James A. Healy during his senior year at Holy Cross (1848–49)—along with other manuscript sources at Notre Dame, Georgetown, and the Sulpician Archives—deepened that conviction and greatly enriched my understanding of the “oldtime” Catholic college.39 But, aside from what I done for the Hassenger volume, I had not really done substantial work on the twentieth century. To help bring that period into focus, I led a graduate seminar on twentieth-century American Catholicism in spring 1978.That worked out as I had hoped, not least in suggesting the line of argument advanced in my ACHA presidential address on “the search for unity” that dominated American Catholic thought from the 1920s through the 1950s.40 While engaged in this work, I also undertook several projects of a more topical nature. One such occasion was the 1976 U.S. Bicentennial, about which I wrote an article for Communio at the request of James Hitchcock of Saint Louis University. Another essay explored the implications for church-state relations of “civil religion,” especially when combined with the movement to “teach about religion” in the public schools.41 But for a historian with my combination of interests, the major topical issue of the day was the “revival of eth38 See Philip Gleason, “The Main Sheet Anchor: John Carroll and Catholic Higher Education,” Review of Politics, 38 (1976), 576–613. 39 See Philip Gleason,“The Curriculum of the Old-Time Catholic College: A Student’s View,” Records of the American Catholic Historical Society of Philadelphia, 88 (1977), 101–22. See also Philip Gleason, Introduction, Documentary Records of Early American Catholicism, ed. Jay Dolan (New York, 1978), pp 1–34 40 See Philip Gleason,“In Search of Unity: American Catholic Thought, 1820–1960,” The Catholic Historical Review, 65 (1979), 185–205. 41 See Philip Gleason, “The Bicentennial and Other Milestones: Anniversary Assessments of American Catholicism,” Communio, 3, no. 2 (1976), 115–35; and Philip Gleason,“Blurring the Line of Separation: Education, Civil Religion, and Teaching about Religion,” Journal of Church and State, 19 (1977), 517–38. 452 WORKING IN A TRADITION nicity” that burst on the scene in the early 1970s, in which Catholics such as the priests Andrew Greeley, Geno Baroni, and Silvano Tomasi and the lay intellectual Michael Novak played prominent roles. The ethnic revival, which glorified pluralism, had as its dialectical counterpart a sharp devaluing—or in some quarters, a passionate rejection—of old-fashioned “Americanism.” This reversal of feeling, a by-product of the social, political, and cultural turmoil of the late 1960s, expressed itself in vehement denials that “assimilation” of immigrants had ever taken place, in vilification of the melting pot as a symbol of the malignant falsehood that it had been, and in assigning “ethnic identity” priority over any unmodified “American identity.” Since I was convinced by my work on the Central-Verein that immigrant groups had indeed undergone a process of assimilation and given my previous work on the melting pot as a symbol of ethnic interaction, I was naturally drawn into discussion of these issues. One such intervention updated the 1964 review of melting-pot usage, adding some critical remarks on the conceptual ambiguities of pluralism.42 Two others focused more directly on how these matters impinged upon American Catholicism. The first, originally presented at an ACHA session, described how Americanism and Americanization had been understood at various times in American Catholic history. The second essay, coauthored with David Salvaterra—then my doctoral advisee, now at Loras College—examined the role of immigration in American Catholic history, suggesting, among other things, that “new pluralist” critics had been too harsh in their portrayal of the Church’s record in respect to its treatment of immigrants.43 But by far, the most important topical piece was an essay prepared for the Harvard Encyclopedia of American Ethnic Groups,44 which led to a series of related studies that extended over several years. 42 See Philip Gleason, “Confusion Compounded: The Melting Pot in the 1960s and 70s,” Ethnicity, 6 (1979), 10–20. 43 See Philip Gleason,“Coming to Terms with American Catholic History,” Societas, 3 (1973), 283–312; and Philip Gleason and David Salvaterra,“Ethnicity, Immigration, and American Catholic History,” Social Thought, 4, no. 3 (1978), 3–28. 44 See Philip Gleason, “American Identity and Americanization,” in Harvard Encyclopedia of American Ethnic Groups, ed. Stephan Thernstrom, Ann Orlov, and Oscar Handlin (Cambridge, MA, 1980), 31–58; repr. in William Petersen, Michael Novak, and Philip Gleason, Concepts of Ethnicity (Cambridge, MA, 1982), pp. 57–149. BY PHILIP GLEASON 453 The 1980s; Ethnicity, Identity, and Catholicism The appearance of the Harvard encyclopedia marked the academic high point of the upsurge of interest in ethnicity. It included substantial entries on more than 100 ethnic groups, along with twenty-nine lengthy thematic essays on immigration policy, education, language issues, and so forth. With few exceptions (e.g., African Americans, American Indians, and Mormons), ethnic groups meant groups deriving from voluntary immigration to the United States. Believing it would be desirable to give some attention to the society these immigrants encountered, the editors asked me to write a thematic essay on “American identity”—and it had to be about identity, not just a survey of American institutions and traits like practical-mindedness that are said to be characteristic of the American people. Since I did not have a very clear idea of what the phrase American identity actually meant, the assignment involved much thrashing about to get my bearings. Eventually I decided to treat the term as more or less equivalent to nationality or national character and proceeded to organize the essay as an historical review of the relative salience of ethnic, as opposed to ideological, elements in Americans’ collective self-understanding. Ideological refers, in this context, to universalistic political and social principles such as freedom, equality, and democracy, commitment to which makes an individual an American. Ethnic elements, by contrast, are more particularistic, pertaining to group consciousness based on distinctions of race, religion, language, and so on, as they impinge on what it means to be an American. Applying this interpretive framework yielded an historical pattern of alternation in the relative salience of the two elements, the shifting dynamic of which brought on periodic “crises of nationality.” Religion—specifically, Catholicism—was central to the first such crisis, which reached its climax in the Know-Nothing nativism of the 1850s. Race (then used interchangeably with nationality) sparked another crisis in the first quarter of the twentieth century. Jews, who were among those considered objectionable by nativists of the day, played a significant role in criticizing racialism and introducing terms (most notably, melting pot and cultural pluralism) that remained central to the discussion ever after. The balance between the two dimensions shifted again in the era of World War II, when ideological considerations—“the values 454 WORKING IN A TRADITION America stands for”—took priority. However, religion, an ostensibly ethnic matter, played what might be called a sidebar role when critics portrayed Catholic “authoritarianism” and “divisiveness” as incompatible with democracy—a term that took on quasi-religious coloration in the wartime years. Between the mid-1950s and 1980 (the year the Ethnic Encyclopedia was published), attention to race— understood as relating primarily to African Americans in the context of their struggle for equality and respect—nurtured a revival of ethnic consciousness that once again changed our collective understanding of what it means to be an American. Although the essay was clearly an exercise in intellectual history, it drew on what I had learned of the Catholic and Jewish past, and gave new visibility to the place of those religious traditions in how American identity has been understood historically. Appearing as it did in a major reference work produced under the academic aegis of Harvard University and approaching the subject from a novel perspective, the essay attracted attention from a wider range of scholars than those previously acquainted with my work in Catholic or immigration history. On that account, I would like to think that it helped a bit in bringing Catholic history more fully into the mainstream of American historiography. The research also called my attention to several matters related to American identity that invited more detailed treatment than could be included in the encyclopedia essay. Pursuing those issues resulted in a half-dozen articles published over the next few years, in several of which Catholicism entered the picture in one way or another.45 At the same time, I was also working on topics in American Catholic history as such. These two research interests—American Catholicism and immigration/ethnicity—had been interwoven since my dissertationwriting days; at the end of 1960s, I made the point that the “identity crisis” of American Catholics could be understood as analogous to an immigrant group’s “crisis of Americanization.” In the mid-1980s, this mutually interactive combination of interests suggested another perspective from immigration history that could be applied to the situation of American Catholics. 45 These articles were among those collected in Philip Gleason, Speaking of Diversity: Language and Ethnicity in Twentieth-Century America (Baltimore, 1992); see esp. chaps. 3, 6–10. For a much more recent article also based on research done for the American identity essay, see Philip Gleason,“Looking Back at Protestant-CatholicJew,” U.S. Catholic Historian, 23, no. 1 (2005), 51–64. BY PHILIP GLEASON 455 The new perspective emerged as I was working on a collection of essays probing the relation of past and present at a moment of profound transformation in American Catholicism. Most of the essays in the resulting volume, Keeping the Faith: American Catholicism, Past and Present (Notre Dame, 1987), had previously appeared in print, and they all bore witness to the radical displacement of perspective brought on by the combined force of the reforms initiated at the Second Vatican Council and the broader social, political, and cultural upheaval of the 1960s. Assembling them as a collection, however, required an introduction that would more explicitly relate them to the past-and-present theme. As I struggled to make the connections clear, it occurred to me that Robert E. Park’s concept of “marginality” could be applied to the theme as it affected Catholics (myself included) who accepted the desirability of change in the Church, but were nonetheless deeply unsettled by the spiritual earthquake going on around them. Park, a giant in the study of intergroup relations, used the word marginal in reference to the psychological situation of second-generation immigrants, persons of mixed racial background, or others who straddled the boundary where two cultures met and overlapped. Belonging to two cultural worlds, yet distanced from each by attachment to the other, the marginal person may experience a great deal of inner stress. By analogy, drastic change in the present could, it seemed to me, make people marginal to their own past.This kind of “temporal” marginality, which threw both past and present into a new perspective, engendered in me—and I suspect in many others—a troubling sense of ambivalence vis-à-vis Catholicism as an intellectual and spiritual tradition. For, although I welcomed many features of the new face of Catholicism, I was at the same time steeped in “preconciliar” forms of faith and practice, and I found offensive the scornful—even contemptuous—way that many critics spoke of “Tridentine Catholicism.”46 Moreover, a too-facile embrace of modernity by not a few of them threatened, in my opinion, to put Catholicity itself at risk. But most troubling of all was the insidious effect of temporal marginality on the individual’s personal faith—for if the old forms of belief and practice had been so mistaken, what warrant existed for assuming the new forms were any better grounded? 46 An early and egregious example is Edward Wakin and Joseph F. Scheuer’s The De-Romanization of the American Catholic Church (New York, 1966); for a critique, see Philip Gleason,“De-Romanized Scholarship?,” Ave Maria, September 10, 1966, 18–21, 28. 456 WORKING IN A TRADITION According to Park, a partially redeeming aspect of marginality is that persons so situated are uniquely equipped to analyze the society around them with a combination of the insider’s sympathy and the outsider’s detachment. Without laying claim to that special qualification for myself, there is no question that the radical changes of the present seemed to me to lend urgency to understanding how they emerged from the past and were related to it.The essays collected in Keeping the Faith reflected that concern, but its principal product in terms of historical work was Contending with Modernity: Catholic Higher Education in the Twentieth Century (New York, 1995). Contending with Modernity In view of the stop-and-go progress of my research, I decided in the late 1980s to drop the idea of writing a comprehensive history of Catholic higher education and concentrate instead on the twentieth century—the period in greatest need of study, not only in the educational field but also in American Catholic history generally. Although more comprehensive and detailed than the essay written thirty years earlier for the Hassenger project, Contending with Modernity employs the same general approach. That is, it explores the way Catholic colleges and universities responded to social, institutional, and ideological challenges arising from the ongoing transformation of American society as that process of “modernization” impinged on the world of higher education. In other words, it is a study in academic acculturation, which traces the efforts of Catholic educators to accommodate the requirements of the surrounding culture without allowing their distinctive identity to be dissolved in the process. Chronologically, the account is divided into three parts. In the first—roughly 1900 to the early 1920s—Catholic educators made structural and curricular reforms without which their schools could not have survived as institutions of higher education. Success in dealing with the organizational dimension of modernization did not, however, take care of everything.“Modernity” also involved new ways of thinking that presented a fundamental ideological challenge. By mid-1920s Catholic educators had adopted neo-Scholastic philosophy as their response to this challenge.47 That action also proved to be 47 The terms neo-Scholastic and neo-Scholasticism were used interchangeably with Thomistic and Thomism, although the latter pair came to be more generally applied by the 1950s. It should be underscored that philosophy, not theology, provided the basis BY PHILIP GLEASON 457 successful in the sense that it provided an intellectual, rather than simply fideistic, justification for the continued existence of Catholic colleges and universities throughout the second period, which extended into the 1950s. However, continuing change in American society and higher education—particularly the growth of graduate education and its ideal of unfettered research—put the synthesis of religious faith and natural reason supposedly achieved in the second period under increasing strain. In the third period, which began in the aftermath of World War II, these mounting pressures—reinforced by the changes associated with the Second Vatican Council—led to an overall breakdown of the existing ideological framework, thereby bringing on the widely discussed identity crisis. The book ends with the observation that, although Catholic colleges and universities had weathered institutional modernization successfully, the need to forge a new theoretical rationale for their existence as a distinctive element in American higher education presented itself more imperiously than ever. The place of Contending with Modernity in the historiographic tradition may be viewed from two overlapping perspectives: first, in respect to earlier work on Catholic higher education as such; second, in respect to the interpretation of twentieth-century American Catholicism in general. The first of these can be dealt with straightforwardly because, aside from Edward J. Power’s survey, no other work attempted to provide comprehensive coverage of Catholic higher education after 1900.48 Contending with Modernity thus made a significant contribution simply in terms of the new information it provided on such matters as the growth of graduate education, the place of teacher education in the development of Catholic women’s colleges, and the participation of Catholics in the post–World War II student movement. More important, it gave the subject intelligible form by outlining the overall developmental pattern for curricular unity from the 1920s through the 1950s; the two did, however, tend to merge together, especially in references to the “Thomistic [or Scholastic] Synthesis.” 48 See Edward J. Power, Catholic Higher Education in America: A History (New York, 1972). Two Jesuit scholars published valuable special studies: Paul A. FitzGerald, The Governance of Jesuit Colleges in the United States, 1920–1970 (Notre Dame, 1984), and William P. Leahy, Adapting to America: Catholics, Jesuits, and Higher Education in the Twentieth Century (Washington, DC, 1991). In addition, several scholarly histories of individual institutions had appeared since the 1960s. 458 WORKING IN A TRADITION of Catholic higher education from 1900 through the 1960s. Finally, it served as a prism for viewing the whole of American Catholic history for the first seventy years of the twentieth century.. Regarding the interpretation of twentieth-century American Catholicism in general, historical writing on the subject was, of course, more plentiful than educational histories when I was working on Contending with Modernity. Even so, it was relatively sparse. Aside from chapters in general surveys, the topics of greatest interest to historians seemed to be the Catholic Worker movement and the relationship of Catholics to the New Deal.Among educated Catholics, especially progressives, the prevailing view of the preconciliar era was that (except for liturgists and few other reformers) it was pretty much an intellectual and cultural wasteland.Two important scholarly works by historians reinforced that impression. The first, Michael Gannon’s portrayal of the devastating effects of Pope Pius X’s condemnation of modernism and the rigid imposition of Thomism as its remedy, proved especially influential as historians and theologians reassessed modernism in the aftermath of the Second Vatican Council.49 A decade later, William M. Halsey presented a similarly depressing picture in The Survival of American Innocence: Catholicism in an Era of Disillusionment (Notre Dame, 1980), which concentrated on the interwar years.50 Seen against this background, Contending with Modernity represented a revisionist interpretation of twentieth-century Catholic intellectual and cultural life. It did not deny that imposing one system of thought as the official Catholic philosophy had regrettable effects. But it elaborated at considerable length some previously overlooked, positive effects of that action. For neoScholasticism did more than provide the cognitive armature of Catholic higher education—although that was by no means unim49 Michael V. Gannon, “The Intellectual Isolation of the American Priest,” in The Catholic Priest in the United States: Historical Investigations, ed. John Tracy Ellis (Collegeville, MN, 1971), pp. 326–50. 50 Although Halsey’s book is well researched and opened new territory historically, his interpretive master key—namely, that Catholics were obsessed by a compulsion to perpetuate and defend “American Innocence”—inevitably trivialized the culture being analyzed. For fuller discussion, see my review in The Catholic Historical Review, 67 (1981), 640–43. Covering much the same ground in more neutral, though not uncritical, fashion is Arnold Sparr, To Promote, Defend, and Redeem: The Catholic Literary Revival and the Cultural Transformation of American Catholicism, 1920–1960 (Westport, CT, 1990). BY PHILIP GLEASON 459 portant.Thomism also furnished the rational grounding for, and the unifying principle of, the American Catholic worldview for two generations; it was basic to the intellectual and cultural revival that contemporaries called the “Catholic Renaissance”; it underlay “papal social teaching” and meshed with the campaign of “Catholic Action” that inspired reformers from the 1930s into the 1950s; and its putative reconciliation of faith and reason bolstered Catholics’ religious self-confidence and provided the basis for intense cultivation of piety. Indeed, American Catholic culture in the years before the Second Vatican Council simply cannot be understood without taking the influence of neo-Scholasticism fully into account. For that reason, I regard the light it throws on the rise and fall of neoScholasticism as Contending with Modernity’s principal contribution to Catholic historiography—and to the self-understanding of the larger American Catholic community. I willingly concede that my convictions in this regard derive from my life experience as well as from historical research and reflection, for my own religious worldview was formed in the neo-Scholastic era.That does not, I trust, mean that my portrayal of the period was inspired by nostalgia. Still less does being a product of that era mean I had mastered Thomism as a philosophical/theological system, which is ludicrously far from being the case. For me and for the vast majority of Catholics who knew anything at all about the matter, the “Thomistic synthesis” had the character of a supplemental article of faith—that is, we accepted its reality, but could not have given a philosophically acceptable account of its content or workings. Nor was it the source of our religious worldview; that was founded on faith as it came to us through the Catholic Church. What neoScholasticism did, or so we were given to understand, was validate the reasonableness of that faith, and show—primarily by way of “the natural law”—how it applied to a wide spectrum of situations, both personal and social. However outdated, mistaken, even “innocent,” that way of thinking may have been, it was immensely consequential and deserves much deeper study from historians of American Catholicism. . . . And After I retired from teaching in 1996, just a few months after Contending with Modernity appeared in print. Since then I have published several articles, none of which modifies the overall interpretation set forth in 460 WORKING IN A TRADITION the book.51 In looking back over the whole of my career, I have come to a more lively appreciation of how it has involved an interaction with the Catholic tradition.The interaction has been mediated historiographically; that is, I have learned from, been influenced by, and reacted to the specialized tradition of historical writing on American Catholicism. But those works, as is true of all historical study, constitute an interaction with the past, with tradition. And the past with which I have interacted most intensely over my professional career is the tradition of American Catholicism, especially in its intellectual and cultural dimensions. If what I have written on that subject has at all enhanced our collective self-understanding, it is but a token repayment of the incalculable benefits that have come to me as a participant in that tradition. 51 The most relevant here are Philip Gleason, “Newman’s Idea in the Minds of Catholic Educators,” in Building the Church in America: Studies in Honor of Monsignor Robert F. Trisco on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday, ed. Joseph C. Linck and Raymond Kupke (Washington, DC, 1999), pp. 113–39; Philip Gleason,“A HalfCentury of Change in Catholic Higher Education,” U.S. Catholic Historian, 19, no. 1 (2001), 11–19; Philip Gleason, “Bibliographic Essay on the History of Catholic Higher Education,” in Handbook of Research on Catholic Higher Education, ed. Thomas C. Hunt, Ellis A. Joseph, Ronald J. Nuzzi, and John O. Geiger (Greenwich, CT, 2003), pp. 95–113; Philip Gleason, “Boundlessness, Consolidation, and Discontinuity between Generations: Catholic Seminary Studies in Antebellum America,” Church History, 73 (2004), 582–612; Philip Gleason,“Becoming (and Being) a Catholic Historian,” in Faith and the Historian: Catholic Perspectives, ed. Nick Salvatore (Urbana, IL, 2007), pp. 7–30; Philip Gleason, “The First Century of Jesuit Higher Education in America,” U.S. Catholic Historian, 25, no. 2 (2007), 37–52; and Philip Gleason, “From an Indefinite Homogeneity: Catholic Colleges in Antebellum America,” The Catholic Historical Review, 94 (2008), 45–74. THE APPOINTMENT OF BISHOPS IN EARLY–MODERN PORTUGAL (1495–1777) BY JOSÉ PEDRO PAIVA* The author explains the theoretical model that was used in earlymodern Portugal for appointing bishops, based on original research of 505 episcopal appointments.The author argues that the model enabled monarchs to better control the prelates and consequently the Portuguese Church, which reinforced the power of the state over the spiritual sphere in the realm. Keywords: episcopal appointments; patronage; patron-client relations; Portuguese Church 1. The System: Bishops as Dependents of Kings and the Creation of the State In a treatise written after Portugal’s Restoration (around 1668) but published in 1715, which endeavored to legitimize the positions taken by the kings of the new Bragança dynasty (John IV and Afonso VI) regarding the appointment of bishops throughout the Portuguese empire, Manuel Rodrigues Leitão notes that “[bishops] had incredible power over the spirit of the people through piety and religion, and this spiritual empire was very powerful at the secular level.”1 This quote clearly shows the awareness of the Portuguese monarchy, at least from the reign of Manuel I (1495–1521) onward, that choosing bishops was crucial to the monarchy’s power base. Portugal’s kings *Dr. Paiva is a professor and researcher in the Center for History of Society and Culture at the University of Coimbra in Portugal, email: lejpaiva@fl.uc.pt. The author wishes to thank Lindsay Allen for the English translation of his original article and William Monter for the English translation of the revised version. 1 Manuel Rodrigues Leitão, Tratado analítico e apologético sobre os provimentos dos bispados da coroa de Portugal (Lisbon, 1715), pp. 321–22 (author’s translation with revision by William Monter).“[os bispos] tem maravilhoso poder no espírito dos povos, pelas cadeias da piedade e religião, e este império espiritual é muito poderoso no temporal.” 461 462 THE APPOINTMENT OF BISHOPS IN EARLY–MODERN PORTUGAL (1495–1777) understood the important role played by the Church, particularly by its bishops, as a strategic tool for maintaining order and royal authority over their kingdom. This awareness was based on three main principles.The first was that the bishops, as Rodrigues Leitão noted, influenced the behavior of the people through piety and religion—that is to say, the power they held in the realm of the sacred. Less formally, of course, what this meant was the idea of a central cultural system, as defined by Edward Shils.2 According to this concept, a central system of beliefs created or maintained by a dominant institution (in this case, the Church) helps the political center (in this case, the Crown) to reaffirm its authority and exercise power over the territory it governs. Second, through the presence of parishes throughout Portuguese territory, the Church became a fundamental tool for communication in the modern era. Typically, during the Old Regime, episcopal control within their territorial divisions was much more effective than that of the king. Thus, in the context of strengthening a state that was consolidating its borders, this well-established structure became an essential vehicle for communicating news and sending orders from the political center to peripheral regions.3 Third, the Church promoted a cultural and religious system that, both on the level of doctrine and of communication and ritual practices, was marked by clear ideas of hierarchy, order, and obedience, which encouraged discipline among the people. In 1619, when the kingdom of Portugal was under Castilian rule, the Benedictine Juan de Salazar observed: It is clear that it is the learned and ecclesiastical men, particularly priests and preachers, who keep their heads down, docile and obedient to their superiors. . . . They regularly preach to the people that obedience to the king is the will of God.4 In summary, to use Paolo Prodi’s expression, the tools that the Church had to promote the “discipline of the soul, the discipline of 2 Edward Shils, Center and Periphery: Essays in Macrosociology (Chicago, 1975), cited from the 1993 Portuguese ed., pp. 54–55, 101–02. 3 José Pedro Paiva, “As comunicações no âmbito da Igreja e da Inquisição,” in As comunicações na Idade Moderna, ed. Margarida Sobral Neto (Lisbon, 2005), pp. 147–75, here pp. 156–57. 4 Juan de Salazar, Política española (1619), qtd. in Michele Olivari, Fra trono e opinione. La vita politica castigliana nel Cinque e Seicento (Venice, 2002), p. 182. BY JOSÉ PEDRO PAIVA 463 body, and the discipline of the society” were decisive in strengthening central political authority.5 It also should be noticed that this tendency of the monarchy to take advantage of the Church’s power and its bishops was not confined within the borders of the kingdom but also extended to Portugal’s imperial territories. As Charles Boxer has shown, the alliance between the Crown and the altar was fundamental in the structuring and consolidation of Iberian empires.6 The Crown’s awareness of the power of the Church and the bishops was reflected in its substantial efforts to control the appointment of prelates, similar to the actions of the French and Castilian monarchs at this time.7 From 1503 onward, during the reign of Manuel I and after the polemical appointment (decided in 5 Paolo Prodi, ed., Disciplina dell’anima, disciplina del corpo e disciplina della società tra medioevo ed etá moderna (Bologna, 1994). 6 Charles R. Boxer, The Church Militant and the Iberian Expansion, 1440–1770 (Baltimore, 1978). On the relationship between royal politics and the church hierarchy, see José Pedro Paiva,“El Estado en la Iglesia y la Iglesia en el Estado. Contaminaciones, dependencias y disidencia entre la monarquia y la Iglesia del Reino de Portugal (1495–1640),” Manuscrits. Revista d’Història Moderna, 25 (2007), 45–57 and José Pedro Paiva, “Bishops and Politics: The Portuguese Episcopacy during the Dynastic Crisis of 1580,” E-Journal of Portuguese History, 4, no. 2 (2006), http://www.brown .edu/Departments/Portuguese_Brazilian_Studies/ejph 7 In France, as early as 1516 Francis I signed an agreement with the papacy known as the Concordat of Bologna, through which French monarchs received the privilege of episcopal patronage throughout their kingdom. See Frederic J. Baumgartner, Change and Continuity in the French Episcopate. The Bishops and the Wars of Religion 1547–1610 (Durham, UK, 1986), pp. 10–28 and Joseph Bergin, The Making of the French Episcopate, 1589–1661 (New Haven, 1996), pp. 48–49. In Spain a similar process began even earlier, in 1486, when the “Catholic kings,” Ferdinand and Isabella, obtained the right of patronage (padroado) of the dioceses in the Kingdom of Granada and the Canary Islands; on July 9, 1507, and March 6, 1509, this privilege was extended to Aragon and Castille. It was further extended to all bishoprics in Castille,Aragon, and Navarre in perpetuum via the papal bull Eximie devotionis affectu on September 6, 1523. Later, in 1529, the Barcelona Treaty between Clement VII and Charles V extended the padroado of the Spanish monarchy to twenty-four Italian dioceses in Sardinia and the Kingdom of Naples. See Tarsicio de Azcona, La eleccion y reforma del episcopado español en tiempo de los reyes catolicos (Madrid, 1960), pp. 87–197; Christian Hermann, L’Eglise d’Espagne sous le patronage royal (1476–1834) (Madrid, 1988), p. 46; Mario Spedicato, Il mercato della mitra. Episcopato regio e privilegio dell’alternativa nel regno di Napoli in età spagnola (1529–1714) (Bari, 1996), p. 9, and Ignasi Fernández Terricabras, Felipe II y el clero secular. La aplicacion del Concilio de Trento (Madrid, 2000), pp. 173–81. 464 THE APPOINTMENT OF BISHOPS IN EARLY–MODERN PORTUGAL (1495–1777) Rome by Pope Alexander VI) of Cardinal D. Jorge da Costa to Braga (Portugal’s most important archbishopric), monarchs, in practical terms, exclusively chose Portuguese bishops. On May 22, 1503, in the papal letter Cum te in praesentia, Alexander VI promised Manuel that in future the king would be free to appoint bishops.8 Some years later, via the bull Dum fidei constantiam dated July 7, 1514, Leon X granted Manuel I and his successors the right of patronage (padroado) in the overseas dioceses founded during the previous two years and in all established in the future.9 On March 31, 1516, this right of patronage was granted in perpetuum to all Portuguese bishoprics overseas. This same right of patronage also was applicable in the so-called “new dioceses” established during the reign of John III (1521–57) and afterward—for example, Leiria, Miranda, Portalegre, and Elvas—and this statute was referenced in every bull of foundation of these bishoprics.10 Otherwise, in the socalled “ancient dioceses,” which composed the majority and remained the most important ones, the kings of Portugal never had the right of patronage that Spanish and French monarchs enjoyed. Accordingly, the Portuguese kings usually used the formula ad supplicationem (supplicates) in letters addressed to the papacy concerning episcopal appointments in these dioceses, rather than ad nominationem (nominates) or ad praesentationem (presents/ appoints), as was done by French and Spanish monarchs. The formula ad praesentationem was only recognized by a papal decree issued by Benedict XIV on December 12, 1740, a time when John V was Portugal’s king.11 However, when the Portuguese kingdom was aggregated to the Hispanic monarchy between 1580 and 1640, the royal letters concerning appointments to Portuguese dioceses invoked the privileges of the Spanish monarchy—for example, the 8 The letter is published in Corpo Diplomático Portuguez contendo os actos e relações políticas e diplomáticas de Portugal com as diversas potencias do mundo desde o século XVI até aos nossos dias (Lisbon, 1862), 1:42. A detailed reconstruction of this process and its evolution until 1740 can be found in José Pedro Paiva, Os bispos de Portugal e do império 1495–1777 (Coimbra, 2006), pp. 38–78. 9 Corpo Diplomático Portuguez, I:254–57. 10 See, for example, the case of Leiria, established by a bull dated May 22, 1545, Corpo Diplomático Portuguez,V:515–20. 11 Published in Documentos inéditos para subsidio à História Ecclesiastica de Portugal (Lisbon, 1875), p. 71. The situation of episcopal appointments in Portugal’s continental dioceses seems similar to that in the Grand-Duchy of Tuscany; see Gaetano Greco,“I vescovi del granducato di Toscana nell’etá medicea,” in Istituzioni e societá in Toscana nell’etá moderna (Rome, 1994), 2:658–61. BY JOSÉ PEDRO PAIVA 465 right of patronage—and therefore use the terms ad nominationem or ad praesentationem.12 Although this change limited papal power, the Roman Curia still preserved an important procedural control. As Faggioli suggested, the cardinals and the papacy always reserved the final steps of the appointment process to themselves.13 Throughout the post– Tridentine Catholic world, they carefully verified the ethical, intellectual/academic, and religious qualities of every bishop proposed by any king, according to the norms prescribed by the Council of Trent and afterward regulated and implemented by Popes Sixtus V (1585–90), Gregory XIV (1590–91), Clement VIII (1592–1605), and Urban VIII (1623–44). In this context, the bull Onus apostolicae servitutis dated May 15, 1591, was particularly important.14 Accordingly, after Trent, the papal nuncio in Lisbon spearheaded a process in which names presented by Portuguese monarchs and the situation of the dioceses were checked; a commission of cardinals in Rome then studied these findings.15 The documents, letters, testimonies, and inquiries that formed this process are called processus consistoriale.16 Although the Roman Curia supervised Portugal’s episcopal elections carefully, only once in 505 times during the three centuries under 12 See, for example, Vatican City, Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Archivio Concistoriale, Processus Consistoriales, vol. 3, fol. 151 (letter of Philip II dated May 31, 1611, about the election of José de Melo to the archbishopric of Évora). 13 See Massimo Faggioli, “Problemi relativi alle nomine episcopali dal Concilio di Trento al pontificato di Urbano VIII,” Cristianesimo nella Storia, 21 (2000), 531–63, esp. 535, and Massimo Faggioli, “La disciplina di nomina dei vescovi prima e dopo il Concilio di Trento,” Societá e Storia, 92 (2001), 221–56. 14 This document was published by Dante Gemmiti, Il processo per la nomina dei vescovi. Ricerche sull’ellezione dei vescovi nel secolo XVII (Naples, 1989), pp. 179–88. 15 For a detailed study of this phase of Roman procedures governing episcopal appointments, see Paiva, Os bispos, pp. 24–37, and Hieronim Fokcinski,“Conferimento dei benefici ecclesiastici maggiori nella curia romana fino alla fondazione della Congregazione Concistoriale,” Rivista di Storia della Chiesa in Italia, 35 (1981), 334–54. 16 The first that still exists for the appointment of a Portuguese bishop concerns Amador Arrais, bishop of Portalegre (1568); see Vatican City,Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Instrumenta Miscellanea, 6690, fols. 77r–90. Over time, these procedures become increasingly complete and usually integrated certificates (sometimes originals) from the parish birth register, reception of clerical orders, graduation, and so forth; see, for example, the file of Miguel da Anunciação, bishop of Coimbra (1741), Vatican City, Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Archivio Concistoriale, Processus Consistoriales, vol. 126, fols. 62r–79v. 466 THE APPOINTMENT OF BISHOPS IN EARLY–MODERN PORTUGAL (1495–1777) analysis did a pope refuse to accept a royal appointment. It happened in 1522, when John III elected his twelve-year-old brother, Henry, to the bishopric of Viseu.17 This episode did not prevent the same Prince Henry from later becoming a cardinal; grand inquisitor; and archbishop of Braga, Évora, and Lisbon. Moreover, in the Vatican archives it is rare to find reports or letters from papal representatives in Portugal commenting on the qualifications of various episcopal nominations. The rare exceptions were usually positive, or else made a neutral report about the intentions of the king.18 In practical terms, bishops were definitely chosen by the Portuguese monarchs, even though they did not possess the right of patronage throughout their territories. One immediate consequence of this appointment procedure was the naturalization of the Portuguese episcopacy.19 Between 1495 and 1777, foreigners filled only seventeen of 505 vacancies: nine Spaniards, three Italians, two Englishmen, and one each from France, Austria, and China.All of them lived in Portugal and had close relations with the royal court; for instance, Richard Russell, bishop of Portalegre (1671–85) and Viseu (1685–93), had attended the English College in Lisbon and served as the English teacher and chaplain for Princess Catarina, who married King Charles II of England.20 17 See the letter of Miguel da Silva, the Portuguese ambassador in Rome, to the king dated May 25, 1523, and the monarch’s reply dated November 21, 1523, in Corpo Diplomático Portuguez, II:152–61, 182–97. 18 See, for example, the letter dated June 14, 1579, from the papal legate Alessandro Frumenti to Tolomeo Gallio (cardinal of Como and secretary of state), describing the king’s intention to transfer some bishops (including António Pinheiro, bishop of Miranda, to Leiria) and the appointment of Jerónimo de Meneses to Lamego (Vatican City,Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Segretaria di Stato, Portogallo, vol. 7, fol. 61r); or the letter of the nuncio Vincenzo Bichi to Fabrizio Paolucci, the Roman secretary of state, dated January 3, 1714, noting without comment that King John V had decided to appoint Fernando de Faro to the bishopric of Elvas (Vatican City, Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Segretaria di Stato, Portogallo, vol. 72, fols. 11r–11v, 15r). Some years later, on September 27, 1715, Bichi added some personal comments about the good qualities of Sebastião de Andrade Pessanha, elected archbishop of Goa in India: “Nel trato avuto ha dimostrato di esser dotto, molto prudente, docile, moderato, amante della giustizia non aspro e zeloso del servizio della Santa Sede dimostrando anche della fisonomia di essere huomo sincero et amante della veritá.” Vatican City, Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Segretaria di Stato, Portogallo, vol. 72, fols. 327r–v. Such comments were absolutely exceptional. 19 The expression naturalization of the episcopacy was first used by Francisco Bethencourt,“A Igreja”História de Portugal, ed. José Mattoso (Lisbon, 1993), III:149–64, here p. 157.The monarchs in Spain had used the criterion of native Spaniard since the time of the Catholic kings, according to Tarsicio de Azcona, La eleccion, pp. 200–02. 20 Biographical data about Russell can be found in Vatican City, Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Dataria Apostolica, Processus Datariae, vol. 49, fols. 266r–287v. BY JOSÉ PEDRO PAIVA 467 These transformations occurring in the sixteenth century, together with others reinforcing royal interference over the Portuguese Church, provided the Crown with advantages on two fronts. It led to the increased control of kings over the Church, which also allowed the monarchs to strengthen their authority to a level congruent with that of the papacy, which until that time had exercised almost complete control over episcopal appointments. It can be said that the consolidation of the modern state also occurred in this way. The power that the kings held over the election of bishops helped to concentrate certain powers and revenues in their hands, which they could then use to compensate those who best served them.21 In this way, the appointment of bishops served simultaneously to reward loyal supporters and minimize possible challenges to a power that was increasing its strength. In 1569 Giovanni Corner, the Venetian ambassador to France, a kingdom where similar policies were practiced, declared that the “king had hundreds of bishoprics and abbacies so that he could pay his debts, reward his supporters, and provide his daughters with a dowry,” adding that “the king of France deals in bishoprics and abbeys as elsewhere in pepper and cinnamon.”22 In Portugal, kings literally negotiated directly—in the words of the Venetian ambassador to France—in pepper and cinnamon, particularly after Vasco da Gama reached India in 1498; but they also dealt in bishoprics, since after 1503, during the reign of Manuel I, they also acquired responsibility for appointing them. Therefore, Portugal’s bishops generally tended to be “creatures” (feituras) of the king, with whom they maintained a relationship of loyalty and subordination, and for whom they were expected to provide certain services.This was even clearer with regard to promotions of prelates within the diocesan hierarchy.This policy was practiced by 21 On September 24, 1618, Philip III, in a letter about the election of a new bishop of Oporto, clearly stated that he would reserve 2750 cruzados (a huge amount of money) from the bishopric revenues “to distribute among the different persons according to my will” (Madrid, Archivo del Ministerio de Asuntos Exteriores, Archivo de la Embajada de España cerca de la Santa Sede, legajo 93, fol. 268r). In the eighteenth century, some people even refused to accept episcopal appointments because of the amount of money that the king wished to reserve to himself under this form of “pensions.” For instance, João de Sousa Calhariz refused the bishopric of Algarve for this reason in 1715 (Vatican City, Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Segretaria di Stato, Portogallo, vol. 2, fol. 323r). 22 Quoted in Baumgartner, Change, p. 4. 468 THE APPOINTMENT OF BISHOPS IN EARLY–MODERN PORTUGAL (1495–1777) several sixteenth-century kings, but became more common after the union with Spain in 1580 as one more way to keep bishops dependent on the Crown. Promotions, naturally, required that bishops subordinate themselves to the interests of the king. The Holy See, for its part, was fully aware of this sense of obedience and subordination to royal interests among the majority of Portuguese bishops, as well as of their tendency to be less than scrupulous in fulfilling papal dictates. Papal officials who most keenly grasped the political strategy of the monarchy explained that such behavior was because of the way bishops were appointed. For example, on August 5, 1575, nearly seventy years after the consolidation of the process whereby Portugal’s kings selected every prelate in their kingdom and their overseas empire, Andrea Calligari, a papal collector and nuncio in Portugal, noted that in previous eras bishops had been more zealous in defending their ecclesiastical jurisdiction and more vigorous in opposing the king than they were at present. His evaluation left no ambiguity about whom to blame for this situation: bishops, previously, were elected or named by the Pope and did not depend on the King for everything the way they do today. Currently, they have become so self-interested and degraded that they do not dare to open their mouths. The great number of favors done by the Holy See for the king, and the superiority that he had been granted during this reign over the clergy and the churches, put them all in the hands of the king, with little regard for the Pope.23 In summary, bishops had become dependents of the king, who used them in his service, transforming them simultaneously into servants of the Church and political agents of the monarchy. Under this system, the prelates gained prestige, honor, and power, and the kings significantly increased their control over an important elite while acquiring a valuable means of domination over their subjects and ter23 Vatican City, Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Segretaria di Stato, Portogallo, vol. 2, fols. 102v–03r, letter in Italian for the cardinal of Como (author’s translation with revision by William Monter).“Li vescovi alhora eranno eletivi ó provisti dal Papa et non dipendevano in tutto e per tutto dalli re come fanno hoggi nel qual tempo son tanto interessati et aviliti che non osano di aprir bocca et la multiplicita delle gratie fatti da cotesta Santa Sede a questo re et la soperiorita concesa li in parte sopra il clero et chiese in questo regno ha operato che tutti pendono dale mani del Re [fl. 103] e poco stimano il papa.” Baumgartner, while studying the French episcopacy in the sixteenth century, reached the same conclusion when he stated that “some bishops served the monarchy so completely that they were identified more as the king’s men than as churchmen” (Change, p. 201). BY JOSÉ PEDRO PAIVA 469 ritories. In a situation where both parties benefited from an arrangement, both were satisfied. It can be said that Portugal’s sovereigns and its episcopacy participated in a patron-client relationship.24 Under it, the episcopal client expected that his royal patron would provide him protection and rewards in the form of revenues and political favors. In return, the royal patron expected his episcopal client to be a trustworthy and obedient agent—carrying out royal tasks; providing useful information; offering counsel; supplying material resources and lesser offices for royal allies; and even supporting royal wars and other conflicts, if necessary. 2. The Monarchs’ Process in Appointing Bishops From 1503 onward, when Manuel I was king of Portugal, as previously mentioned, monarchs chose bishops in Portugal and the Portuguese empire. However, it is not easy to find information detailing the mechanisms of this process or clarifying the assumptions factoring into the king’s decision, particularly for the time before 1580. This difficulty is not unique to Portugal. Joseph Bergin, author of the most exhaustive and competent studies on this issue in France and one of the few European historians to address this question, has called attempts to determine the monarchs’ policies in this area “hyperproblematic,” since appointments were decided secretly and/or informally in most cases.25 These decisions were often a part of a system of personal relationships, the details of which, for each instance of the selection of a prelate, are extraordinarily difficult to determine. As several authors have stated, relationships established in the framework of patron-client systems are generally diffuse and private; they are not always legal or contractual, sometimes even infringe formal laws, and in most cases remain absolutely informal.26 This 24 The concept and its functioning are modeled on S. N. Eisenstadt and Louis Roniger, “Patron-Client Relations as a Model of Structuring Social Exchange,” Comparative Studies in Society and History, 22 (1980), 42–77. 25 Joseph Bergin, Crown, Church and Episcopate under Louis XIV (New Haven, 2004), p. 343; Bergin, The Making, p. 16. 26 Eisenstadt and Roniger, “Patron-Client”; Gunner Lind, “Great Friends and Small Friends: Clientelism and the Power Elite,” in Power Elites and State Building, ed. Wolfgang Reinhard (Oxford, 1996), pp. 123–47; Sharon Kettering, “Patronage in Early Modern France,” French Historical Studies, 17 (1992), 839–62; and Sharon Kettering, Patrons, Brokers, and Clients in Seventeenth-Century France (New York, 1986). 470 THE APPOINTMENT OF BISHOPS IN EARLY–MODERN PORTUGAL (1495–1777) means that they reflect understandings that are never made explicit and therefore usually leave no trace in written records. Procedures for selecting bishops varied between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries. Four distinct periods can be identified. In the first, which spanned the reign of Manuel I and ended with Philip II of Spain becoming king of Portugal in 1580, the system of selecting bishops remained very informal. It is likely that before the king made a final decision, he would hear the views of advisers, confidants, members of the nobility at court, bishops, clergymen, councillors, cathedral chapters, and secretaries, or even viceroys or governors. At least some of these advisers had strong preferences, opinions, and inclinations. These conversations were often held discreetly—for example, in the halls of the royal palace, after Mass or confession, or during a hunting trip or musical event at court.27 The absence of established procedures for choosing bishops was not unique to Portugal; it was common throughout most neighboring kingdoms.28 In the second period, which began shortly after the integration of Portugal into the Spanish monarchy, great changes were made in the procedure for appointing bishops. An institutionalized system was imposed, apparently far more formal and bureaucratic. Nevertheless, much of the informality of the previous process remained, particularly involving those who suggested nominees and pressured decision makers. However, there is no doubt that both the channels through which decisions were made and the procedures that were employed became better regulated. The new process included several stages preceding a shared nomination, with the final decision left to the king. When a bishopric became vacant, the viceroy or governors in Lisbon, after consulting the Council of State, usually sent three names to the Council of Portugal in Madrid.The latter council evaluated the suggestions made in Lisbon, sometimes adding or removing names. It then issued a list that rank-ordered the candidates, sometimes adding recommenda27 For a more detailed reconstruction of the process, with examples, see Paiva, Os bispos, pp. 216–20. 28 For Castille, see Carlos Javier de Carlos Morales,“La participacion en el gobierno a través de la conciencia regia. Fray Diego de Chaves, confesor de Felipe II,” in I religiosi a corte: teologia, politica e diplomazia in Antico regime. Atti del seminario di studi, Georgetown University a “Villa le Balze.” Fiesole, 20 Otobre 1995 (Rome, 1998), pp. 147–48. For France, see Bergin, The Making, p. 552. BY JOSÉ PEDRO PAIVA 471 tions about the revenues of the diocese in question and suggestions for pensions and people who should receive them.This list was then submitted to the king, who also heard suggestions from his secretary for Portuguese affairs or his confessor. During the reigns of Philip III and Philip IV, the kings also listened to advice from their respective confidants (validos)—Francisco Gómez de Sandoval y Rojas, the duke of Lerma, and Gaspar de Guzmán y Pimentel Ribera y Velasco de Tovar, the count-duke of Olivares. On a few occasions, the king even requested some extraordinary evaluations before reaching a decision. Finally, the king’s choice was communicated to the viceroy or the governors in Lisbon, who then notified the bishop-elect.29 After the Philippine period, a third stage was initiated in 1668 that lasted until around 1720. Because a formal system was not in place to regulate the appointment process, it led to renewed informality. The king usually would send a letter through his secretary of state, asking members of his Council of State to offer their opinions on who should fill the vacancy. The councillors then submitted their suggestions to the secretary of state, who then gave them to the king for a final decision. For dioceses in the Portuguese empire, other authorities had to be consulted. Customarily, the king heard opinions from viceroys, governors, and local administrators (câmaras). The opinion of the Overseas Council (Conselho Ultramarino), created by João IV in 1643, was always heard.30 In the fourth stage, which began c. 1720 in the second phase of John V’s reign and lasted until 1777, when the Council of State began to lose political power and seldom convened, a stronger role was given to the secretaries of state (reformed in 1732), other ministers, and additional individuals consulted by the king.Thus the number of people who advised the king on episcopal appointments was now drastically reduced.31 The episcopal appointment system fluctuated throughout the period; although the king always made the final decision, several agents with divergent or conflicting personal, family, or group interests could affect the selection process. The king never made his 29 For a more detailed description of the process with references to several examples, see Paiva, Os bispos, pp. 220–23. 30 Paiva, Os bispos, pp. 223–28. 31 Paiva, Os bispos, pp. 228–29. 472 THE APPOINTMENT OF BISHOPS IN EARLY–MODERN PORTUGAL (1495–1777) choice without significant consultations; but his decision was definitive, even if it ran counter to the opinions he received. 3. The Criteria or Principles in Choosing Bishops The theoretical model presented here examines the criteria or principles used by those involved in selecting bishops—particularly those employed by the monarch, who alone was responsible for the final decision. It is based on original research of 505 appointments to forty-four bishoprics (nineteen in Portugal and twenty-five in its overseas empire territories), involving 386 men (almost 100 of them were appointed to more than one diocese: seventy-seven became bishops in two dioceses, fifteen in three dioceses, and four in four dioceses). The election was the outcome of a very complex equation that attempted to reconcile six factors: the merit of the candidate measured against the ideal characteristics of a prelate; the services that he or his family had provided to the king in the past; the family background of the candidate; the links of the candidate to patronage networks; the political implications of a judgment in favor of the candidate; and, finally, the suitability of the candidate for the diocese. It must be noted that not all of the factors in this very subjective equation had equal weight in shaping the decision. It also is possible that in some appointments, some of these factors were never taken into consideration.The king’s arbitrary opinion was the ultimate authority. Merit, or the personal virtues of the individual candidates, was evaluated within the parameters considered most relevant to the ideal bishop at a given time period.32 This ideal was, of course, shaped by rules from Rome. Particularly after the Council of Trent, there were certain formal requirements for candidates such as legitimate birth, ordination, an age older than thirty, a degree in canon law or theology, and exemplary and virtuous conduct. These and other topics concerning the qualities of bishops and the procedures in appointing 32 For a detailed discussion of the characteristics and trends of the ideal bishop (as a prince, shepherd, politician, and enlightened individual), see Paiva, Os bispos, pp. 111–70.Very useful also is the classic work of Hubert Jedin, L’évêque dans la tradition pastorale du XVI siècle.Adaptation française de Das Bischofsideal der Katholsichen Reformation ([Paris], 1953). More recent works in English include Joseph Bergin,“The Counter-Reformation Church and Its Bishops,”Past and Present, 165 (1999), 30–73, and Alison Forrestal, Fathers, Pastors and Kings. Visions of Episcopacy in SeventeenthCentury France (Manchester, UK, 2004), pp. 1–40. BY JOSÉ PEDRO PAIVA 473 them had been discussed at the Council of Trent (especially during its first and third phases), and they became mandatory for the monarch’s election. They limited the king’s potential nominees to candidates who met Roman requirements; at the same time, they obliged any cleric who wished to become a bishop to behave accordingly.33 Many letters and much advice related to these selection processes contain references to specific merits: a candidate’s academic training, personal moral and religious virtues, previously demonstrated ability to govern in other positions, and experience in governing a diocese acquired through a previous position as general vicar. A good example is the January 23, 1773, letter from Sebastião Carvalho e Melo, marquis of Pombal and secretary of state, to the papal nuncio Innocenzio Conti: The king and my lord considering the virtues, knowledge (letras) and other recommended qualities of Pedro de Melo e Brito da Silveira Alvim, a graduate of the Faculty of Canon Law and deputy of the Holy Office, has decided to appoint him bishop of the cathedral of Portalegre. . . .34 For overseas bishops, missionary experience and a degree in theology were considered highly useful. For example, concerning the election of a bishop to the vacant see of Angamale in India,Tomás de Lima, viscount of Vila Nova da Cerveira, told King Peter II on November 9, 1684, that the viscount’s suggested candidate had previously been a missionary in the region,“an essential quality for those that will go to the East.”35 Given the small income provided, the long and dangerous sea voyages, and the difficulties in adapting to exotic and distant overseas dioceses, it can be understood why 69 percent of the bishops in the empire were recruited from the regular clergy, which was the source for only 26 percent of bishops within the realm. 33 Tridentine decrees concerning episcopal elections and qualities include, for the first phase, Session VII, de Reformatione, canon 1 and canon 2; and for the third phase: Session XXII, de Reformatione, canon II, and Session XXIV, de Reformatione, canon I. Quote from a Portuguese edition: O sacrosanto e ecumenico Concilio de Trento em latim e portuguez (Lisbon, 1786), I:189–91; 2:121–23, 257–65. 34 Vatican City, Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Archivio della Nunziatura Apostolica in Lisbona, vol. 10, (3), fol. 23r (author’s translation with revision by William Monter). “El Rey meu senhor tendo consideração as virtudes letras e mais qualidades recommendaveis que concorrem na pessoa de Pedro de Mello e Brito eda Sylveira Alvim, licenciado na Faculdade dos Sagrados Canones e deputado do Santo Officio da Inquisição de Lisboa, houve por bem nomeallo bispo da santa igreja cathedral de Portalegre.” 35 Lisbon, Biblioteca da Ajuda, Livro do governo politico do Visconde de Vila Nova da Cerveira (1642–1695), cod. 51-VIII-26, fols. 23r–23v. 474 THE APPOINTMENT OF BISHOPS IN EARLY–MODERN PORTUGAL (1495–1777) On a scale difficult to quantify, the many factors regarding the personal merits of the successful candidate would be weighed during the appointment process for a bishop. Some people, however, believed that in practice, personal merit was insufficient or other factors frequently outweighed it. Speaking at the third phase of the Council of Trent, Bartolomeu dos Mártires, Dominican archbishop of Braga, claimed that individuals were chosen as bishops “through friendships, human pressures, social distinction, ambition, greed, and even bribery.”36 In other words, the privately held suspicion that these appointments could be corrupt was publicly articulated. Second, the services that the candidate or his kin—including grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, and siblings—had provided to the king were assessed. Service mainly involved royal appointments as confessors, court preachers, missionaries, monastery reformers, judges, university teachers, counselors, ambassadors, and so on or the participation of the candidate’s family members in politics, the judicial system, the military, or the domestic service of the royal family. Ambitious subjects knew that previous service to the monarchy, as an intrinsic part of noble culture, was extremely useful if they wanted to become bishops—especially service that dated back several generations in a family. Such can be seen in the case of Francisco de Castro, when he was chosen as dean of the Guarda cathedral chapter in 1601; he later became bishop of Guarda and inquisitor-general.The Council of Portugal, justifying its choice to the king, wrote that Castro had noble origins, attended St. Peter’s College in Coimbra, and graduated with a degree in theology; it also emphasized his father’s service as ambassador in Rome and a member of the Council of State, and his grandfather’s service as viceroy of India.37 Similar to obtaining mercês (mercies/graces) in Portugal’s military orders, serving the king as a bishop was seen as an investment, a “capital likely to yield future gifts from the Crown.”38 These benefits were not just economic but also carried honorific and symbolic value. Becoming a bishop provided both kinds of rewards; it brought material returns for the bishop himself, which in some cases were very 36 Quoted in Raul Almeida Rolo, O bispo e a sua missão pastoral: segundo D. frei Bartolomeu dos Mártires (Oporto, 1964), pp. 34–35. 37 Simancas, Archivo General de Simancas, Secretarias Provinciales, Portugal, libro 1480, fol. 105r. 38 Fernanda Olival, As Ordens Militares e o Estado Moderno: honra, mercê e venalidade em Portugal (1641–1789) (Lisbon, 2001), p. 24. BY JOSÉ PEDRO PAIVA 475 significant, as well as a high level of symbolic distinction for the prelate and his lineage. Another factor that was important to consider in the episcopal equation was the candidate’s family background. It has even been suggested that in person-oriented systems, the family was the most important relationship influencing decision-making, particularly for decisions related to the distribution of power and wealth.39 Family almost always carried a lot of weight and became especially significant for appointments to the most important dioceses such as archbishoprics. Thus, candidates at the top of the episcopal hierarchy came from particularly distinguished lineages, mainly drawn from the most important Portuguese court nobility. Episcopal appointments fit well into the system of preservation and reproduction of aristocratic houses. Such positions were especially suitable for second-born sons, who normally did not marry.The position of bishop not only brought material and symbolic advantages to the bishop himself but also benefited his entire family through the numerous offices that bishops could distribute within their dioceses; many of these could be offered to unmarried brothers or cousins and especially nephews. An analysis of the episcopacy in Portugal and its overseas territories does not show the family to be the most decisive factor governing the appointment of bishops. Nonetheless, it leaves no doubt about its enormous influence, particularly in the most prominent dioceses. The fifteen appointments made in Lisbon during this period were secular clerics of noble birth; more than half of them (53 percent) held a title, and two even came from the royal family.At least until the eighteenth century, kings often invoked the noble origin of their choice in their letters to Roman authorities, as is seen in the appointment of Jorge de Ataíde (a son of Antonio de Ataíde, the first count of Castanheira).40 In fact, there were many bishops who were related to each other as brothers, cousins, uncles, or nephews. In the sixteenth century, contrary to Tridentine regulations, there also were fathers and sons—for example, Fernando de Meneses Coutinho e Vasconcelos (1540–64), the archbishop of Lisbon; and his son, João Afonso de Meneses, archbishop of Braga (1581–87).41 39 See Lind,“Great Friends,” p. 123. Letter from King Sebastião dated April 30, 1568. Vatican City, Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Instrumenta Miscellanea, no. 6690, fol. 53r. 41 Unfortunately, missing in this case is the processus consistoriale, which would provide details on how this election was handled in Rome. Only a laconic record is 40 476 THE APPOINTMENT OF BISHOPS IN EARLY–MODERN PORTUGAL (1495–1777) In some cases, the family lineage of bishops suggests the idea of episcopal dynasties, although it has not been shown that a particular family or lineage dominated any Portuguese diocese, as sometimes happened in France or the Italian Peninsula.42 Portugal’s most notable example, lasting several centuries, is that of the Lencastres. They were connected to the house of Aveiro and descended from Jorge—master of Santiago, second duke of Coimbra, and an illegitimate son of King João II. Thus the Lencastre lineage boasted royal blood, albeit through a bastard. From the reign of João III until the 1770s, eight bishops came from this family. The first was Jaime de Lencastre, son of the second duke of Coimbra, who became bishop of Ceuta in north Africa (1545–69)43; the last was Francisco de Saldanha, archbishop of Lisbon (1759–76) and a son of Joana Bernarda de Lencastre.44 Patron-client relations also were important in the process of selecting a bishop. The structure for distributing resources, positions, and power depended heavily on certain arrangements, often made through methods of regulation based on client relations that relied on personal contacts and alliances between individuals or groups.45 Within this very complex and fluid universe, positions, favors, and advantages were hotly disputed, at a time when the power of a protector over his subjects was the result of his ability to make decisions, repay past favors, and avoid possible future retaliation (through denying future favors or influence, not through coercion or punishment available (Vatican City, Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Archivio Concistoriale, Acta camerarii, vol. 11, fol. 312v). 42 For France, see Michel C. Peronnet, Les évêques de l’ancienne France (Paris, 1976), pp. 482, 512, which shows that, during the reign of Louis XIII, the Crown began to prevent the sons of nobility from serving as bishops in the region where their fathers had authority. For the Italian Peninsula, see Adriano Prosperi,“La figura del vescovo fra Quattro e Cinquecento: persistenze, disagi e novitá,” in Storia d’Italia, ed. Giorgio Chittolini and Giovanni Miccoli (Turin, 1986), IX:219–62, here p. 227. In Castille, the situation was similar to that in Portugal; see Ignasi Fernández Terricabras,“Al servicio del rey y de la Iglesia. El control del episcopado castellano por la corona en tiempos de Felipe II,” in Lo conflictivo y lo consensual en Castilla. Sociedad y poder politico 1521–1715, ed. Francisco Javier Guillamon Alvarez and José Javier Ruiz Ibañez (Murcia, 2002), pp. 205–32, here p. 223. 43 His filiation and appointment is registered in Vatican City, Archivio Segreto Vaticano,Archivio Concistoriale,Acta camerarii, vol. 3, fol. 279v. 44 António Caetano Sousa, História Genealógica da Casa Real Portuguesa (1738; repr. Coimbra, 1948),V:209–10. 45 Eisenstadst and Roniger,“Patron-Client,” p. 47. BY JOSÉ PEDRO PAIVA 477 involving physical violence).46 It should be noted that, at this time, alliances between involved parties were not formalized in writing, but rather began as tactical agreements based on possible mutual benefit. The benefits that each party hoped to achieve through the agreement were not stated at the outset and could change as each party’s situation evolved. During the selection process, the culture of power and of social relations created a multifaceted, multilevel system; each area in the system had various pressures exerted upon it: factors involving patron-client relations, family, friendships, and group solidarity. Usually five constituencies were involved in the process of selecting a bishop: (1) The king, who made the final decision. (2) A close inner circle around the monarch, often including the queen, his confessor, or a minister. The exact composition of this group depended on the political situation at the time. (3) A larger group of individuals who, because of their positions, were heard by the king before he made his decision. They included viceroys, governors, members of the king’s council or state councillors, secretaries of state, and representatives of the Council of Portugal and the Overseas Council. This group also varied depending on the political situation. (4) The episcopal candidate, his immediate and extended family, and his closest friends. (5) People with whom episcopal candidates and their inner circles cultivated relationships, and individuals with connections to others in this system, who functioned as intermediaries or brokers. This complex framework permitted multiple direct and indirect connections, and exerted relatively informal influence on the selection of a bishop. These influences were regulated by the norms and rules governing personal patron-client systems, as explained, for example, by Eisenstadt and Roniger.47 This means that to become a bishop, in addition to the other previously mentioned factors, a candidate needed assistance from people 46 47 Kettering, Patrons, p. 3. Eisenstadt and Roniger,“Patron-Client.” 478 THE APPOINTMENT OF BISHOPS IN EARLY–MODERN PORTUGAL (1495–1777) who could influence those making the key recommendations and decisions.That is to say, he needed to have many supporters at various levels. Usually these influences, often exercised very informally, left no traces.Yet in some cases they can be documented. In 1532, the prestigious archbishopric of Braga became vacant. One candidate was Martinho de Portugal, bishop of Funchal; his brother, Francisco de Portugal, count of Vimioso, was very influential at the court of John III. But the bishop, perfectly aware of how the system functioned, did his best to place more pressure on the king. He was then serving as ambassador in Rome and wrote to António de Ataíde, count of Castanheira and another highly influential royal adviser. In some letters addressed to Ataíde, referring to himself as “client” and calling the count his “friend” and “patron,” he told Ataíde that he had obtained a papal bull in Rome containing some privileges for the count and countess and begged Ataíde to remember his wish to become archbishop of Braga and to defend his “honor” in that election.48 This type of pressure could thus involve very different agents and take various directions. On November 14, 1613, Fernão de Matos, secretary of the Portuguese Council in Madrid (a key entity in governing the Portuguese Crown under the Castilian kings), wrote to Pedro de Castilho, the viceroy in Lisbon,“reminding” him about naming Manuel Baptista, then bishop of the Congo, to the vacant diocese of Lamego in Portugal. Matos was very clear about the reasons behind his choice: He was a close friend of Baptista’s brothers, and he believed that Baptista had served very well as bishop in this difficult and distant African diocese.49 Within such a large and complicated set of influences, ascertaining the precise role of the king at the top of the decision pyramid is challenging indeed. Despite individual differences (some kings relied more on consultations, whereas others seemed to have been more autocratic), there is no question that the accumulated pressures and opinions heard by the monarch could affect his decision. However, with so many positions to fill in the royal administration, including judicial courts, councils and committees of various kinds, as well as the many privileges to distribute, it was impossible for any king to have thorough knowledge of every candidate nominated for a partic48 The letters are published in Colecção de S. Lourenço (Lisbon, 1973–75), 1:279, 282–84. 49 Lisbon, Biblioteca da Ajuda, Governo de Portugal, vol. X (1603–1615), 51-VIII-13, fols. 317r–320v. BY JOSÉ PEDRO PAIVA 479 ular office. Therefore, he needed to hear opinions from others, although the number of these would vary depending on the situation, and often he would end up appointing people unknown to him or individuals other than the favorites previously suggested. In earlymodern political culture, a fair king always listened to his subjects before deciding. He could not and did not control everything, although he always made the final decision. His power was enormous, allowing him to veto formal proposals by other officials or entities, or to adjust these proposals to fit his viewpoint.50 A well-documented example is the appointment to the archbishopric of Braga in 1588.51 Archduke Albert of Austria, the viceroy in Lisbon, suggested as a first option Afonso Castelo Branco, the bishop of Coimbra; Martim Gonçalves da Câmara as the second choice; and finally the Augustinian friar Agostinho de Jesus, whom he did not consider a good fit for the post. The Council of Portugal in Madrid then analyzed his proposal and deemed Castelo Branco to be an ill-advised choice, because he was illegitimate and would thus be unacceptable to Rome.The council then proposed three names in the following order: Martim Gonçalves da Câmara; António de Matos; and Jerónimo de Meneses, bishop of Miranda. The king considered all this information and decided to elect de Jesus, who was confirmed by the pope on June 13, 1588.52 The fifth factor of the episcopal equation was the political opportunity provided by each choice. This means that it was possible to have the requisite personal qualities, a history of service to the Crown, and broad and varied influences over a long period of time, yet never become a bishop. Such was the experience of Miguel de Lacerda, who was suggested in at least three different elections (Portalegre in 1580 and 1597 and Viseu in 1597) but was never appointed.53 Sometimes when a candidate met all the requirements, there were no vacant dioceses, or other candidates had better qualifi50 Other historians considered whether monarchs felt impelled to assert their power because of the pressures of courtiers. See Ângela Barreto Xavier and António Manuel Hespanha, “As redes clientelares,” in História de Portugal, ed. José Mattoso (Lisbon, 1993), IV:381–93. 51 The complete process can be found in Simancas, Archivo General de Simancas, Secretarias Provinciales, Portugal, Libro 1480, fols. 1r–2r. 52 Vatican City, Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Archivio Concistoriale, Acta camerarii, vol. 12, fol. 92r. 53 Simancas, Archivio General de Simancas, Estado, legajo 418, fol. 190r; Secretarias Provinciales, Portugal, Libro 1480, fols. 9r and 21r. 480 THE APPOINTMENT OF BISHOPS IN EARLY–MODERN PORTUGAL (1495–1777) cations.Therefore, in some circumstances, it became necessary to wait for decades before becoming a bishop.This happened to Rui Pires da Veiga, a nobleman, a graduate in canon law from the prestigious University of Coimbra, a canon of the cathedral of Évora, a member of the General Council of the Holy Office, a grandson of a magistrate in the royal courts, and a son of a judge at the Casa da Índia.54 Pires da Veiga had support from important people and institutions like the Holy Office, but he also had a very difficult relationship with Teotónio de Bragança, the influential archbishop of Évora.55 First suggested for the bishopric of Baía in Brazil in 1601, Pires da Veiga finally became bishop of Elvas in 1611.56 Otherwise, the strong influence of patrons at the political center could be very fruitful. One such figure during the reigns of Peter II and John V was Nuno Álvares Pereira de Melo, first duke of Cadaval. Not surprisingly, with the help of the papal nuncio, his illegitimate son Nuno Álvares Pereira de Melo became bishop of Lamego in 1710.57 It was up to the king and some of his counselors to filter the possibilities provided by each opening, keeping in mind that each appointment was only one cell within the large organism composing a large body of interests that needed to be governed and balanced. The proper functioning of royal government depended heavily on the skill of the king and his closest counselors in keeping the entire system balanced.Thus, it was always necessary to consider the overall political configuration and make decisions that would keep a continually changing system in balance. This system extended far beyond bishoprics, including every position, favor, and privileged office in the royal family; the court; the councils; the militia; the imperial government; cathedral chapters; and military orders—all of which ultimately depended on the choices and decisions of the king.To better understand this situation, the concept of political configuration is very 54 Lisbon,Arquivo Nacional Torre do Tombo, Habilitações do Santo Ofício, m. 1, d. 1, fols. 1r and 10v. 55 Some elements of the dispute with the archbishop can be seen in Lisbon,Arquivo Nacional Torre do Tombo, Conselho Geral do Santo Ofício, Livro 130, fol. 18r or Livro 97, letter 39. 56 Simancas, Archivio General de Simancas, Secretarias Provinciales, Portugal, Libro 1480, fols. 75r, 35r–37r and 289r. 57 The support of the nuncio is documented in many letters exchanged between him and the Roman secretary of state, including one dated 1672, when the son of the duke of Cadaval was only four years old (Vatican City,Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Segretaria di Stato, Portogallo, vol. 27, fol. 150r). BY JOSÉ PEDRO PAIVA 481 useful. According to Norbert Elias, a configuration comprises a chain of interdependent relations that appear to be a social formation. To Elias, court society, in which the king and the courtiers were part of a system of tensions, constitutes the paradigm of the idea of configuration, within which the several individuals participating in it create a net of interdependencies that evolves and strengthens to various degrees and according to various models.58 Such intricate complexity, resulting from the multiple interactions inherent to the functioning of modern monarchies, requires a consideration of episcopal appointments as one among a great many ways to maintain the overall stability of these formations within the realm of possibility. A sixth element that must be considered in appointments of bishops was the match between the vacant diocese and the candidate. For example, if the son of a titled nobleman was a suitable candidate for an episcopal position, and a vacancy opened up in a minor mainland diocese or Portugal’s overseas empire, neither the king nor his counselors would think of naming him to a place that was not very highly regarded. Offering a position regarded as substandard would have been considered an insult instead of as a distinction, compensation, or privilege, and the king would run the risk of the candidate declining the post, which was always a situation to be avoided.This was generally the case with the distant dioceses of the empire. For example, in the advice provided by Portugal’s Overseas Council, it is clear that the names suggested were never people of high political rank or noble origin.59 At the opposite extreme, those appointed to the most prestigious and wealthy dioceses were usually sons of court nobility. In the election for the bishopric of Coimbra in August 19, 1704, for example, the archbishop of Lisbon and councillor of state recommended three names: Álvaro Abranches de Noronha (son of the first count of Valadares), António de Vasconcelos e Sousa (son of the second count of Castelo Melhor), and Jerónimo Soares (the only one without a distinguished social background, but the bishop of Viseu and a former inquisitor).60 Therefore, because there were great differences between dioceses in status, dignity, and revenues, it was always nec- 58 Norbert Elias, A sociedade de corte (Lisbon, 1987), pp. 114–19. For example, all the candidates suggested for the bishopric of Malacca in 1697 were members of the regular clergy, Lisbon, Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino, Consultas Mistas (1695–1704), cod. 19, fols. 47r–47v. 60 Lisbon, Biblioteca da Ajuda, Do arcebispo D. João de Sousa. Cartas de secretarios sobre negocios graves e votos do Conselho de Estado, 51-IX-31, fol. 419r. 59 482 THE APPOINTMENT OF BISHOPS IN EARLY–MODERN PORTUGAL (1495–1777) essary to find a match between the person and the diocese. Governing “fairly,” something that was always expected of the king, meant acknowledging and respecting the differences between his subjects, which implied the observation of the principle of “giving to each what is his.”61 Beyond these factors, the ethical and moral constraints that guided and conditioned the choices made by the king and his counselors must be considered. Beginning in the mid-sixteenth century, at the latest when the Council of Trent began to reflect on the reformation of the Church, there is evidence of these kinds of concerns in Portugal.A good example is a reflection written in 1677 by Francisco de Abreu Godinho, who was reporting on the selection process of bishops by princes. Bishops, he said: are the princes of the Church, they are without a doubt successors to the apostles, . . . they are shepherds of the sheep of Christ, fathers to the poor, they are in the council of princes and they have other very venerable prerogatives and excellencies, but because of this they must have excellent and venerable virtue, because in this justification lies the health of their people . . . and because of this, the nomination of bishops should be done with much circumspection, because it is not enough for one’s conscience to nominate someone good; rather, he must be the best.62 The king and his counselors were ethically committed to these principles. So that they did not commit a sin or act unscrupulously, they had to match their selection with the qualities that, according to Roman canons and the treaties of the time, a bishop must possess. In other words, they had to match their selection with divine inspiration, according to the traits of the ideal bishop. But these criteria 61 The expression was used by Diogo Guerreiro Camacho de Aboym, Decisiones seu quaestiones forenses ab amplissimo, integerrimo que portuensi senatu decisae partim exaratae, partim collectae (Lisbon, 1738), to explain the notion of “distributive justice.” 62 Évora, Biblioteca Pública de Évora, Carta de Francisco de Abreu Godinho ao Marquês, cod. CIX-1-12, fols. 15v–16r (author’s translation with revision by William Monter).“Sam os bispos na dignidade principes da Igreja, sam sem duvida sucessores dos apostolos, . . . sam pastores das ovelhas de Christo, pais dos pobres, sam do concelho dos principes e tem outras muitas veneraveis prerogativas e excelencias, mas por iso devem ter os bispos excelente e veneravel virtude, porque na sua justificação esta a saude do seu povo . . . por iso tambem os principes na nomeação dos bispos se devem aver com atentisima circunspecção porque não basta para exonerar a conciencia nomear o bom senao o melhor.” BY JOSÉ PEDRO PAIVA 483 changed somewhat over the early-modern age, creating yet another aspect that could influence the selection of a bishop. Monarchs, finally, were constrained not only by the culture under which the system operated and by ethical or moral imperatives but also were influenced by specific actions of interested parties. Whenever a bishopric had a vacancy, potential candidates and their supporters had to attract the attention of the king, his ministers, and others who could have a say in the process.To do this, they could use a variety of strategies: creating rumors, pressing the king for a swift compromise, remaining silent, or negotiating the possibility of reducing their income so that the king could distribute pensions among his other minions. In summary, the process of appointing bishops was very complex and depended on a multifaceted set of factors involving several people and institutions. But, at the top, there was always the king. In early-modern Portugal, as in other powerful monarchies, monarchs chose the bishops. Popes in Rome, although they retained the formal right of preconization, were constrained by the secular power’s choice. Through these appointments, monarchs increased their control over the Portuguese Church and, with it, their power. THE CATHOLIC CHURCH AND THE WOMAN QUESTION: CATHOLIC FEMINISM IN ITALY IN THE EARLY 1900S BY HELENA DAWES* At the turn of the twentieth century the Catholic Church promoted women’s associations in an attempt to reassert Christianity in a struggle against its liberal and socialist adversaries. Pope Leo XIII’s encyclical Rerum novarum (1891) called on Catholics to address a raft of serious problems resulting from social and economic transformations. This gave rise to a Christian Democratic movement and, within it, to Catholic feminism. Focusing on two Catholic women’s periodicals, L’azione muliebre and Pensiero e azione, the author studies the emergence and the nature of Catholic feminism as well as its suppression by the Church. Keywords: Catholic feminism; femminismo cristiano; Italian feminism; women and the church The early Catholic feminist movement in Italy, usually referred to as femminismo cristiano, was born in the latter years of Leo XIII’s papacy. After less than a decade this vibrant and promising feminist movement came to an abrupt end during the pontificate of Leo’s successor, Pius X.To understand the nature of femminismo cristiano it is necessary to look at its contemporary social and cultural context. Women’s Rights in Liberal Italy The unification of Italy in 1870 did not improve the condition of women. The overriding and exclusive preoccupation of the Risorgimento elite had been with the creation of an Italian state, and this precluded any consideration of women’s emancipation.1 Indeed, *Ms. Dawes is a PhD candidate in Italian studies at the School of Humanities, University of Western Australia, email: whdawes@bigpond.com.Translations in this article, unless otherwise noted, have been provided by the author. 1 Ginevra Conti Odorisio, Storia dell’idea femminista in Italia (Turin, 1980), p. 101. 484 BY HELENA DAWES 485 the 1865 Italian civil code restricted women’s rights in major areas, assigning women the status of a minor for their entire lives.The code ruled, for instance, that in marriage only the father could exercise patria potestas over the children and that solely in the case of the father’s incapacity or death could it belong to the mother. The civil code, moreover, denied women the right to administer their own property; in contrast, the only limitation to the husband’s powers was the property’s inalienability. For women in Lombardy, who had managed their own property under Austrian rule, this was a backward step.2 Like large sections of the male population, women had no voting rights at either local or national elections. Discrimination against women was evident also in education and employment. Even though the Casati Law (1859) decreed that instruction should be equal for both males and females,3 educational needs for the two genders were perceived differently.Whereas the illiteracy rate declined for both genders, with women’s illiteracy falling from 81 percent to 54 percent in the 1861–1901 period,4 Daniele Marchesini observes that the gap between the male and female illiteracy levels remained constant at 13 percent.5 Only a small number of children, less than 10 percent around 1900, received any secondary education at all.6 If girls did proceed to secondary education, they usually enrolled in convent boarding schools that provided, instead of serious instruction in academic disciplines, grooming for their future roles as wives and mothers.7 In state secondary schools, on the other hand, the “classical” and the “technical” streams, which led to tertiary study, were almost exclusively intended for male students. Even after girls’ right to enroll at licei (state upper-secondary schools) had been legally recognized in 1883, their attendance continued to be an exception, so in the academic year of 1901–02 there was still only one female enrollment for every forty male students.8 By contrast, the so2 Emilia Sarogni, La donna italiana 1861–2000 (Milan, 2004), pp. 17–21. Sarogni also mentions (p. 81) that prior to unification, women in Lombardy and Tuscany had the vote at administrative—that is, local—elections. 3 Michela De Giorgio, Le italiane dall’Unità a oggi (Rome, 1993), p. 411. 4 De Giorgio, Le italiane, p. 412. 5 Daniele Marchesini, “L’analfabetismo femminile nell’Italia dell’Ottocento: caratteristiche e dinamiche,” in L’educazione delle donne. Scuole e modelli di vita femminile nell’Italia dell’Ottocento, 2nd ed., ed. Simonetta Soldani (Milan, 1991), pp. 37–56, here p. 41. 6 Martin Clark, Modern Italy 1871–1995, 2nd ed. (London, 1997), p. 39. 7 Maria Mignini, Diventare storiche dell’arte (Rome, 2009), p. 76. 8 De Giorgio, Le italiane dall’Unità a oggi, pp. 432, 435. 486 CATHOLIC FEMINISM IN ITALY IN THE EARLY 1900S called “normal schools,” which trained primary school teachers, were attended by large numbers of female students. Women were admitted to universities beginning in 1874, and between 1877 and 1900 a total of 224 women—many of them foreigners—received degrees.9 Although a university degree did not automatically guarantee employment in the field of specialization, women were, in comparison, readily accepted in primary teaching and, by 1901, made up two-thirds of a total of 97,000 teachers.10 Most female university graduates had to wait until World War I to be accepted in upper secondary schools when positions became available due to the enlistment of male teachers. Similarly, openings to the liberal professions and public service positions hardly existed for women. In 1919 the Nitti government’s legislation, apart from abolishing the husband’s legal authority over his wife, threw all positions open to women. However, the dismantlement of this law began the following year with a regulation excluding women from top positions.11 Rival Ideologies After unification Italian women—the vast majority of whom were Catholic—found themselves in the maelstrom of significant intellectual and cultural influences, in which different ideologies competed for social and political relevance. After the loss of the temporal power, the Catholic Church viewed the Liberal government and later the socialists with hostility.Then, in the early 1900s, women were for the first time invited to actively engage in the Church’s apostolic mission. Although previously convention and dogma had denied Catholic women a public role, the Church now recognized their importance in re-Christianizing society and reasserting Catholicism in opposition to liberal and socialist trends. By establishing their own periodicals,“Catholic feminists” had the necessary means of disseminating their point of view, including their critique of the liberal and socialist ideologies. Writing in the women’s magazine L’azione muliebre in March 1901, a writer known as Antonietta expressed the prevailing middle9 Marino Raicich, “Liceo, università, professioni: un percorso difficile,” in L’educazione delle donne, ed. Soldani, pp. 147–81, here p. 151. 10 Clark, Modern Italy, p. 34. 11 Sarogni, La donna italiana, pp. 107–08. BY HELENA DAWES 487 class attitudes of Catholics loyal to the pope. She believed liberalism had negative effects on society for religious, ethical, political, and economic reasons. Pertaining to religion, she highlighted the harmful effects of the separation of state from church that resulted in the secularization of schools, society, and families. Pertaining to ethics, liberalism, in her view, included the independence of reason, the laws, government, and morals without God. Pertaining to politics, liberalism elevated popular sovereignty to a divine status, since it viewed social power as deriving from the people to be exercised in its name. Pertaining to economics, the principle of laissez-faire had legitimized the prevalence of an ever-increasing competition, monopoly, usury, and social injustice. Liberalism, argued Antonietta, had not only given rise to capitalism but also had led to the enslavement of the proletariat. Moreover, with the disappearance of the ancient guilds for arts and crafts, which had evolved within Christian society to protect the spiritual and material interests of workers, the latter were now left alone and defenseless against the fluctuations in industry and the labor market.12 As a result, socialism came to reap the consequences of liberalism.13 In the same vein, L’azione muliebre also gave vent to its misgivings about socialism. A contributor referred to as “Fmm.” claimed in May 1905 that socialism aimed to eliminate existing hardships by making everyone equal in material terms.This was to be achieved through a class struggle that would ultimately result in the abolition of private property and the public ownership of the land. Such a system was “inadequate,” however, because it worsened conditions for workers instead of solving the problem of poverty. By forbidding them to use their savings to acquire land, it deprived them of a hope of improving their situation. Besides, the writer went on, the socialist system was “unjust” because it violated the rights of legitimate proprietors, which were derived from and willed by nature itself. Socialism was “subversive” because it tampered with existing rights and therefore upset social order. Its aim was not harmony but class struggle.14 Secular feminist movements drew on the liberal and socialist ideologies. It is essential to examine these currents here briefly as they relate to Catholic feminism. 12 “L’enciclica sulla Democrazia cristiana,” L’azione muliebre, I (March 1901), 13–18, here 15. 13 “L’enciclica,” p. 16. 14 “Quindici maggio,” L’azione muliebre,V (May 1905), 292–99, here 294. 488 CATHOLIC FEMINISM IN ITALY IN THE EARLY 1900S Secular Feminism With origins in the Enlightenment, secular feminism evolved in the latter part of the nineteenth century to demand civil and political rights for women. In Italy, too, there were signs of feminist awareness. In fact, John Stuart Mill’s famous treatise The Subjection of Women (London, 1869) was preceded by two Italian publications on the woman question. The first, La donna e la scienza (1861), was written by the Neapolitan politician Salvatore Morelli.15 The second, La donna e i suoi rapporti sociali (1864), was authored by Anna Maria Mozzoni, a feisty, young Lombard woman who also translated Mill’s treatise into Italian. With intellectual roots in French utopianism, Mozzoni campaigned for women’s emancipation and suffrage among Mazzinians, radicals, and socialists, and embodied in Italy the feminist aspirations of the late-nineteenth and the early-twentieth centuries.16 Other prominent figures included Maria Montessori, renowned for her contribution to educational reform, and the flamboyant Sibilla Aleramo who wrote Una donna (Rome-Turin, 1906), Italy’s first feminist novel.17 The best-known bourgeois women’s organization was the Federazione romana that was founded in 1899 and campaigned for a range of social and welfare issues, including the protection of female and child labor, legal investigation of paternity, women’s right to administer their own property, and the vote at administrative (local) elections. Affiliated bodies were formed in many northern cities, and a national association, known as the Consiglio nazionale delle donne italiane, was created in 1903.18 The suffrage movement was composed of so-called “pro-vote committees,” with their Rome-based national body, Comitato nazionale per il voto alla donna, proclaiming its independence from political or religious affiliations and its alle15 The first two editions of Morelli’s book, published in 1861 and 1862, were issued under the title La donna e la scienza, considerate come i soli mezzi atti a risolvere il problema dell’avvenire; the final edition, in 1869, had the title La donna e la scienza o la soluzione del problema sociale. See Sarogni, La donna italiana, p. 48. 16 Franca Pieroni Bortolotti, “Introduzione,” in Anna Maria Mozzoni, La liberazione della donna, ed. Franca Pieroni Bortolotti (Milan, 1975), pp. 7–32, here p. 7. 17 Sharon Wood comments on Una donna in Italian Women’s Writing 1860–1994 (London, 1995), p. 75: “Aleramo dissects the condition specifically of middle-class women, uninformed, unemployed, undefended by common class interest, subject to the prevailing moral and social hegemony of a patriarchal society backed by a strong Catholic Church.” 18 Debora Migliucci, Per il voto alle donne (Milan, 2006), pp. 5–6. BY HELENA DAWES 489 giance to the International Women’s Suffrage Alliance.19 Active from 1905 to the outbreak of World War I, the pro-vote committees lent their support to petitions to Parliament for women’s suffrage, but they never attracted large memberships as they lacked cohesion. Devoid of the radical extremism of Anglo-Saxon feminists, bourgeois feminism in Italy was fragmentary and less prone to violent demonstrations.20 Viewed with suspicion and held up to ridicule by the middle class, the feminist movement was politically isolated, branded as bourgeois by the Socialist Party and subversive by Catholics.The latter, in fact, considered radical bourgeois feminism as far more dangerous than socialist feminism.21 In 1899 a group of socialist women founded the Unione femminile in Milan, which soon had branches in a number of other cities. It campaigned for women’s emancipation and suffrage; showed a great concern for the problems of working-class women; ran various educational programs; and was famous for its Asilo Mariuccia, a rehabilitation home for deviant young women.22 In 1906, together with the Milanese “pro-vote” committee, the Unione femminile collected some 10,000 signatures in support of a petition to Parliament for women’s suffrage.23 The following year, the Giolitti government appointed an all-male committee, nicknamed “the Solons,” to investigate the matter. As even women themselves were divided on the suffrage issue, the investigation did not result in women obtaining the vote in either local or national elections. Defending the committee’s recommendation, Giolitti argued that it was only “some ladies,” remote from women working “in the fields and factories,” who were demanding the vote.24 Orthodox socialist feminists, on the other hand—like the charismatic, Russian-born doctor Anna Kuliscioff—initially showed no interest in or were even inimical to issues that inflamed the passions of feminists speaking for middle-class women such as women’s access to 19 Migliucci, Per il voto, p. 11. Gabriella Seveso,“Movimenti femministi e partecipazione politica,” in Una storia imprevista. Femminismi del Novecento ed educazione, ed. Barbara Malpelli and Gabriella Seveso (Milan, 2003), pp. 40–51, here p. 43. 21 Conti Odorisio, Storia dell’idea femminista in Italia, pp. 158–59. 22 Migliucci, Per il voto, p. 4. For information on Asilo Mariuccia, see Annarita Buttafuoco, Le Mariuccine (Milan, 1998). 23 Migliucci, Per il voto, p. 13. 24 Il Novecento delle italiane (Rome, 2001), p. 21. 20 490 CATHOLIC FEMINISM IN ITALY IN THE EARLY 1900S education and professional employment, juridical parity, and women’s suffrage, all of which were to be achieved in the context of existing political structures. Instead, orthodox socialist feminists concentrated on “proletarian” matters such as better pay and working conditions for women in the workforce. Kuliscioff, for example, provided the initial draft for the Liberal government’s 1902 social legislation regarding the employment of women and children.With the passage of time attitudes changed, and she, too, made an about-face on the issue of women’s suffrage.25 Bourgeois feminists, she claimed in 1910, demanded the vote to strike the first blow against “the iniquitous stronghold of masculine egoism and arrogance” in a system in which man and woman were rivals, whereas socialist feminists saw in the vote a weapon for “the economic emancipation” of both sexes in a battle against the common enemy, the bourgeois society.”26 Yet the following year she refused an invitation to join the organizing committee for a Turin conference on female suffrage.27 Thus Kuliscioff’s unwillingness to cooperate with the middle-class feminist movement “contributed to the fragility of the Italian suffrage movement, which was continually beset with divisions, misunderstandings, contradictions, and mutual distrust.”28 The Opera dei congressi e dei comitati cattolici in Italia Contrary to secular feminism and its links with the Enlightenment, femminismo cristiano had its origins in the Catholic lay movement, the Opera dei congressi e dei comitati cattolici in Italia, to which it owed its militant missionary quality. The inaugural meeting of the Opera in Venice in June 1874 was followed by further, mostly annual, congresses. Calling themselves “intransigents,” the Catholic militants professed absolute loyalty to the pope, strictly adhered to the non 25 Maria Casalini writes in La signora del socialismo italiano (Rome, 1987), p. 223: “Se infatti, nel corso degli anni novanta, in piú occasioni aveva richiamato la necessità dell’estensione del diritto di voto alle donne, con l’andar del tempo la sua opinione era cambiata radicalmente.Tanto che, in una lettera a Turati, nel 1905, si era dichiarata nettamente avversa al suffragio femminile. E ancora nel 1907, su Critica sociale, nell’articolo Da Nancy a Stoccarda, le donne italiane venivano considerate, dai due direttori della rivista, decisamente immature . . . per esercitare il diritto di voto.” 26 Franca Pieroni Bortolotti, “Anna Kuliscioff e la questione femminile,” in Anna Kuliscioff e l’età del riformismo. Atti del Convegno di Milano—dicembre 1976, [Biblioteca storica], (Rome, 1978), pp. 104–39, here p. 122. 27 Casalini, La signora del socialismo italiano, p. 226. 28 Elda Gentili Zappi, If Eight Hours Seem Too Few (Albany, NY, 1991), p. 254. BY HELENA DAWES 491 expedit,29 and demanded the restitution of Rome to the papacy. Despite hostility by the state, the Opera proved a successful organization and was at its peak at the time of the fifteenth congress in Milan in August–September 1897.30 The following year it suffered a setback when it was accused of complicity in the “bread riots” that first broke out in southern Italy and then engulfed the major cities in the north. Classed together with Republicans and socialists, Catholics were punished by the authorities through temporary disbandment of the Opera.31 In its early years conservatives who belonged to the aristocracy or the upper-middle class guided the organization. Paternalistic in their outlook, these leaders tended to approach social problems from the point of view of Christian charity, and their intransigence ruled out any degree of cooperation with the Liberal state. However, new groups of Catholic laity and clergy, some with a background in the social sciences, became active in the Opera and started looking for alternative ways of dealing with social issues.32 Leo XIII had already provided a doctrinal basis for their social agenda with his encyclicals Inscrutabili Dei consilio (April 1878) and Quod apostolici muneris (December 1878).33 In May 1891 the encyclical Rerum novarum gave added impetus to the aspirations of these young activists who called themselves Christian Democrats.34 With conservatives and rad29 The prohibition had been “expressed by Don Giacomo Margotti’s dictum, Nè eletti, nè elettori, of 1861, confirmed by Pius IX’s Non Expedit in September, 1874.” See Ronald S. Cunsolo, “Nationalists and Catholics in Giolittian Italy: An Uneasy Collaboration,” The Catholic Historical Review, 79 (1993), 22–53, here 23. In 1904 Pius X permitted selective relaxation of the non expedit to prevent the election of socialist candidates. 30 Gabriele De Rosa, Il movimento cattolico in Italia, 2nd ed. (Rome, 1988), p. 127: “Il 1897 fu l’anno della maggiore espansione dell’Opera dei congressi, l’anno in cui l’intransigentismo poteva, al quindicesimo congresso nazionale tenutosi a Milano dal 30 agosto al 3 settembre, presentare un bilancio imponente della sua attività organizzatrice: 188 comitati diocesani, 3982 comitati parrocchiali, 708 sezioni di giovani, 17 circoli universitari, 588 casse rurali aderenti, 688 società operaie, 116 circoli della Gioventù cattolica, 24 quotidiani e 155 periodici.” 31 Francesco Olgiati, La storia dell’Azione cattolica in Italia (1865–1904) (Milan, 1920), pp. 190–204. 32 De Rosa, Il movimento cattolico in Italia, pp. 145–63. 33 Angelo Gambasin, Il movimento sociale nell’Opera dei congressi (1874–1904) (Rome, 1958), pp. 127–28. 34 Rerum novarum not only denounced Marxism and explicit forbade class struggle but also acknowledged the need for state intervention in social issues and for the protection of workers’ rights, including industrial safety, just wages, unionization, and acquisition of property. 492 CATHOLIC FEMINISM IN ITALY IN THE EARLY 1900S ical Christian Democratic elements competing for control, the Opera was in serious crisis by the time Pius X ascended the papal throne in 1903. Hoping to bring the lay movement under tighter ecclesiastical control, the pope disbanded the Opera a year later.35 The earliest and one of the most influential Christian Democratic leaders was the Pisan political economist Giuseppe Toniolo (1845–1918).36 While still based on the Christian concept of charity, Toniolo’s sociological theories were moving toward a more modern, institutionalized approach to social issues. His preferred models, relying predominantly on agrarian social structures within the context of the existing class hierarchy, were centered on the ideas of mutuality as evidenced by medieval guilds, the agrarian-artisan labor combination to solve problems of rural unemployment, and mixed corporations of workers and employers to preserve social harmony.37 Unconditionally obedient to the pope,Toniolo, after the relaxation of the non expedit in 1904, tended toward conservative clerico-moderate politics.When Catholic Action was reorganized in 1905 into three separate streams,Toniolo became president of the Unione popolare.38 35 Gambasin, Il movimento sociale nell’Opera dei congressi (1874–1904), p. 552:“Il 28 luglio 1904 una lettera del card. Merry del Val, segretario di stato, ai vescovi d’Italia dichiarava soppressa l’Opera dei congressi, lasciando però sussistere il II gruppo sotto la presidenza del conte Medolago Albani.” John F. Pollard states that financial motives were a major factor in the decision to split the Opera; see Money and the Rise of the Modern Papacy (Cambridge, UK, 2005), p. 88. Unlike the deposed president Giovanni Grosoli, obedient conservatives such as Giovanni Battista Paganuzzi, Nicolò Rezzara, and Stanislao Medolago-Albani were unable to contribute toward the expenses of the office of the president. 36 Toniolo’s writings show similarity to the social doctrine of Rerum novarum, but there is no evidence of his direct influence on the encyclical. De Rosa, Il movimento cattolico in Italia, p. 123n13. 37 Olgiati, La storia dell’Azione cattolica (1865–1904), pp. 246–52. 38 Paolo Pecorari, “Toniolo, Giuseppe,” in Dizionario storico del movimento cattolico in Italia 1860–1980, II: I protagonisti, ed. Francesco Traniello and Giorgio Campanini (Turin, 1982), pp. 636–44, here p. 642.As president of the Unione popolare, Toniolo wrote the first statutes for a women’s union that were accepted by Pius X in December 1908. Cecilia Dau Novelli comments on alternative models for organizing Catholic women in the aftermath of the 1908 Italian Women’s First National Congress that was held in Rome; see Società, chiesa e associazionismo femminile (Rome, 1988), pp. 106–07:“Dopo il congresso quindi si fece più intensa la necessità di una maggiore preparazione e organizzazione delle donne cattoliche. Tre diverse iniziative si fecero allora interpreti di questa esigenza: quella di Giuseppe Toniolo che voleva creare un’Unione femminile in stretto rapporto con l’Unione popolare, quella di Adelaide Coari che intendeva continuare su scala nazionale l’esperienza della Federazione femminile e quella di Cristina Giustiniani Bandini che voleva una nuova associazione, BY HELENA DAWES 493 FIGURE 1. At left: Christian Democratic leader Romolo Murri. Photograph courtesy of Centro Studi Romolo Murri, Gualdo (Macerata). At right: Don Carlo Grugni, ecclesiastical assistant to Pensiero e azione. Photograph courtesy of Fondo Adelaide Coari, Milan. At the opposite end of Christian Democracy was Don Romolo Murri (1870–1944, see figure 1) who, critical of the conservative leadership of the Opera, argued that religion, fossilized in a temporally fixed system, ran the risk of preventing workers and the poor from attaining Christian freedom.39 According to Lorenzo Bedeschi, Murri realized that, to reach the people with the Christian message, Catholics had to leave the social isolation imposed on them by the Roman question and to participate fully in national political life.40 Successful implementation of “social Christianity” called for new measures such as unionization of labor. Murri’s Christian Democratic followers, referred to as giovani, claimed social and civil rights for the disinherited classes, whereas the vecchi, or the clerico-moderate autonoma e indipendente sia dalle altre organizzazioni cattoliche sia da quelle femminili. Quella di Toniolo e quella della Giustiniani Bandini iniziarono in comune, dividendosi solo successivamente per un’esplicita decisione di Pio X.”Toniolo maintained links to the Catholic women’s movement through his close friend, Countess Elena da Persico, who later wrote his biography, La vita di Giuseppe Toniolo (Milan, 1928). 39 De Rosa, Il movimento cattolico in Italia, p. 146. 40 Lorenzo Bedeschi, “La novità di don Romolo Murri,” in Romolo Murri e i murrismi in Italia e in Europa cent’anni dopo, ed. Ilaria Biagioli,Alfonso Botti, and Rocco Cerrato (Urbino, 2004), pp. 619–25. 494 CATHOLIC FEMINISM IN ITALY IN THE EARLY 1900S Catholic elements on the right of the political spectrum, still continued to regard Christian Democracy merely as a vehicle for charitable activities. After the disbandment of the Opera and the Christian Democratic movement, Murri founded the organization Lega democratica nazionale in December 1905, which was inspired by Catholic principles but was secular in its intentions.41 The lack of success of the Lega could be attributed to Pius X prohibiting the clergy from joining the organization. With the help of the Lega, the radicals, and the socialists, Murri was elected to Parliament and subsequently was excommunicated in 1909.42 Modernism Murri’s political differences with the Vatican occurred at the height of the modernist crisis. Modernism was concerned with finding “different ways of construing the relationship between modern academic work, the theological tradition of the Church, and ecclesiastical authority.”43 Issues of modernism already appeared during Leo XIII’s papacy, but the modernist “crisis” as such began with the papal pronouncements in 1907, when Pius X defined it as a heresy.44 The controversy took various forms. Concurring with the leading French modernist writer Alfred Loisy, who observed that “there are as many modernisms as there are modernists,” Nicholas Atkin and Frank Tallett note that Catholic modernists “did not constitute a party with 41 Maurilio Guasco,“Murri, Romolo,” in Dizionario storico del movimento cattolico in Italia 1860–1980, II: I protagonisti, ed. Traniello and Campanini, pp. 414–22, here p. 418. 42 Guasco, “Murri, Romolo,” p. 419. The ultimate cause for Murri’s rupture with the Catholic Church was his standing as a Radical candidate for Parliament. His marriage in 1912 to Ragnhild Lund, the daughter of former Norwegian Senate president John Theodor Lund, did not help his case. Guasco, “Murri, Romolo,” p. 420. Moved by the notion of social justice to women in a transition from a peasant to an industrialized society, Murri came to regard the increasing numbers of single women, who did not fit the category of wife or nun, as constituting a demographic problem that, rather than the modernization process itself, was at the basis of the woman question. See Italo De Curtis, “La questione femminile agli inizi del secolo: l’approccio di Romolo Murri,” Civitas, 28, no. 5 (1977), 21–31; Italo De Curtis,“La questione femminile: il pensiero di Murri in una inchiesta di ‘Cultura Sociale,’” Civitas, 28, no. 6 (1977), 35–45; Roberta Fossati, “Romolo Murri e il femminismo cristiano,” in Romolo Murri e i murrismi in Italia e in Europa cent’anni dopo, ed. Biagioli, Botti, and Cerrato, pp. 213–28. 43 Harvey Hill, “Leo XIII, Loisy, and the ‘Broad School’: An Early Round of the Modernist Crisis,” The Catholic Historical Review, 89 (2003), 39–59, here 39. 44 Hill,“Leo XIII,” p. 58. BY HELENA DAWES 495 a discrete corpus of ideas and values.”45 In Italy the problem “lay in a link between liberal religious thought and radical politics.”46 Murri, the chief exponent of Catholic political radicalism, was condemned not for doctrinal deviations but was disciplined for political reasons.47 Pius X’s denouncements of modernism included the decree Lamentabili sane (July 1907) and the encyclical Pascendi dominici gregis (September 1907). After the publication of Pascendi, religious polemics became increasingly virulent, and measures taken to curb modernism involved censoring publications and establishing diocesan watch committees to enforce religious orthodoxy as well as creating the extensive espionage network the Sodality of Saint Pius V, or Sodalitium pianum, to spy on clergymen and laymen suspected of modernist heresy.48 The evolution of modernism was contemporaneous with the reaffirmation of Thomist philosophy, including its antifeminist components, as official social doctrine by Leo XIII through his encyclical Aeterni patris (1879). Exponents of neo-Thomism, like Pius X, “expected the solution of the ‘Social Question’—a broad issue encompassing the life and future of the working classes, the ‘poor’ for NeoThomist Catholics—through the charitable activities of the ‘superior’ classes.” Such an attitude caused “growing misgivings” among young Christian Democratic activists who regarded charity as an insufficient means to deal with social problems of an industrial society.49 The Catholic Concept of Woman Antimodernism and neo-Thomism had ramifications for the perception of women and their role in society. Susanne M. DeCrane directs attention to the need of Christian theology to “reinterpret its significant doctrines, texts, and symbols for each generation and within each culture in which it emerges.”50 Arguably, until the procla45 Nicholas Atkin and Frank Tallett, Priests, Prelates and People: A History of European Catholicism since 1750 (Oxford, 2003), p. 160. 46 Owen Chadwick, A History of the Popes 1830–1914 (Oxford, 1998), p. 353. 47 Lorenzo Bedeschi, “Prete degli operai,” Vita pastorale, nos. 8–9 (1996), 32–35, here 35. 48 Frank J. Coppa, The Modern Papacy since 1789 (London, 1998), p. 147. 49 Sandor Agócs, “Christian Democracy and Social Modernism in Italy during the Papacy of Pius X,” Church History, 42 (1973), 73–88, here 77–78. 50 Susanne M. DeCrane, Aquinas, Feminism, and the Common Good (Washington, DC, 2004), p. 1. 496 CATHOLIC FEMINISM IN ITALY IN THE EARLY 1900S mation of the encyclical Divino afflante spiritu by Pius XII in 1943, “dogmatic and positivistic conceptions of tradition, truth, and meaning of texts” dominated Catholic theology.51 The positivistic approach meant that a text was understood as “a semantic container whose meaning content was definitively established by its author.”52 Modernism emanated precisely from the recognition of the inadequacy of such an approach, with biblical scholars calling for reconciliation of the Church with “progress, liberalism and modern society.”53 The two theologians who most profoundly influenced the Catholic concept of woman were Ss. Augustine and Thomas Aquinas. Whereas Augustine largely derived his notions of woman and heterosexual relationships from Plato, Aquinas essentially subscribed to Aristotle’s anthropological theories.54 For Augustine and Aquinas, writes Kari Elisabeth Børresen, the sole reason for the creation of woman is the preservation of the human race; the priority of Adam’s creation is seen as determining Eve’s dependence on him; and the image of God can be found only in man, because woman is a mas occasionatus, or a “misbegotten male.”55 Woman’s imperfection is not limited to her bodily characteristics but also extends to her rational faculties; as a consequence, man is more perfect in reason and stronger in virtue than woman.56 After the Fall, the special punishments inflicted on Eve that included painful childbirth and domination by Adam reinforced her subordination.57 Because woman was created to be man’s helper, her state in life is defined by her relationship to him. Of the three states applying to woman, marriage, with its dual purpose of propagating offspring and remedying concupiscence, is the lowest level in the hierarchy of states.58 Virginity and widowhood constitute higher states in life than 51 DeCrane, Aquinas, p. 4. DeCrane, Aquinas, p. 5. The author quotes Sandra M. Schneiders, “Feminist Ideology Criticism and Biblical Hermeneutics,” Biblical Theology Bulletin, 19 (1989), 3–10, here 5. 53 Anthony Rhodes, The Power of Rome in the Twentieth Century (London, 1983), p. 193. 54 Mary Briody Mahowald, Philosophy of Woman: Classical to Current Concepts (Indianapolis, 1978), pp. 78–88. 55 Kari Elisabeth Børresen, Subordination and Equivalence: The Nature and Rôle of Woman in Augustine and Thomas Aquinas (Washington, DC, 1981), p. 158. 56 Børresen, Subordination, p. 172. 57 Børresen, Subordination, p. 214. 58 Børresen, Subordination, pp. 93, 253. 52 BY HELENA DAWES 497 marriage, since they imply that woman moves beyond her secondary role as helper in procreation, whereby her domination by man, as a consequence of sin, no longer applies.59 This did not, however, qualify woman for a high-ranking position either in the Church or society. According to Aquinas,“since it is not possible in the female sex to signify eminence of degree, for a woman is in the state of subjection, it follows that she cannot receive the sacrament of Order.”60 On the basis of this fundamentally antifeminist dogma, the Catholic Church continued to make pronouncements on issues affecting women. In February 1880 Leo XIII’s encyclical on Christian marriage, Arcanum divinae sapientiae, stressed that Christianity had liberated woman from pagan servitude, yet reaffirmed the patriarchal values of Catholic dogma. Women’s subordination was stated in even stronger terms in Pius XI’s Casti connubii of December 1930, which viewed demands for women’s emancipation as debasing the womanly character and the dignity of motherhood. The Evolution of femminismo cristiano Women’s employment issues such as working hours, night work, maternity leave, and industrial organization were discussed at various national congresses of the Opera. Similarly, the idea of Catholic women’s associations was canvassed from the first meeting of the Opera in 1874.61 By the time of the Rome congress in 1900 it was recognized that women needed to be directly involved in the Church’s missionary work that went beyond devotional practice and traditional charitable works. Monsignor Giacomo Radini Tedeschi even presented a draft constitution for a Catholic women’s organization,62 59 Børresen, Subordination, p. 133. See also Rosemary Radford Ruether,“Misogynism and Virginal Feminism in the Fathers of the Church,” in Religion and Sexism: Images of Women in the Jewish and Christian Traditions, ed. Rosemary Ruether Radford (New York, 1974), pp. 150–83, here p. 159:“Virginity, then, is interpreted as the resurrected life of the gospel whereby woman is freed from this twofold curse on Eve of the sorrows of childbearing and male domination.” 60 Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica trans. Fathers of the English Dominican Province (New York, 1947), digital file prod. Sandra K. Perry (Perrysburg, OH), Supplement, Question 39,Article 1, http://www.ccel.org./a/aquinas/summa/home.html 61 Paola Gaiotti de Biase, Le origini del movimento cattolico (Brescia, 2002), p. 25. 62 Giacomo Radini Tedeschi, Opera dei congressi e comitati cattolici in Italia. Sezione femminile. Documenti (Rome, 1903), p. 25. Born into a noble Piacenza family, Radini Tedeschi (1857–1914) graduated in canon law and taught at seminaries in his hometown until Leo XIII called him to Rome in 1890 to take up a position in the 498 CATHOLIC FEMINISM IN ITALY IN THE EARLY 1900S seeing the theological basis for women’s apostolate in the biblical phrase adiutorium simile sibi (“a helper comparable to him,”Genesis 2:18).63 He argued that the potential of wives; mothers; and, in particular, those unmarried women who had consecrated their lives to God and their fellow human beings should not be underestimated.64 Constitution of a “militant group” was urgently needed, a group with a focus on “popular Christian action or Christian democracy.”65 Subsequently, a women’s section came closer to materializing at the Bologna congress in 1903 with the appointment of a special commission to complete a constitution. The convenor was Don Carlo Grugni, who in Bologna postulated that it was “possible,” “suitable,” “useful,” and “necessary” for women to become involved in apostolic activities outside the home (see figure 1).66 He suggested that the Secretariat of the State. Given the task of unifying the operations of the various Catholic societies in Rome, he succeeded in bringing the Roman organizations—as well as those in Lazio, the Marches, and Umbria—under the umbrella of the Opera dei congressi. He remained in Rome until his appointment as bishop of Bergamo in 1905. Among the young priests whom he gave inspirational guidance was Angelo Roncalli, his secretary and the future Pope John XXIII. See Franco Molinari, “Radini Tedeschi, Giacomo,” in Dizionario storico del movimento cattolico in Italia 1860–1980, II: I protagonisti, ed. Traniello and Campanini, pp. 527–31; Mario Casella, “Mons. Giacomo Radini Tedeschi, L’Opera dei congressi e il movimento cattolico romano (1890–1900),” Rivista di storia della Chiesa in Italia, 24 (1970), 129–79; Angelo Roncalli, In memoria di mons. Giacomo Maria R. T. Vescovo di Bergamo (Bergamo, 1916). 63 Radini Tedeschi, Opera dei congressi, p. 21. See also Molinari, “Radini Tedeschi, Giacomo,” p. 528. 64 Radini Tedeschi, Opera dei congressi, p. 19:“Non ignora alcuno di che sia capace una sposa, una madre, e più ancora una donna che il suo fiore verginale abbia consacrato a Dio ed al prossimo.” 65 Radini Tedeschi, Opera dei congressi, p. 24:“Drappello militante sarebbe l’altro, a costituire il quale piacerebbemi fosse imitata l’organizzazione dell’Opera dei Congressi nella parte maschile: fosse accentuata la azione popolare cristiana o democratica cristiana. . . .” 66 Carlo Grugni,“Organizzazione femminile,” in Atti del XIX Congresso cattolico italiano, Bologna, 10, 11, 12, 13 novembre 1903 (Ferrara, 1903), pp. 25–29, here p. 25:“I Congressi di Roma e di Taranto hanno fatto una sanzione solenne alla tesi generale, che anche per la donna è possibile, è conveniente, è utile, è necessario l’interessarsi e lavorare nella vita cattolica esteriore.” On Grugni, see M. A. Colombo, “Grugni, Carlo,” in Dizionario storico del movimento cattolico in Italia, III/1: Le figure rappresentative, ed. Francesco Traniello and Giorgio Campanini (Casale Monferrato, 1984), pp. 439–40; Lorenzo Bedeschi, “I cappellani del lavoro a Milano nei primi anni del Novecento,” Ricerche di storia sociale e religiosa, 5 (1974), 295–327; Lorenzo Bedeschi,“Prete degli operai,” Vita pastorale, nos. 8–9 (1966), 32–35; Isabella Pera, “Chiesa, donna e società moderna: don Grugni e il femminismo cristiano,” Storia e problemi contemporanei, BY HELENA DAWES 499 Opera needed to draft into its ranks two categories of women in particular, schoolteachers and female laborers, before the socialists tried to organize them.67 Radini Tedeschi envisaged the new organization not to be “a secular, sectarian, and disastrous feminist movement but a movement for Christian women.”68 Therefore, in contrast to secular feminism that had women’s emancipation as its primary motive, the aim of femminismo cristiano was, first and foremost, to promote Catholic doctrines and values in Italian society, along with a commitment to alleviate social problems. Secular feminism and femminismo cristiano, argues Paola Gaiotti de Biase, were founded on entirely different premises: While secular feminism has its historical point of departure in the declaration of rights and in the new structure of production, and its logical basis in the assertion of equality with man, femminismo cristiano originates from a whole new set of apostolic problems posed to the Church by modern society, and is logically founded in the equality of the spiritual vocation of man and woman.69 Struggling to find a suitable term to describe their Christian Democratic women’s movement, Catholics at first referred to it as a movimento femminile cristiano. The term femminismo cristiano, however, became established in the Christian Democratic press around 1900, despite the unpalatable connotations of the term femiXIII, no. 26 (2000), 25–47; and Antonio Rimoldi, “Il movimento cattolico nel milanese (1867–1915).Appunti,” Ricerche storiche sulla Chiesa Ambrosiana,V (1975), 336–408. Nominated a cappellano del lavoro by Ferrari in 1901, Grugni (1877–1910) was appointed to Milan’s Fascio democratico cristiano, founded by Lodovico Necchi in 1899. In 1901 Grugni was instrumental in setting up, together with Coari and her friends, the Fascio femminile. He played a very active and influential role as ecclesiastical assistant to Pensiero e azione. He also contributed to L’azione muliebre, Il domani d’Italia, Cultura del popolo, La battaglia, and Tribuna sociale. In 1908 he was discharged of his ecclesiastical responsibilities because of his alleged modernism. 67 Grugni,“Organizzazione femminile, ” p. 28. 68 Radini Tedeschi, Opera dei congressi, p. 9:“. . . non il movimento femminista mondano, settario, fatale; ma il movimento delle Donne cristiane. . . .” 69 Gaiotti de Biase, Le origini del movimento cattolico femminile, p. 22:“Mentre il femminismo laico ha il suo punto di partenza storico nella dichiarazione dei diritti e nella nuova struttura della produzione e la sua base logica nella affermazione della uguaglianza con l’uomo, il femminismo cristiano parte dal complesso dei nuovi problemi apostolici posti alla Chiesa dalla società moderna e si fonda logicamente sulla uguaglianza della vocazione soprannaturale dell’uomo e della donna.” 500 CATHOLIC FEMINISM IN ITALY IN THE EARLY 1900S nism for its perceived complicity in destroying feminine qualities, family, and matrimony.70 Since domestic responsibilities limited the availability of married women and various restrictions governed the lives of consecrated women religious (nuns and sisters), women in tertiary religious orders seemed the most appropriate category for the new apostolic tasks.71 In contrast to consecrated women religious, tertiaries usually did not live in communities and did not take permanent vows. In 1883 Leo XIII issued Misericors Dei Filius, a new constitution for the Franciscan Third Order, and noted, according to Giancarlo Rocca, the perfect suitability of tertiaries for social work.72 Isabella Pera characterizes tertiary women religious, who, instead of dedicating their lives to their family, took upon themselves the apostolate of social work for the benefit of other women and society at large, as follows: The quintessential female figure in such a context was one who, despite being single and a virgin, enjoyed an almost complete freedom of action, and spent a good part of her life writing, travelling, lecturing, and attending conferences as well as political and union meetings. Unlike secular feminists, her motivation was deep and spiritual, and stemmed from an intense relationship with God, which for many represented the source, the legitimation and the purpose of an alternative, or at least very innovative, [existential] choice. Although not consecrated religious, these women devoted a lot of time to prayers and spiritual activities, functions and exercises.73 70 Il femminismo cristiano, ed. Francesco Maria Cecchini (Rome, 1979), pp. 23–24. As regards consecrated women religious, two opposing trends became discernible in the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth century. While sisters in religious congregations became increasingly active in providing social and welfare services and even began to acquire tertiary qualifications in those fields, there was a tendency on the part of the male clergy not only to confine women religious to their convents and congregations but also to curtail their activities along gender lines. See Giancarlo Rocca, Donne religiose (Rome, 1992), pp. 159–238. 72 Rocca, Donne religiose, p. 166. 73 Isabella Pera,“La questione femminile nel mondo cattolico nel primo Novecento,” Ricerche di storia sociale e religiosa, 30 (January–June 2001), 67–89, here 77: “La tipologia femminile che si affermò in tale contesto fu quindi quella della donna nubile e vergine, che godeva però di una pressoché assoluta libertà di azione e trascorreva gran parte della propria vita a scrivere, viaggiare, fare conferenze, partecipare a convegni e riunioni politiche e/o sindacali; essa, diversamente dalle femministe laiche, possedeva una profonda motivazione spirituale originata da un intenso rapporto con Dio, (pur non essendo religiose consacrate queste donne dedicavano molto tempo alle attività spirituali, preghiere, funzioni, esercizi) che per molte rappresentava l’origine, la legittimazione e la meta di una scelta alternativa o perlomeno assai innovativa.” 71 BY HELENA DAWES 501 As a result of the Rome congress of the Opera in 1900 and the Taranto congress the following year, impetus was given to forming Catholic women’s groups to address social problems. Although social activism was by no means limited to the Milan area, for several reasons this city became the focal point for the emergent Catholic feminist movement. Milan was the most modern city in Italy and most palpably embodied not only the contradictions and perils of modern life but also its more appealing, positive aspects. In this typically capitalist setting the increasing number of women in industrial employment as well as their presence at schools and in advanced study at higher education institutions were notable. Also in evidence were new social problems caused by urbanization, which contrasted starkly with the ostentatious show of wealth and the vibrancy of cultural exchange. The same city also hosted the first secular feminist organization, the Unione femminile and the headquarters of Italian Socialist Party.74 These elements combined to create a challenging environment for the nascent Catholic women’s movement, which had a profound awareness of its social mission. L’azione muliebre The first manifestation of femminismo cristiano in Milan was the birth of the periodical L’azione muliebre in January 1901.75 It was the first Catholic women’s periodical in Italy and—according to its later editor, Elena da Persico (see figure 2)—in Europe.76 In its initial period L’azione muliebre described itself as organo del femminismo cristiano in Italia, but this would soon mutate to the more acceptable organo del movimento femminile cristiano. The journal was created through the initiative of Antonio Bosio da Trobaso, a priest, with the financial backing of signore, a group of upper-class Franciscan tertiary women, who maintained close contact with the paper and contributed articles to it. Subsequently, L’azione muliebre 74 Gaiotti de Biase, Le origini del movimento cattolico femminile, p. 28. Filippo Turati and his partner, Anna Kuliscioff, lived in Milan, where they, among other things, published a periodical, Critica sociale. Beverly Tanner Springer writes:“Kuliscioff and Turati lived in Milan. Her apartment over the Galleria became famous as the salon where the great issues of Italian socialism were formulated and where the next generation of socialist leaders was groomed.” Beverly Tanner Springer, “Anna Kuliscioff: Russian Revolutionist, Italian Feminist,” in European Women on the Left, ed. Jane Slaughter and Robert Kern (Westport, CT, 1981), pp. 13–27, here p. 16. 75 Gaiotti de Biase, Le origini del movimento cattolico femminile, p. 31. 76 Adolfo Passoni, Elena da Persico: una donna nella storia (Rome, 1991), p. 19: “‘L’Azione Muliebre’ è il primo giornale femminista cattolico in Italia, la da Persico nel 1915 dirà che fu il primo in Europa. . . .” 502 CATHOLIC FEMINISM IN ITALY IN THE EARLY 1900S FIGURE 2. At left: da Persico at age twenty. Source: Elena da Persico a vent’anni (Affi, n.d.). Photograph courtesy of Fondazione Elena da Persico, Affi (Verona). At right: Adelaide Coari in later years. Source: Dizionario storico delle donne lombarde 568–1968 (Milan, 1995). Photograph courtesy of Baldini Castoldi Dalai Editore, Milan. also relied on the financial support of the clergy, including Cardinal Andrea Carlo Ferrari, archbishop of Milan (see figure 3).77 The same group of Franciscan signore was also behind the publication of two other women’s periodicals, La donna del popolo and La vita sociale. The latter had only a limited lifespan, whereas La donna del popolo was superseded by La donna and became the organ of the Fascio democratico cristiano femminile in Milan.78 77 From a humble background, Ferrari (1850–1921) was appointed bishop of Guastalla and then of Como before Leo XIII made him a cardinal and transferred him to Milan. A supporter of Christian Democracy, he distanced himself from Murri and adopted a more moderate stance. He was committed to promoting women’s and youth movements, and gave his backing for the founding of the Università Cattolica del Sacro Cuore. Despite his doctrinal adherence to Thomism, Ferrari and his diocese experienced the full brunt of the modernist crisis, and he and his seminary received three apostolic visits. On Ferrari, see Antonio Rimoldi,“Ferrari, Andrea Carlo,” in Dizionario storico del movimento cattolico in Italia, II: I protagonisti, ed. Traniello and Campanini, pp. 196–201; Carlo Castiglioni, “Noterelle sul Card. Ferrari,” Memorie storiche della diocesi di Milano, X (Milan, 1963), 9–20. 78 La donna continued publication until May 22, 1904, when it merged with the other publications of the Fascio milanese into Il domani d’Italia. See Gaiotti de Biase, Le origini del movimento cattolico femminile, p. 56n51.The term fascio means here “a group” or “an association” and has no relationship to fascism. BY HELENA DAWES 503 After only a few months on L’azione muliebre, da Trobaso disappeared without a trace, leaving the editor, Maria Baldo Maggioni, to deplore the vacuum created by his departure.79 A noblewoman from Rovigo (Venetia) and a member of the Society of St.Vincent de Paul, Baldo was the editor of L’azione muliebre for the first 3.5 years of its existence, describing herself as representative of “the extreme right.”80 After meeting Radini Tedeschi at the Rome congress in 1900, Baldo wrote to him about her desire to found a monthly periodical for Catholic women and corresponded with him frequently from 1900 to 1904.81 As a widow with four daughters who ran the paper from a distance, Baldo experienced perennial problems in covering costs, because of extremely low circulation, and in finding eminent contributors.82 As becomes clear from her correspondence with Radini Tedeschi, the management of the editorial office was in serious disarray.83 Of a more far-reaching significance than Baldo’s brief term as editor, however, was the employment of young Adelaide Coari as secretary (see figure 2). A Franciscan tertiary in her adult life, Coari (1881–1966) came from a relatively humble social background. Attendance at state school, where religion was not part of the syl79 Passoni, Elena da Persico, pp. 19–20. References to Adelaide Coari’s personal documents will hereafter be noted as Fondo A. Coari.They are held in the Fondazione per le Scienze Religiose Giovanni XXIII, Bologna. Baldo’s letter to Radini Tedeschi dated December 30, 1903, Fondo A. Coari 9726,:“Ad ogni modo se io rappresenterò tra le sig. [signore] l’estrema destra non sarà male che sia rappresentata anche quella.” In the same letter Baldo complained that young Christian Democrats were not immune to the spirit of insubordination, which made them forget the spirit of the Gospel.The signore, on the other hand, were “stupid” (sciocche),“frivolous” (frivole), and “haughty” (superbe), not caring for women workers but looking down on them. For a brief biographical note on Baldo, see Antonietta Cimini,“Adelaide Coari e il movimento femminile,” Studia Picena, 43 (1975), 132–200, here 135–36n13. 81 Baldo’s letter to Radini Tedeschi dated September 25, 1900, Fondo A. Coari 9727, fols. 2–3; and Cimini,“Adelaide Coari e il movimento femminile,” p. 136n13. 82 Baldo’s letter to Radini Tedeschi dated February 4, 1902, Fondo A. Coari 9727, fol. 14; Baldo’s letter to Radini Tedeschi dated April 16, 1902, fol. 16; Baldo’s letter to Radini Tedeschi dated October 10, 1903, fol. 31. 83 Baldo’s letter to Radini Tedeschi dated October 10, 1903, Fondo A. Coari 9727, fol. 32:“Ma è certo che è una vera derisione che io mi chiami direttrice e se pur voglio spiegare il contegno loro verso di me devo pensare non sappiano più come regolarsi, che siano a mio riguardo imbarazzati e vergognosi perchè stante il disordine che regna negli uffici di redazione non possono fare nei miei riguardi il loro dovere. E il disordine massimo è questo: che dopo tre anni siamo peggio che in principio.” 80 504 CATHOLIC FEMINISM IN ITALY IN THE EARLY 1900S labus, turned her into a fierce advocate for religious instruction at all schools, whereas her interest in social and political issues was awakened by the 1898 bread riots in Milan.After qualifying as a teacher in 1899, Coari obtained a position in a public school in October 1901 and was in charge of a class of 105 students. Her appointment as secretary to the editorial office of L’azione muliebre came a month later.84 Since Baldo lived outside Milan, the management of the editorial office became Coari’s responsibility, which necessitated frequent contact with Radini Tedeschi. She continued to work in the two jobs simultaneously until 1903 when she stopped teaching for approximately two years. In the meantime, she had also become active in the women’s Christian Democratic Fascio that leaned toward Murri in its political orientation.85 Founded in October 1901 by Coari and her friends, the Fascio in Milan was composed of some fifty young and enthusiastic women, mainly schoolteachers. Apart from Coari, the most prominent among them were Adele Colombo,86 Angiolina Dotti, 84 For information on Coari, see Paola Gaiotti de Biase, Le origini del movimento cattolico femminile; Maria Assunta Colombo, “Coari, Adelaide,” in Dizionario storico del movimento cattolico in Italia 1860–1980, II: I protagonisti, ed. Traniello and Campanini, pp. 109–12; “Coari, Adelaide,” in Dizionario biografico delle donne lombarde 568–1968, ed. Rachele Farina (Milan, 1995), pp. 316–19; S. Gazzola, “Coari, Adelaide,” in Dizionario biografico degli italiani (Rome, 1982), XXVI:421–24; Cimini, “Adelaide Coari e il movimento femminile cattolico,” pp. 132–200; Cettina Militello, Il volto femminile della storia, 2nd ed. (Casale Monferrato, 1996), pp. 402–16; Sandra Zampa, “A. G. Roncalli ed Adelaide Coari: una amicizia spirituale,” in Giovanni XXIII: transizione del Papato e della Chiesa, ed. Giuseppe Alberigo (Rome, 1988), pp. 30–50; Sandra Zampa,“Fonti per la storia della chiesa in Italia: il fondo Adelaide Coari,” Cristianesimo nella storia, 4 (1983), 173–207; Sandra Zampa, “Obbedienza e esperienza di fede. Il carteggio Coari-Radini Tedeschi nella crisi del primo Novecento,” Cristianesimo nella storia, 6 (1985), 299–380; Adelaide Coari, Nicolò Tommaseo (Milan, 1909); and Adelaide Coari, Ho cercato la sua scuola (Brescia, 1962). 85 Almanacco-manuale democratico cristiano, III (Rome, 1902), p. 17, portrays Murri’s perception of the Catholic women’s movement as part of an overall Christian Democratic network.The almanac stated that there was an urgent need for a federated, two-tiered women’s organization. On the one hand, it was to consist of a “movement” or a “party” made up of fasci and, on the other, of a network of leghe (trade unions). Both types were envisaged to function alongside similarly structured men’s organizations.The first women’s fascio already existed in Milan; many leghe had women’s sections throughout Italy. 86 A founding member of the Fascio democratico cristiano femminile, textile worker and union organizer Adele Colombo (1881–1904) was among the seven women appointed by Radini Tedeschi to write a constitution for the proposed women’s section of the Opera. She died from tuberculosis at age twenty-three. See “Colombo, Adele,” in Dizionario biografico delle donne lombarde 568–1968, ed. Farina, pp. 330–31. BY HELENA DAWES 505 and Pierina Corbetta.87 For eight years they represented the avantgarde of the Milanese and Italian Catholic women’s movements.88 For these women, the Bologna congress of the Opera in November 1903 was an important occasion, with Grugni presenting the paper “Organizzazione femminile” that spurred subsequent resolutions to found a women’s section. Importantly, the November–December issue of L’azione muliebre contained a circular by Radini Tedeschi nominating a commission, or a Nucleo fisso, to write a constitution for the proposed women’s organization. With Grugni as convenor, the commission included Baldo, Coari, and five other women.89 Radini Tedeschi also was a member of the commission, and an invitation to serve was issued to Don Francesco Mariani, ecclesiastical assistant to L’azione muliebre.90 By July 1904, the commission had completed a draft constitution for diocesan women’s committees that was intended to lay the foundation for a nationwide organization.91 In the meantime, L’azione muliebre was nominated as its official organ in January 1904.92 From the first, writes Gaiotti de Biase, L’azione muliebre was meant to be a serious publication, with fine writing at a high cultural level.93 Liviana Gazzetta comments as well that the underlying objective of the publishers of L’azione muliebre was to produce a quality periodical that could serve as a medium of religious and cultural education and exchange of ideas among Catholic women from the middle and upper classes.94 As various contributions show, this was indeed the periodical’s target audience. Unlike secular feminists, writers for L’azione muliebre did not perceive patriarchal society 87 A founding member of the Fascio democratico cristiano femminile, Pierina Corbetta (1880–1905) was a schoolteacher and wrote articles for La donna (Milan), L’azione muliebre, Il domani d’Italia, and Pensiero e azione. See “Corbetta, Pierina,” in Dizionario biografico delle donne lombarde 568–1968, ed. Farina, pp. 341–42. 88 Gaiotti de Biase, Le origini del movimento cattolico femminile, p. 36. 89 L’azione muliebre, III (November–December 1903), 271–73. Also in Passoni, Elena da Persico, p. 22:“Il ‘nucleo fisso’ era composto di sette donne: due operaie, una Mauri di Monza e Adele Colombo, due maestre, Pierina Corbetta e Adelaide Coari, due borghesi, Maria Baldo Maggioni e una Palumbo di Venezia, una aristocratica, la principessa Gonzaga che presiedeva la Protezione della Giovane di Milano.” 90 Gaiotti de Biase, Le origini del movimento cattolico femminile, pp. 79–80n4. 91 L’azione muliebre, IV (July 1904), 433–34. 92 “Per lo statuto,” L’azione muliebre, IV (February 1904), 120–21, here 120. 93 Gaiotti de Biase, Le origini del movimento cattolico femminile, p. 31. 94 Liviana Gazzetta, Elena da Persico (Verona, 2005), p. 29. 506 CATHOLIC FEMINISM IN ITALY IN THE EARLY 1900S and its unfair laws and practices as their principal enemies but, instead, liberalism for its endorsement of laissez-faire capitalism and, in the same vein, socialism for its potential to overturn social order. This is evident, for example, in an August 1901 article in which the writer Costanza attributed the prevailing economic disequilibrium to capitalist industrial development. This was regarded as a passing ill, however, and as rectifiable without upsetting social order. It would be “barbarous” and “absurd,” on the other hand, to render the populace rebellious by preaching a [socialist] doctrine that had no practical meaning. Remedies could, instead, be sought in Catholic doctrine that, through charity (beneficenza) and forbearance (rassegnazione), offered means that alleviated the effects of poverty. Upward social mobility, too, was reprehensible, since it would create both a moral and a material “gap” between desires and the capacity to realize them.95 As a women’s magazine, L’azione muliebre dispensed advice on household management. For example, its February 1902 article “Buona tenuta della casa” exhorted the female employer to keep a close eye on the household servants. Servants could cheat their employers, the writer commented, by wasting time (perdendo tempo) in attending to their own affairs while they should be working, by colluding (mettendosi d’accordo) with suppliers in overcharging their employers and subsequently sharing the spoils, by gluttony (ghiottoneria) in consuming their employers’ food and drink, by misplaced charity (per carità male intesa) in giving excessively to the poor, by passing on leftovers to their relatives, and by giving to others what was meant for their employers’ exclusive use.96 In a period when voting rights were demanded for women worldwide, L’azione muliebre could not remain neutral on the subject. In a March 1902 article that presumably represented the viewpoint of the Fascio femminile, the writer discussed Catholic women’s campaign for the vote in Belgium, declaring that it would be futile and foolish to express any hopes for Italian women to obtain the vote since Catholic 95 Costanza,“Il socialismo e la morale cristiana,” L’azione muliebre, I (August 1901), 4–12, here 9:“. . . così con questa mania di salire tutti si spostano, tutti sembrano cercare il modo di porre un deficit morale fra quello che desiderano e quello che possono ottenere e mettono poi quasi sempre un deficit materiale fra i bisogni che crea la loro posizione o la loro ambizione, e le risorse sempre relativamente meschine del loro impiego.” 96 “Buona tenuta della casa,” L’azione muliebre, II (February 1902), 134–35. BY HELENA DAWES 507 men were also denied it because of the Roman question.97 Nonetheless, even though circumstances differed, it was legitimate to follow the agitation of Belgian women.98 In principle, the article solidly favored female suffrage, since it would be neither correct nor fair to exclude women when universal suffrage was a matter of “truth” and “justice.”99 Since the editorial policy of L’azione muliebre did not endorse women’s suffrage, the publication of the article inadvertently revealed one of the many fault lines within the editorial staff. Baldo lamented the incident in a letter to Radini Tedeschi: Apropos the March issue I was unpleasantly surprised to see published something that I had not previously read and would not have authorized. It concerns the vote for Belgian women (Women’s news, pp. 213–219). They have wasted six pages of my journal for principles which are not mine at all and to approve things which I do not at all approve.The movement which I direct I intend to be quite different. It is not meant for demanding social rights and equality with men, which, in my view, seems to run against the plans of Providence for the two sexes.100 Inevitably, the passage by the Chamber of Deputies of a bill authorizing women to practice law generated interest in L’azione muliebre. Coari vacillated on the issue and turned to Radini Tedeschi for advice.101 In his response Radini Tedeschi stated that it was a matter so much against Italian custom that it was ridiculous even to discuss it. He was critical of Catholic journals that interpreted feminism in 97 Luigia van des Plas,“Nel Belgio,” L’azione muliebre, II (March 1902), 213–19, here 213.The phrase “come nota la Sig.na Van des Plas”(p. 214) suggests that an editorial staff member of L’azione muliebre wrote part of the article. 98 Van des Plas,“Nel Belgio,” p. 215. 99 Van des Plas,“Nel Belgio,” p. 217. 100 Baldo’s letter to Radini Tedeschi dated March 11, 1902, Fondo A. Coari 9727, fol. 25:“A proposito del numero di marzo ebbi una sgradita sorpresa vedendo pubblicato qualcosa che io non avevo letto prima e a cui non avrei apposto il visto. Si tratta del voto alle donne nel Belgio (Cronaca femm. pag. 213–19). Mi hanno sciupato sei pagine di giornale per dei principi che non sono affatto i miei e per approvare cose che io non approvo affatto. Il movimento che io dirigo lo intendo in ben altro senso, che non sia una rivendicazione di diritti sociali e di pareggiamento agli uomini, che secondo il mio modo di vedere mi sembra urtare contro i disegni della Provvidenza riguardo ai due sessi.” 101 Coari’s letter to Radini Tedeschi, dated March 6, 1904, Fondo A. Coari 3528: “ . . . in questi giorni si dibatte la spinosa questione dell’avvocatura della donna; secondo il mio debole giudizio sarebbe buona cosa che anche noi donne cattoliche si pronunciassimo; ma per conto mio diffido molto del mio, che starebbe volentieri l’opposizione: si desiderebbe di molto conoscere il suo, al quale potremmo uniformarci.” 508 CATHOLIC FEMINISM IN ITALY IN THE EARLY 1900S FIGURE 3. At left: Portrait of Dalmazio Minoretti as archbishop of Genoa. Photo courtesy of Ufficio Beni Culturali Ecclesiastici, Archdiocese of Genoa. At right: Cardinal Andrea Carlo Ferrari, archbishop of Milan. Photograph courtesy of Fondazione Ferrari, Milan. this manner, thereby destroying feminism and achieving universal equality only in their own crazy heads.102 At Coari’s invitation, Dalmazio Minoretti (see figure 3) wrote the April 1904 article “Femminismo e femminismo. Le donne avvocatesse,” which probably reflected the views held by the majority of Catholics at the time.103 In it, Minoretti described the types of activi102 Radini Tedeschi’s letter to Coari dated March 20, 1904, Fondo A. Coari 4673: “Veramente a me pare una cosa tanto fuori dai nostri costumi; tanto lontana dalle qualità della donna; tanto inutile, mentre è una grandissima disgrazia l’aver già un numero infinito di avvocati, asini purtroppo; da ritenere veramente ridicolo l’occuparsi di tale questione. E per me fanno poco buona figura i giornali che di parte nostra intendono il femminismo così. Essi distruggono il femminismo, e fanno l’uguaglianza universale . . . nella loro testa pazza.” 103 D. Minoretti, “Femminismo e femminismo/Le donne avvocatesse,” L’azione muliebre, IV (April 1904), 195–200. Minoretti (1861–1938) was a professor at the theological seminary in Milan. At the first regional Christian Democratic convention in Milan in 1901 he acknowledged the use of strikes as a means in the class struggle.The appointment by Ferrari of cappellani del lavoro was made at Minoretti’s suggestion. Benedict XV nominated Minoretti as bishop of Crema; subsequently Pius XI transferred BY HELENA DAWES 509 ties suitable for Catholic women, saying that although man and woman were equal, the two sexes had different missions and, consequently, there were certain tasks in public life for which men were better suited, just as women were solely equipped for motherhood. There were many women, however, who renounced motherhood to fulfill a maternal function in the larger human community. No one, wrote Minoretti, could object to this kind of charitable feminism practiced by such women. Although Minoretti steered clear of discussing the contentious issue of political feminism and the vote for women, he endorsed educational feminism, recognizing the need for women’s upper secondary schools to enable mothers to function better as educators in their family. As regards professional feminism, being companions but not superior to men, women would not be suited for occupations such as the legal and engineering professions in which they would exercise authority over men. Only if there were no suitably qualified men could women be entrusted with public office, provided it did not interfere with their family life and did not overtax them physically or intellectually. By comparison, the same criteria did not seem to apply to more menial jobs. It was recognized that women’s employment in factories was deplorable, but it could be ameliorated through legislation, workers’ organizations, and the charitable work of good and intelligent ladies. One of the undoubted successes of L’azione muliebre was its participation in the fight against the legalization of divorce. In December 1901, when Giuseppe Zanardelli’s divorce bill was before Parliament, L’azione muliebre launched the campaign Le Donne Italiane contro il Divorzio to collect signatures from women.104 Later, the Opera initiated a drive for signatures but L’azione muliebre, to retain the “special character” of its appeal, continued to collect signatures and presented them with the signatures gathered by the Opera to Parliament.105 Altogether 3.5 million signatures were obtained in nationwide appeals against the proposed legislation.106 him to the archbishopric of Genoa and made him a cardinal in 1929. For information on Minoretti, see Rimoldi,“Il movimento cattolico nel Milanese (1867–1915).Appunti,” pp. 336–408; Bedeschi,“Prete degli operai,” p. 32. 104 “Le donne italiane contro il divorzio,” L’azione muliebre, I (December 1901), 12–13. 105 “La sottoscrizione-protesta delle donne italiane contro il divorzio,” L’azione muliebre, II (January 1902), 41–44, here 44. 106 Clark, Modern Italy 1871–1995, p. 164. 510 CATHOLIC FEMINISM IN ITALY IN THE EARLY 1900S L’azione muliebre published articles from a variety of sources. Among its contributors was, from the first issue, the Veronese countess Elena da Persico (1869–1948) who would occupy the editorial post from 1904 to 1948. Because of her family’s straitened circumstances, da Persico had to earn a living, but, instead of teaching for which she was qualified, she turned to writing for predominantly religious and educational purposes. In L’azione muliebre she published short stories and translations under the pseudonym Carola da Sabbioneta and was responsible for two regular columns, “Convenienze sociali” (Good Manners) and “Buona tenuta della casa” (Good Housekeeping).107 Similar to the situation in the Opera, fundamental differences existed between the middle- and upper-class conservatives and progressive Christian Democrats within L’azione muliebre. The signore and the deputy ecclesiastical assistant, Francesco Mariani, looked askance at Coari’s links with the left-leaning Fascio femminile. Baldo, the editor, also had misgivings about Coari’s relationship with the Fascio femminile, but was fond of the young secretary.108 In her letter to Coari dated December 30, 1903, Baldo was scathing about her ecclesiastical assistants, possibly targeting Mariani, whom she saw as interfering unnecessarily with editorial policy;109 in contrast, she had previously characterized the chief assistant, Filippo de Giorgi, as “a serious and frank man.”110 Radini Tedeschi, for his part, noted that Baldo’s conservative views showed little evidence of “sane Christian Democracy” and were redolent of the fears held by the upper classes in the Veneto region.111 Coari, on the other hand, had concerns about 107 For information on da Persico, see Dora Castenetto, Elena da Persico (1869–1948), 2nd ed. (Milan, 2006); Gazzetta, Elena da Persico; Liviana Gazzetta,“Tra antifemminismo e antimodernismo: Elena da Persico e la nascita dell’Unione fra le Donne Cattoliche d’Italia,” in Donne in-fedeli, ed.Anna Maria Calapaj Burlini and Saveria Chemotti (Padova, 2005), pp. 217–38; Domenico Mondrone,“Una donna laica moderna. Elena da Persico,” Civiltà cattolica, 136 (1985), 354–65; Passoni, Elena da Persico. 108 Baldo writes to Coari on December 30, 1903:“E il Fascio democratico mi piace altrettanto poco.” Cimini,“Adelaide Coari e il movimento femminile,” p. 175. 109 Cimini,“Adelaide Coari e il movimento femminile,” p. 175:“Inoltre i nostri assistenti non fanno da assistenti (e forse non sono adatti neanche per questo), ma (parlo del giornale) da direttori. Esorbitano dal loro ufficio e fanno male.” 110 Baldo’s letter to Radini Tedeschi, dated July 7, 1902, Fondo A. Coari 9725:“I miei rapporti col De-G. sono ottimi per vero dire; egli è un uomo serio e franco. . . .” 111 Radini Tedeschi’s letter to Baldo, dated January 22, 1904, Fondo A. Coari 9739:“Ieri si è letto il suo lavoro; ed io vi ho dovuto notare sinceramente un po’ di conservatorismo, se mi permette la parola, e poco di sana democrazia cristiana. Esso risente del BY HELENA DAWES 511 the unwillingness of the signore to support grassroots Christian Democracy; their outdated approach to social issues; and their uncomprehending disdain for the advanced, frightening, and wellfunded “sectarian” feminist movement in Milan that was campaigning for the legalization of divorce: The signore, who cannot know all the needs of female factory workers, are unwilling to recognize and support a grassroots movement. They want everything to start with them, but clumsily with recourse to modern ideas they achieve nothing.And we in Milan have a sectarian movement which is frightening, a movement which has already established branches in Rome and Turin, a movement which is composed of intelligent women who offer thousands of lire to sustain the campaign for divorce and their journal. Our signore do not take it into account[;] they despise it instead of trying to gain ground with the same methods[,] given that they can be adopted in order to be used for good.112 The dissonances within the journal were brought into the open when de Giorgi was appointed as a priest to a parish outside Milan in November 1903, thereby opening the position of chief ecclesiastical assistant.With the backing of the signore and da Persico, Mariani was appointed to the position by Ferrari in April 1904 against the wishes of Baldo, Coari, and Radini Tedeschi.113 Another contentious issue related to a new set of internal regulations that would define duties and responsibilities within L’azione muliebre. Da Persico, reflecting the misgivings of the signore, produced a critical commentary on Coari’s and Baldo’s regulations that expressed concern about the concentration of power in the hands of Veneto e forse del carattere e dei timori eccessivi della Regione. Esso accentua un po’ troppo lo spirito di insubordinazione e forse dimentica la lunga e giuridica oppressione onde le classi superiori gravano sulle inferiori contro l’ordine cristiano sociale.” 112 Coari’s letter to Radini Tedeschi, dated February 12, 1904, Fondo A. Coari 9735: “Le signore, che non possono conoscere tutti i bisogni delle operaie, non vogliono riconoscere ed appoggiare quel movimento che viene dal basso; intendono che tutto s’inizi da loro, ma sgraziatamente con concetti moderni nulla intraprendono. E noi a Milano abbiamo un movimento settario che spaventa, movimento che à già esteso le sue filiali a Roma e a Torino, movimento a cui fanno capo donne d’intelligenza, donne che per sostenere la campagna per il divorzio e il loro giornale offrono delle migliaia di lire. Le nostre signore non lo prendono in considerazione, lo disprezzano invece di veder di conquistare terreno con gli stessi mezzi, posto che questi si possano adottare per la diffusione di bene.” The “sectarian” movement in question is the Unione femminile. 113 Passoni, Elena da Persico, p. 31. 512 CATHOLIC FEMINISM IN ITALY IN THE EARLY 1900S the editor and the secretary.114 Despite Mariani’s promise to Radini Tedeschi to wait for the latter’s judgment, Mariani hurried to present the drafts of Coari and Baldo, as well as his own, to the archbishop, who ruled in his favor.115 As a result, Baldo felt compelled to resign, and Coari did not receive a position in the reconstituted editorial office. In just a matter of weeks da Persico was appointed as the new editor and would later proudly maintain that henceforth L’azione muliebre never “took a false step.”116 In the wider Catholic world, the death of Pope Leo XIII and the election in August 1903 of Giuseppe Sarto as the new pope under the name of Pius X ushered in a new era. Pius X’s decision to disband the Opera in July 1904 was triggered by the circulation within the Opera of new directives by Count Giovanni Grosoli, president of the General Committee. The document, drafted by Radini Tedeschi and the journalist and future parliamentarian Filippo Meda,117 injudiciously stressed not only the Christian Democratic nature of the Opera’s program but also alluded to the still open Roman question by saying that “in national consciousness the work of the living should not be hampered by dead issues.”118 When L’osservatore cattolico, the semi-official organ of the Vatican, refused to publish the circular, Grosoli, Radini Tedeschi, and Meda resigned from the 114 Elena da Persico, “Osservazioni sul regolamento” June 4, 1904, Fondo A. Coari 1108, fol. 1: “Esso propone una Redazione ed un’Amministrazione che ànno solo una Cassa di maneggio e di potere nel giornale, mentre in realtà tutto il potere e tutto il maneggio sono accentrati nella Direttrice e nella Segretaria. Queste divengono sotto tutti i rapporti materiali e morali le vere padrone del giornale, il resto serve solo di contorno per accontentare chi non amasse questo governo assoluto.” 115 Mariani’s note to Baldo, Fondo A. Coari 1111, fol. 4: “Eg Sig Baldo, addolorato per l’impressione penosa ricevuta prima dal regolamento proposto dalla Sig Coari e poi dalla Sig Baldo, ò voluto rifletterci sopra con calma, domandare consiglio e presentare ambedue i regolamenti all’Eminentiss che mi fece chiamare. Dopo d’averli letti attentamente, à approvato queste mie osservazioni dicendomi espressamente che non può accettare né l’uno né l’altro regolamento, che aderisce a quello proposto da me, dicendomi che ogni tentativo mosso per ostacolare l’opera dell’ass. l’avrebbe considerato come uno sfregio . . . Certo che come figlia devota alla S Chiesa ella vorrà fedelmente aderire al desiderio di Sua Eminenza e accettare il regolamento qui incluso.” 116 Gazzetta, Elena da Persico, p. 32:“. . . non mise mai il piede in fallo.” 117 Alessandro Albertazzi,“Grosoli Pironi, Giovanni,” in Dizionario storico del movimento cattolico in Italia 1860–1980, II: I protagonisti, ed. Traniello and Campanini, pp. 275–80, here p. 277. 118 De Rosa, Il movimento cattolico in Italia, p. 206:“. . . non venga intralciata l’opera dei viventi da questioni morte nella coscienza nazionale.” BY HELENA DAWES 513 Opera.119 In 1905 the Catholic lay movement was reconstituted as separate organizations more directly under the control of diocesan bishops—the Unione economico-sociale, the Unione popolare, and the Unione elettorale cattolica. With the disbandment of the Opera, the establishment of a women’s organization, for which the Nucleo fisso had completed a constitution, was no longer feasible. On the contrary, the September issue of L’azione muliebre contained a circular by Cardinal Rafael Merry del Val, Pius X’s secretary of state, officially announcing the disbandment of the Opera with the following ominous message for the burgeoning women’s movement:“. . . one should never yield the floor to ladies, however respectable and pious. If, on occasion, bishops believe it appropriate to permit a meeting of ladies only, they are to speak under the chairmanship and supervision of serious ecclesiastical persons.”120 Pensiero e azione Given the prevailing political climate that featured ambivalent attitudes of many Catholics toward Christian Democracy and women’s movements in particular, it was remarkable that Radini Tedeschi should be willing to sponsor a new Christian Democratic bimonthly women’s periodical, Pensiero e azione. However, as Isabella Pera remarks, the entire clergy did not share Pius X’s views on women, so that in Lombardy, for example, many priests and bishops supported and promoted women’s initiatives because of pressing social problems.121 In June 1904 Coari wrote to Radini Tedeschi, saying that a journal for middle-class women was essential and that she and her friends had in mind a small monthly periodical that would commence on the 119 De Rosa, Il movimento cattolico in Italia, p. 207. See also Alfredo Canavero, “Meda, Filippo,” in Dizionario storico del movimento cattolico in Italia, II: I protagonisti, ed.Traniello e Campanini, pp. 354–63, here p. 356. 120 “Per l’Azione cattolica in Italia,” L’azione muliebre, IV (September 1904), 513–17, here 515:“. . . non si conceda mai la parola alle signore, benchè rispettabili e pie. Se alcuna volta i vescovi crederanno opportuno di permettere un’adunanza di sole signore, queste parleranno sotto la presidenza e la sorveglianza di gravi persone ecclesiastiche.” 121 Pera, “La questione femminile nel mondo cattolico nel primo Novecento,” pp. 73–74. 514 CATHOLIC FEMINISM IN ITALY IN THE EARLY 1900S Feast of the Immaculate Conception.122 With Coari as editor and Grugni as ecclesiastical assistant, the inaugural issue duly came out in December 1904 and, as shown by the felicitations, received the endorsement of two other influential Catholics, Ferrari and Toniolo. Mouthpiece of the Fascio femminile Milanese, Pensiero e azione, carrying the subtitle Rivista femminile italiana, declared in the first issue that its aim was to develop in women an “awareness of their duties and their rights in society,”“prudently and duly subject to superior authority.” It would tackle issues of a religious, social, and civil nature, in particular with regard to proletarian women. Exponents of femminismo cristiano saw in education a means of preparing the ground for the Catholic reconquest of society. At the grassroots level this involved conducting literacy classes for women employed in factories and agricultural work. Moreover, to sensitize female laborers to political problems, Pensiero e azione added a special supplement, Le pagine dell’operaia, to every issue after January 1906. Above any form of academic learning or occupational training, or agitation to awaken a political awareness, however, the most vital task of education was perceived to be the inculcation of Catholic values in women. The article “La questione fondamentale” argues that the woman question had emerged almost spontaneously when, in the wake of industrialization, women were confronted with crowded urban living quarters without proper sanitation as well as a lack of moral guidance and adequate compensation for their work. Despite these points—and here the writer seems to take on socialist feminists—it would be as one-sided as it would be unjust to make the woman question a purely economic issue.123 A dispassionate search for a solution to economic problems would, almost “brutally,” force one to face another, even graver, problem that stemmed from the inadequacy of the education of the “feminine soul” (anima femminile). 122 Coari’s letter to Radini Tedeschi dated June 19, 1904, Fondo A. Coari 3536, fol. 3. Kuliscioff wrote in “Il sentimentalismo nella questione femminile,” Critica sociale, no. 9 (1892):“La questione della donna non è dunque una questione di etica né di questa o quella forma matrimoniale, ma è puramente una questione economica; è questa che la spinge nel campo della produzione, delle professioni e della politica ed è questa che la emanciperà anche nei suoi rapporti intimi coll’altro sesso.” Reprinted in Filippo Turati and Anna Kuliscioff, Carteggio II: 1900–1909, coll.Alessandro Schiavi, ed. Franco Pedone (Turin, 1977), 1:203–08, here p. 207. 123 BY HELENA DAWES 515 Indeed, to address this very aspect of the woman question, a new phalanx of militant women was already emerging.124 Although initially there was little difference in the intransigence of L’azione muliebre and Pensiero e azione and their desire to improve the condition of working-class women, there were certain issues on which their views diverged. One of the most crucial was the question of patronatos, or charitable institutions.The signore associated with L’azione muliebre saw the scope of their welfare activities as extending to active involvement in labor relations, whereas Pensiero e azione was adamant that workers and their trade unions should bear direct responsibility for negotiating wages and working conditions. Differences in approach are understandable, as the women involved in Pensiero e azione, in contrast to the wealthy signore, had workingclass and lower-middle-class origins and often belonged to a “professional union” as teachers (maestre), office workers (impiegate), and even factory workers (operaie). Since their livelihood was their own responsibility, they were particularly sensitive to industrial issues and could therefore empathize with female laborers. They also believed that working-class women could and should take responsibility for their own economic affairs. In May 1905 Pensiero e azione debated the issue of patronato, spurred by the founding of the Milan branch of the Patronato per la protezione della giovane operaia, which was a nationwide organization headquartered in Turin under the patronage of Queen Elena of Italy. Grugni thought it was “absurd” that this charitable institution should include trade union activities in its constitution. Arguably signore, as members of the ruling class, would have a potential conflict of interest in representing working-class women. Since industrial disputes could not always be resolved by arbitration, Grugni wondered what signore would do in the case of a strike. Even though a patronato could redress class differences, he maintained, it could not, by its very nature, be the base of a strong labor organization.125 Although Grugni praised the admirable work of eminent women and various charitable organizations, he stressed that the scope of such organizations should be confined to areas such as charity, moral guardianship, popular education, services for the disabled, and the 124 “La questione fondamentale,” Pensiero e azione, III (November 5, 1907), 2–3, here 3. 125 “Lavoro. Patronato femminile,” Pensiero e azione, I (February 20, 1905), 8–9. 516 CATHOLIC FEMINISM IN ITALY IN THE EARLY 1900S organization of the managerial class. By contrast, labor organizations, particularly those of women, focused on promoting the interests of workers and thus “class struggle” was necessary at times to gain fundamental rights. In Grugni’s view, the so-called mixed professional associations and corporations were a historical anachronism, as was demonstrated by a group of seamstresses in Rome who had switched their allegiance from a Catholic patronato to a socialist camera del lavoro (workers’ association) to obtain appropriate representation of their claims.126 The widely debated issue of female suffrage also stirred sentiments in the Catholic community.Among conservative Catholic women, the pope’s views on the issue fashioned the approach to women’s suffrage. In spring 1906 the German writer Camilla Theimer and da Persico were granted papal audiences in which the matter was discussed. Pius X told Theimer that he could approve of women’s welfare and charitable activities, since they were an extension of the concept of motherhood, but he could not agree to the notion of female voters and deputies. The same sentiments were conveyed during his audience with da Persico, who wrote afterward: He confirmed to me what a German woman of letters had published widely a month earlier that He approved of a cultured woman, one who knew Latin, even a woman doctor, but not a female voter in our present conditions.127 With keen interest, Pensiero e azione followed and participated in the debate on women’s suffrage, stating in one article that the notion of universal suffrage applying exclusively to men ran counter to the most elementary principles of family-based social organization and was simply a carryover from the past.128 The paper sometimes quoted views expressed in other journals in favor of women’s suffrage such as Filippo Crispolti’s in Cittadino di Brescia. Although the principle of integramento, the complementary nature of the two genders, recognized that men and women had been assigned different social functions, it nevertheless 126 “Lavoro. Patronato femminile,” Pensiero e azione, I (March 4, 1905), 78. “Venti minuti ai piedi del S. Padre,” L’azione muliebre, VI (June 1906), 321–25, here 323:“Egli mi confermò ciò che già una letterata tedesca pubblicò un mese fa su tutti i giornali, che Egli approva cioè la donna colta, quella che sa di latino, perfino la dottoressa, non però la donna elettrice, nelle nostre condizioni attuali.” 128 “Il suffragio universale,” Pensiero e azione, I (November 20, 1905), 2–3, here 2. 127 BY HELENA DAWES 517 required, argued Crispolti, that both sexes had to be involved for every function to be carried out perfectly.129 The same principle also applied to electoral matters. Further, Crispolti argued that giving the vote to the family as a whole, as had been suggested, rather than to individuals, would not take into account single men without a family and would discriminate against single women performing “sacred” social functions.130 In its inaugural issue Pensiero e azione stated that it wanted to create the first diocesan women’s group to bring together all women’s activities of a socioeconomic character.131 This meant, in effect, continuing the work of the Nucleo fisso that had aimed for a nationwide Catholic women’s organization. In April 1905 the Circolo femminile, a supporter group of Pensiero e azione, organized a convention that was attended by delegates from different social backgrounds, including signore, and representing approximately 20,000 women, including agricultural laborers (campagnole), factory workers (operaie), and professional women (professioniste). The meeting resulted in the establishment of a new women’s organization, the Federazione femminile, that, although based in Milan, welcomed both individual and group members from inside and outside the diocese.132 The capacity of the Federazione femminile to organize, jointly with its driving force, Pensiero e azione, a national women’s congress in April 1907 demonstrated its vitality and its aspirations to become a national body.This was an amazing achievement by any standard.With the support of the archbishop of Milan, the conference took place at the Villa Reale, made available by King Victor Emmanuel III; Count Gori presented the greetings of the mayor and the citizens of Milan. Countess Sabina Parravicino di Revel, president of the Federazione lombarda delle opere di attività femminile, chaired the conference, which was attended by 450 registrants and included a number of nonCatholic individuals and organizations. The attendees included two important conservative Catholic women, da Persico and Princess Maria Cristina Giustiniani Bandini, future leader of the Unione fra le donne cattoliche d’Italia, as well as the Catholic journalist and writer Antonietta Giacomelli and the respected poet and feminist Luisa 129 “Il voto alla donna,” Pensiero e azione, I (August 21, 1905), 5–7, here 5. “Il voto alla donna,” 5–6. 131 “La pagina del Fascio. Studio—Azione—Propaganda,” Pensiero e azione, I (December 8, 1904), 2. 132 “Convegno femminile,” Pensiero e azione, I (April 5, 1905), 4–7. 130 518 CATHOLIC FEMINISM IN ITALY IN THE EARLY 1900S Anzoletti, who was keynote speaker. The presence of representatives from the Unione femminile nazionale, especially Ersilia Majno and Linda Malnati, illustrated the impact on femminismo cristiano of the very feminist organization that Coari had found so frightening three years earlier.133 Registrations also had come from the modernist writer Antonio Fogazzaro, the Catholic feminist journalist Elisa Salerno, and Murri’s Lega democratica nazionale. The conference agenda showed how far, in a short span of time, femminismo cristiano had moved to approximate the avant-garde positions of contemporary secular feminists; at the same time, its strident intransigence vis-à-vis secular institutions had mellowed. In the Programma minimo femminista, Coari grouped her claims into four major categories, including the fields of employment, education, social activity, and the law: I. In the field of employment: (a) Equal pay for equal work; (b) Freedom for women to enter the occupations best suited to their aptitudes; (c) The right of women to defend and safeguard their interests in all those institutions of a social nature that protect and organize the duties and the rights of workers. II. In the field of education: (a) A more practical orientation for women’s schools; and the introduction of special schools for women in farming and those working in factories; (b) The opportunity for mothers to influence more directly the general running of public schools. III. In the field of social activity: (a) Recognition of the right of women to be involved with public institutions, especially those of an educational and a charitable nature. IV. In the legislative field: (a) Freedom for married women to administer their own property; (b) Legalization of paternity investigation; (c) Extension of the legal liability of the seducer until the seduced woman has reached the age of twenty-one; (d) The creation of salaried female inspectors to enforce the labor law regarding women and children; 133 See p. 511. BY HELENA DAWES 519 (e) Women’s right to vote at local elections.134 Many attendees, including Coari, favored demanding women’s suffrage at national elections, but, recognizing that such a move would be unachievable, thought it prudent to remain with the “minimum” demand for the vote at local elections. Before Coari presented her log of claims, she professed her Catholic faith, outlined her core beliefs, highlighed the need for women to take part in the general renewal of society, and expressed the hope of finding common ground with women from other religions. She stressed women’s maternal qualities, the principle of integramento, and aversion to any kind of gender struggle.The formation of woman’s personality—distinct from that of man’s but equal to it— was to be achieved through spontaneous development of her unsullied, virginal energies and based on the principle of freedom. Profound harmony between the spirit of freedom (libertà) and love (amore) in its noblest sense would lead not to a gender struggle, but to an intelligent, loving cooperation.135 134 Atti del Convegno femminile, Milano 25–26–27–28 aprile 1907 (Milan, 1907), pp. 36–38: I. Nel campo del lavoro: a) Uguale mercede per uguale lavoro; b) Libertà alla donna di accedere là dove è chiamata dalle sue attitudini; c) Diritto di difendere e tutelare i propri interessi in tutte quelle istituzioni di carattere sociale, che tutelano e ordinano i doveri e i diritti dei lavoratori. II. Nel campo della scuola: a) Un indirizzo più pratico alle scuole femminili; e l’inizio di scuole speciali per le contadine e le operaie; b) Dare la possibilità alla madre di influire più direttamente sull’andamento generale delle pubbliche scuole. III. Nel campo sociale: a) Riconoscere di diritto alla donna l’interessamento per tutte le istituzioni pubbliche di carattere specialmente educativo o benefico. IV. Nel campo legislativo rivendicare: a) Libertà di amministrazione dei beni appartenenti alla donna maritata; b) Ricerca della paternità; c) Estendere la responsabilità penale del seduttore finchè la sedotta non abbia raggiunti i 21 anni; d) Istituzione d’ispettrici stipendiate per l’osservanza della legge sul lavoro delle donne e dei fanciulli; e) Voto amministrativo. 135 Atti del Convegno femminile, Milano 25–26–27–28 aprile 1907, p. 34: “Dalla profonda armonia dello spirito di libertà con l’amore inteso nel più nobile significato 520 CATHOLIC FEMINISM IN ITALY IN THE EARLY 1900S Since contributions by delegates from other faiths were welcome, the conference was not a purely Catholic affair.Throughout, goodwill was evident between organizers and secular feminists, and, as voting proved, Coari’s program found broad acceptance. As the conference proceeded, however, the division within Catholic ranks, exemplified by those associated with L’azione muliebre and Pensiero e azione, became evident. Unchanged in its strident intransigence and in its avowed adherence to Merry del Val’s circular of 1904, L’azione muliebre had counseled its readers to bypass the conference, because the absence of an ecclesiastical assistant meant that there could be no guarantee of a conference conducted in the Catholic spirit.136 Da Persico considered the phrase “to give women freedom to choose their occupation” too subjective, arguing that rather than action being guided by personal aptitude, sound morals suggested that aptitude should conform to an external law and established principles.137 Expressing dissatisfaction with the lack of explanation of Coari’s use of the terms freedom and love and of proper delineation of the conference principles, da Persico declared that henceforth she would participate neither in the discussions nor the voting.138 The major showdown came with Maria Nedrato’s paper,“Stampa femminile.” Nedrato stated that it would be desirable to educate women in Italy, so that they, too, would become more dominant in journalism, like in the United States, and play a larger role in editorial offices, thus improving the quality of journalism. After criticizing the superficiality of many women’s publications, Nedrato deemed Rivista delle signorine, Pensiero e azione, L’azione muliebre, and Vita femminile as highquality women’s periodicals, then named Vita femminile and Pensiero e azione as those best adapted to the requirements of the Catholic women’s movement. Interpreting, mistakenly, Nedrato’s criticism of women’s periodicals as applying to L’azione muliebre, da Persico defended her paper’s credentials and demanded that she be permitted to make her case logically in conformity with her princiscaturisce viva e feconda non già la lotta di sesso per la lotta di sesso; ma l’intelligente, amorosa cooperazione, per mantenere e rivendicare la quale bisogna tenersi ben viva nell’anima la coscienza della propria dignità.” 136 “Il convegno femminile d’Aprile,” L’azione muliebre,VII (March 1907), 173. 137 Atti del Convegno femminile, Milano 25–26–27–28 aprile 1907, p. 41:“’Libertà alla donna di accedere là dove è chiamata dalle sue attitudini’ è una frase troppo soggettiva, perchè secondo la sana morale ciò che deve guidare l’azione non è l’attitudine individuale, ma quest’attitudine deve conformarsi ad una legge esterna e a dei principii stabiliti.” 138 Atti del Convegno femminile, Milano 25–26–27–28 aprile 1907, p. 73. BY HELENA DAWES 521 ples. These implied, above all, total compliance with the announcements of the pope; Pius X had, in his latest address to new cardinals, labeled as rebels those Catholics who deviously disseminated monstrous errors and who, by speaking, writing, and preaching charity without faith, opened the road to eternal ruin for everyone.139 In the next issue of Pensiero e azione, on May 11, Grugni triumphantly asserted that the conference had been a success. On the whole, it had received favorable press coverage, the caliber of the delegates themselves had been impressive, and the conference had marked the end of men’s domination over feminist debate. In approaching their new mission, women had provided evidence of many positive feminine qualities, and full agreement had been reached on the immediacy and practicability of the minimum feminist program.140 A week later, Pensiero e azione could proudly announce that not only had Anzoletti decided to join the Federazione femminile141 but also that the management of the Como diocese, noting the lack of local women’s organizations in the diocese, had decided to promote the establishment of sections of the Federazione femminile.142 Commenting on Ferrari’s approval of the conference, Radini Tedeschi expressed his own satisfaction with it in a letter dated May 27, in which he enclosed a small monetary gift toward its costs.143 Shortly afterward, however, Ferrari had to defend the Federazione femminile and the need for it at a monthly meeting of clerics.144 Among the harshest critics of the conference were the periodicals 139 Atti del Convegno femminile, Milano 25–26–27–28 aprile 1907, p. 106:“ Ora i cattolici per essere logicamente coerenti ai loro principii devono agire in tutto secondo la direzione che loro viene dal Capo della Chiesa e il Papa proprio ultimamente all’indirizzo dei nuovi Cardinali chiamava ribelli ‘quei cattolici che professano e diffondono sotto forme subdole gli errori mostruosi . . . Sull’adattamento ai tempi in tutto nel parlare, nello scrivere e nel predicare una carità senza fede che apre a tutti la via all’eterna rovina.’” 140 C. G.,“Il trionfo,” Pensiero e azione, III (May 11, 1907), 6. 141 “Federazione femminile,” Pensiero e azione, III (May 18, 1907), 5–6, here 5. 142 “Federazione femminile,” p. 5. 143 Radini Tedeschi’s letter to the Presidenza del Convegno femminile dated May 27, 1907, Fondo A. Coari 3485. 144 “Conclusioni di polemiche,” Pensiero e azione, III (June 25, 1907), 2:“Autorizzate dall’Eminentissimo Cardinale Arcivescovo, facciamo noto a chi s’è interessato delle polemiche nostre, che Sua Eminenza ha difeso, nell’adunanza mensile del Clero, il nostro lavoro, affermandone la bontà e la necessità.” 522 CATHOLIC FEMINISM IN ITALY IN THE EARLY 1900S L’unità cattolica and Il Berico. S.A. Cavallanti, writing in L’unità cattolica, labeled the conference “modernist” even before it was convened145 and afterward found that it was a second,“worsened” edition of the 1903 Bologna congress of the Opera.Whereas Murri had dominated in Bologna, the Milan congress was a triumph for Majno: Because in Bologna the most honoured guest, indeed the king of the party was Romolo Murri; but he, though a rotten modernist even then, was nevertheless a Catholic, a priest, while in Milan the socialist Maino completely carried the day.146 Il Berico devoted two articles to the conference, the first on March 9 by Cavallanti before the conference had taken place and the second by “an observer” on May 4 after it.147 According to Antonietta Cimini, conservative journals such as L’unità cattolica and La difesa tended to identify feminism with modernism and to regard Pensiero e azione as a nest of heretics.148 Da Persico produced her version of the conference in a supplement to L’azione muliebre, reiterating her disapproval of the absence of an ecclesiastical assistant and criticizing the religious “neutrality” of the conference.149 Leone Donaldoni who, like Cavallanti, was not in attendance, wrote a pamphlet disparaging the conference and Pensiero e azione.150 A year later, Pensiero e azione was targeted for further criticism because of Coari’s attendance at the First National Congress of Italian 145 S.A. Cavallanti,“Modernismo femminile: i centri di propaganda,” L’unità cattolica, XLV (March 8, 1907), 1 and “Modernismo femminile: il prossimo convegno,” L’unità cattolica, XLV (March 9, 1907), 1. 146 S. A. Cavallanti, “A Milano: convegno modernista,” L’unità cattolica, XLV (May 4, 1907), 1:“Poichè a Bologna fu festeggiato, festeggiatissimo, anzi, il re della festa, Romolo Murri; ma esso, benchè modernista bacato fin d’allora, era però un cattolico, un sacerdote, mentre a Milano trionfò pienamente la Maino socialista.” 147 S.A. Cavallanti,“Moderniste a convegno,” Il Berico March 9, 1907, 2–3, here 2.The writer had dark forebodings about the outcome of the conference:“La donna uscirà dal Convegno eletta ed elettrice, avvocatessa e professoressa nell’arte medica e nella politica.”“Un osservatore” writes in “Modernismo su tutta la linea,” Il Berico (May 4, 1907), 1:“Si entrò coll’impronta cattolica, si uscì col sorriso a tutti i nemici della religione . . . Tutto il programma femminista il più avariato ed inopportuno, che anzi non era nemmeno all’ordine del giorno, a Milano venne approvato.” 148 Cimini,“Adelaide Coari e il movimento femminile cattolico,” p. 143. 149 “I nostri commenti,” L’azione muliebre, suppl. (April 13–21, 1907), 13–21, here 13–14. 150 Leone Donaldoni, Femminismo cristiano? Risposta documentata del Dott. Leone Donaldoni a proposito del Convegno femminile tenutosi in Milano nei giorni 22–28 aprile 1907 (Milan, 1907). BY HELENA DAWES 523 Women, which convened in Rome in late April under the auspices of the Consiglio nazionale delle donne italiane. With numerous renowned speakers, representation from more than ninety women’s organizations, registrations from more than 1200 delegates, and the opening ceremony attended by Queen Elena, it was an epoch-making occasion. Asked whether Catholic women should attend the conference, Pius X advised that, as women had escaped from the Milan conference “by the skin of their teeth,” it would be prudent if they did not attend, but he would not forbid their attendance.151 Coari had been invited to present a paper on unemployment in the morning session of April 29, which was chaired by Linda Malnati from the Unione femminile.This would have been innocuous had not the congress the previous day carried Malnati’s “surprise” motion calling for total religious neutrality at primary schools and objective study of religions at secondary schools.152 It was accepted by “unanimous” vote, whereas an alternative motion formulated by Coari, Maria Roesler Franz, and Elisabetta Venturelli was rejected.153 During the afternoon of the following day the convenor, Countess Gabriella Spalletti Rasponi, read out a letter she had sent to newspapers justifying her decision to support Malnati’s motion; she stated that, even though she was deeply religious and convinced of the need for religious instruction to children, she nonetheless thought that enormous harm could be done if religion was taught improperly or was imparted by atheist teachers.154 There were claims that Catholic 151 Bandini interviewed the pope. Maria Cristina Giustiniani Bandini, Il beato Pio X e l’associazione cattolica femminile (n.p., 1951), p. 8:“Ne siete uscite dal rotto della cuffia: se volete un consiglio vi dirò: è prudente che non andiate, peraltro non lo proibisco.” 152 Atti del I Congresso nazionale delle donne italiane, Roma, 24–30 aprile 1908 (Rome, 1912), p. 643: “Il Congresso delle donne italiane, rispettoso di tutte le convinzioni politiche e religiose degli adulti, ma rispettoso anche della libertà di conscienza del fanciullo perchè nell’avvenire possa meglio orientarsi ai liberi principi individuali nella sua condotta morale, fa voti: 1) che la scuola elementare sia assolutamente aconfessionale; 2) che nelle scuole secondarie superiori sia introdotto lo studio interamente obbiettivo delle religioni in relazione alle loro finalità e alle loro conseguenze sociali.” 153 Atti del I Congresso nazionale:“Il Congresso delle donne italiane, affermato che il principio religioso nella educazione individuale e sociale è potente energia etica, fa voti: perchè l’insegnamento religioso, migliorato nel modo d’impartirlo, ispiri ancora l’opera educativa.” L’unità cattolica, 46 (May 1, 1908), 1, reported that more than 200 Catholic women had voted in favor of the motion by Coari, Roesler Franz, and Venturelli. 154 Atti del I Congresso nazionale delle donne italiane, Roma, 24–30 aprile 1908, p. 663. 524 CATHOLIC FEMINISM IN ITALY IN THE EARLY 1900S women had been prevented from casting their vote,155 and Pensiero e azione wrote that Spalletti had “illegally” proposed the two motions in the afternoon plenary session.156 Since many Catholic women had been advised against attendance at the congress, the paper stated, the resolution passed did not represent the majority view of women.157 But it had a devastating effect on the incipient cooperation between Catholic and secular feminism. As Lucetta Scaraffia argues, it ruptured the alliances between socialists and Catholic modernists, while moderate secular feminists with theosophic sympathies tried timidly to put forward their alternative of nonconfessional religious instruction. Their proposal, however, did not proceed, and they ended up voting with the socialists.158 A month later, Pensiero e azione drew further criticism for publishing the resolutions of a May 24–25 congress organized by the Unione femminile in Milan. Although Pensiero e azione expressed disagreement with the Unione on the issues of divorce and religious instruction, it counseled its readers to acknowledge those aspects of the Unione’s platform that were “truly good.”159 As Cettina Militello observes, “two philosophies” permeated femminismo cristiano. The first, “dialogic,” considered a dialogue with its socialist counterpart absolutely necessary and the reasons compelling; the second, representing the “intransigent” tradition, wanted to dissociate itself from dialogue at any cost.The first current, sharing the egalitarian goals of socialist feminism, exposed femminismo cristiano to accusations of modernism.160 155 Principessa di Cassano Zunica, née Contessa De Courte, presented a Catholic version of the event in “La votazione religiosa intorno all’insegnamento religioso nel Congresso delle donne italiane,” Unione fra le donne cattoliche d’Italia, nos. VIII–IX (1911), 2–3. According to di Cassano Zunica, Malnati’s motion was proposed first. At that point, there was a sudden influx of men who noisily prevented Catholic women from presenting their case. Amid the tumultuous proceedings the vote was delayed. Spalletti informed the Catholics that the meeting would be reconvened at 4 p.m., but it actually occurred at 3 p.m. A number of Catholics arrived too late to vote. There was insufficient seating, and those standing were counted as being in favor of Malnati’s motion. 156 “Il Congresso femminile di Roma,” Pensiero e azione, IV (May 10–25, 1908), 2–17, here 6.Afternoon sessions were only meant to report resolutions of sectional meetings. 157 “Il Congresso femminile di Roma,” p. 3. 158 Lucetta Scaraffia,“Teosofe, femministe e moderniste in Italia,” in Lucetta Scaraffia and Anna Maria Isastia, Donne ottimiste (Bologna, 2002), pp. 77–124, here p. 101. 159 “Congresso femminile,” Pensiero e azione, IV (June 10–25, 1908), 17–23, here 17. 160 Cettina Militello, Il volto femminile della storia, 2nd ed. (Casale Monferrato, 1996), p. 406. BY HELENA DAWES 525 Demands for equal rights for women and for the enfranchisement of the masses, now clearly enunciated in the Catholic feminist platform, challenged not only contemporary patriarchal values but also the distribution of political power and wealth in society. Murri’s Lega democratica nazionale, which had aspired to provide a means for social and political reform, had been condemned together with its exponents. Because of Coari and Grugni’s connection with the network of fasci and leghe that Murri had promoted, they were never able to dispel imputations about their links with the banned Lega democratica nazionale. In fact, Radini Tedeschi, who supported Pensiero e azione financially, needed assurances in December 1907 that Coari had no contact with the Lega.161 In the meantime, the conservative Catholic press continued its relentless campaign against Pensiero e azione and Coari. Thus, for example, the May 13, 1908, issue of L’unità cattolica contained an article listing Coari alongside nineteen other alleged modernists planning to found a national modernist organization by the name of Parola fraterna.162 Against such powerful forces, the suppression of Pensiero e azione could only be a matter of time.When it happened in July 1908, one reason was the inclusion in the June issue of a book by the socialist August Bebel in a list of recommended holiday reading for schoolteachers.163 The suppression of Pensiero e azione was simultaneous with that of Grugni’s Tribuna sociale. In the final issue of his journal Grugni gives an account of the meeting of the Milanese antimodernist vigi161 Radini Tedeschi’s letter to Coari dated December 11, 1907, Fondo A. Coari 9732: “Il Vescovo di Bergamo ha ricevuto la lettera dell’ottima Signorina Coari e compiega £. 20 perché possa prendere ella, se vuole e quel premio che vuole per la sua lotteria. Era ben persuaso che non aveva rapporti con la Democrazia cosidetta autonoma: solo ha voluto avere la prova provata.” 162 “È tempo di parlar chiaro: ‘Parola Fraterna,’” L’unità cattolica, XLVI (May 13, 1908), 1. Floated at the initiative of Antonietta Giacomelli, Parola fraterna never materialized due to a campaign against the project by conservative hardliners and the Roman curia.“Carteggio Giacomelli-Sabatier,” ed. Camillo Brezzi, in Centro studi per la storia del modernismo, Fonti e documenti, 2 (Urbino, 1973), pp. 296–473, here p. 306: “Questa nuova associazione si sarebbe impegnata a propagandare una serie di pubblicazioni a basso prezzo utili alla ‘formazione di coscienze,’ senonché il grande lavoro preparatorio rimase fine a stesso in quanto oramai si era in pieno periodo postPascendi.” 163 A. C.,“Alcune proposte,” Pensiero e azione, IV (June 10–25, 1908), 6–8, here 7. See Toniolo’s letter to Coari dated July 29, 1908, in Giuseppe Toniolo, Lettere III 1904–1918 (Vatican City, 1953), pp. 165–66. 526 CATHOLIC FEMINISM IN ITALY IN THE EARLY 1900S lance council, chaired by Ferrari, which led to the termination of his paper. Repudiating the claim of membership of Murri’s Lega, Grugni writes that even though he and his friends maintained relations with the Lega over a whole range of activities, they had distanced themselves from it, not because the ecclesiastical authority condemned it but rather, to be effective, Christian Democracy needed to be “grafted into the Catholic masses.”164 Such a political climate did not augur well for femminismo cristiano.As an offshoot of Christian Democracy, progressive clergy promoted the early Catholic feminist movement to reintroduce Catholic values into Italian society and alleviate social problems. Mirroring the political rift in the parent movement, it developed different approaches to women’s issues, as shown by the periodicals L’azione muliebre and Pensiero e azione. With the unavoidable split in the women’s movement, the leftist elements moved well beyond the original platform of welfare issues to embrace the most avant-garde positions of secular feminism. In a short time the tightly controlled “feminism” of the long-surviving, conservative L’azione muliebre unraveled in Pensiero e azione with demands for full civil and political rights regardless of class and gender. Since it was now regarded as “modernist” and disquietingly close to secular feminism, Pensiero e azione was unacceptable to conservative antifeminist ecclesiastics and had to be silenced. Its suppression marked the end of the early Catholic feminist movement in Italy. 164 “Sospendiamo le pubblicazioni!,“ Tribuna sociale, II (July 4, 1908), 1: “Sebbene avessimo relazioni larghe e sincere con tutto il programma della Lega democratica Nazionale, pure da questa ci tenemmo sempre separati, non perchè essa fosse sconfessata dall’Autorità Ecclesiastica, ma perchè noi siamo convinti che l’opera democratica cristiana cessa d’avere un’efficacia se non viene innestata nelle masse cattoliche.” THE NATIONAL RIGHT TO LIFE COMMITTEE: ITS FOUNDING, ITS HISTORY, AND THE EMERGENCE OF THE PRO-LIFE MOVEMENT PRIOR TO ROE V. WADE BY ROBERT N. KARRER* During the mid-1960s a few Catholic journals and individuals advised that a more active role should be taken in defeating abortion reform. In 1967 the National Conference of Catholic Bishops selected James Thomas McHugh, administrator of the United States Catholic Conference’s Family Life Bureau, to guide its National Right to Life Committee (NRLC). Several pro-life organizations, including Minnesota Citizens Concerned for Life, emerged and affiliated with the NRLC national office. To appeal to a more broad-based, nonsectarian movement, key Minnesota leaders proposed an organizational model that would separate the NRLC from its founder. In early 1973 McHugh and his executive assistant, Michael Taylor, proposed a different plan, facilitating the NRLC’s move to independence. Keywords: Abortion; McHugh, Bishop James Thomas; National Right to Life Committee; pro-life movement; United States Conference of Catholic Bishops In mid-April 1967, the National Conference of Catholic Bishops (NCCB), meeting in Chicago for its annual conference, voted to budget $50,000 to “initiate and coordinate a program of information” that would alert constituents concerning the wave of legislation sweeping through state chambers that was intended to weaken restrictive abortion statutes. From this unpretentious launch the Catholic Church formally established a permanent beachhead in its long-standing policy of opposing and condemning legal abortion.1 *Mr. Karrer is president of Kalamazoo (MI) Right to Life, email: rckarrer@ sbcglobal.net. 1 Richard Philbrick,“Bishops Vote against Lobby on Abortion,” Chicago Tribune,April 14,1967, A-11.For a brief account with a pro-choice slant,see Faye D.Ginsburg, Contested Lives: The Abortion Debate in an American Community (Berkeley, 1989), p. 44. 527 528 THE NATIONAL RIGHT TO LIFE COMMITTEE Pro-Life Awakening Catholic legal scholar and later federal appellate court judge John Noonan once referred to Christendom’s opposition to abortion as an “almost absolute value in history.” For most of these two millennia believers of all persuasions believed that life was a precious gift from God and that man did not have the right to kill the innocent child in the womb. Christianity considered abortion a crime against humanity and a sin against God, as reflected, for example, in the works of Noonan, Roger Huser, David Granfield, and John Connery. Other antiabortion scholars have traced the historical roots of abortion from medical, legal, religious, political, or sociological perspectives. The more prominent are Robert Byrn, Charles Rice, Germain Grisez, Marvin Olasky, Dennis Horan, and Thomas Balch. More recently Frederick Dyer, Philip Rafferty, Joseph Dellapenna (who, along with Rafferty, proved that English common law and early colonial American courts prosecuted people for performing abortions), and Keith Cassidy have made significant contributions in understanding of the abortion issue.2 2 Roger J. Huser, The Crime of Abortion in Canon Law: An Historical Synopsis and Commentary (Washington, DC, 1942); David Granfield, The Abortion Decision (New York, 1969); John T. Noonan, Jr.,“An Almost Absolute Value in History,” The Morality of Abortion: Legal and Historical Perspectives, ed. Noonan (Cambridge, MA, 1970), pp. 1–59; John R. Connery, Abortion: The Development of the Roman Catholic Perspective (Chicago, 1977); John R. Connery, “The Ancients and the Medievals on Abortion: The Consensus the Court Ignored,” in Abortion and the Constitution: Reversing Roe v. Wade through the Courts, ed. Dennis J. Horan, Edward R. Grant, and Paige C. Cunningham (Washington, DC, 1987), pp. 123–35; Marvin Olasky, Abortion Rites: A Social History of Abortion in America (Wheaton, IL, 1992); Marvin Olasky, The Press and Abortion, 1838–1988 (Hillsdale, NJ, 1988); Dennis J. Horan and Thomas J. Balch, “Roe v. Wade: No Justification in History, Law, or Logic,” in Abortion and the Constitution, ed. Horan, Grant, and Cunningham, pp. 57–88; Frederick N. Dyer, Champion of Women and the Unborn: Horatio Robinson Storer, M.D. (Canton, MA, 1999); Frederick N. Dyer, The Physicians’ Crusade against Abortion (Canton, MA, 2005); Philip A. Rafferty, “Roe v. Wade: A Scandal upon the Court,” Rutgers Journal of Law & Religion 7, pt. 1 (2005), ; Philip A. Rafferty, Roe v. Wade: The Birth of a Constitutional Right (Ann Arbor, 1992); Joseph W. Dellapenna, Dispelling the Myths of Abortion History (Durham, NC, 2006); Keith Cassidy, “The Historical Roots of the Pro-Life Movement: Assessing the Pro-Choice Account,” Life and Learning, V (1996), 350–85; Keith Cassidy, “The Right to Life Movement: Sources, Development, and Strategies,” in The Politics of Abortion and Birth Control in Historical Perspective, ed. Donald T. Critchlow (University Park, PA, 1996), pp. 128–59; Keith Cassidy, “The Road to Roe: Cultural Change and the Growth of Acceptance of Abortion Prior to 1973,” Life and Learning,VII (1998), 1–16. BY ROBERT N. KARRER 529 Abortion rights advocates first began promoting so-called reform of abortion laws during the 1950s. A 1955 abortion conference, although most Americans were unaware of it, called for substantial changes in abortion laws. A few sympathetic law journal articles that decade added weight to the cause, as did the efforts of a small cadre of physicians. In 1958 America magazine entered the fray, attacking the conclusions of a New York panel that favored liberalization for economic and psychological reasons. The editors warned that those supporting new liberal abortion laws advocated “a regression to barbarism.”“Deliberate abortion, like its twin, euthanasia,” continued the article,“is the ugly offspring of the moral positivism that grounds all distinctions of right and wrong in the lawmaking power of the state.”3 In 1959 the American Law Institute (ALI)—an organization of judges, lawyers, and other legal scholars—proposed four changes in abortion penal codes. Generally it supported legal abortion in situations of rape, incest, or fetal deformity but also proposed that abortion should be permitted if the pregnancy impaired the physical or mental health of the mother. During the early 1960s minimal changes in abortion laws concentrated on granting hospitals the authority to use in-house committees to approve or disapprove of therapeutic procedures. Activists favored more modifications that would expand therapeutic procedures to include a woman’s emotional and psychological health. Abortion rights leaders were frustrated by the slow pace of change, noting that the procedure had been legal in many Soviet bloc countries, Scandinavia, and Japan for decades. Finally, in 1961 the New Hampshire legislature passed a bill that would have permitted therapeutic abortion under certain conditions up to the twentieth week of pregnancy. The bill had opponents. Said early anti-abortion leader Roy Heffernan of Tufts Medical College,“Anyone who performs a therapeutic abortion is either ignorant of modern medical methods or is unwilling to take the time and effort to apply them.” After the bill passed in March the governor promptly vetoed it. Legislators failed to override the veto, thus ending the first modern attempt to liberalize an abortion statute. In early 1963 California state representative Anthony C. Beilenson (D–59th District) introduced a modest bill to enlarge the scope for therapeutic abortions, although it would have legalized only 5 percent of current demand for the procedure.The bill died in committee.4 3 “Current Comment,” America, November 22, 1958, 231. Heffernan qtd. in “Abortion and the Law,” America, March 25, 1961, 811; Lawrence Lader, Abortion (New York, 1966), pp. 111–16; David J. Garrow, Liberty 4 530 THE NATIONAL RIGHT TO LIFE COMMITTEE In what Olasky calls a “great leap forward,” the mistaken use in 1962 of a fairly new and potentially dangerous drug proved pivotal. Thalidomide was used in several drugs, primarily tranquilizers. Introduced in Europe and Asia in 1957, the drug, when taken early in a woman’s pregnancy, often resulted in births of severely deformed babies. Gradually, as the birth of thalidomide babies in Europe and Japan (10,000 alone in Europe) was widely reported in the United States, it advanced the case for therapeutic abortion.. The Sherri Finkbine incident in 1962 also brought U.S. attention to the issue. Finkbine, a pregnant Phoenix mother of four, borrowed her husband’s sleeping pills that he had purchased in England on a school field trip. After using them for several days she heard about thalidomide as a component in sleeping pills. She contacted the pharmacist in England and learned that the pills contained the drug. She requested a therapeutic abortion and received permission to terminate her pregnancy from a local hospital committee. Finkbine told her story to the press. The publicity soured the hospital administration’s attitude, and it reneged on the abortion request. Under the glare of the American press the Finkbines looked for another medical facility and eventually traveled to Sweden for the procedure.5 That same year the ALI officially revised its Model Penal Code concerning abortion.The addition of the word health in its first proposal was welcome news to activists who had long wanted health and life as equal players on the same field.6 Norman St. John-Stevas, a British lawyer, professor, Roman Catholic, and later Member of Parliament, wrote the short book The Right to Life (London, 1963; New York, 1964). In this early pro-life tract, St. John-Stevas dealt with a variety of issues: thalidomide and therapeutic abortion, discussion of the point of when life begins and the question of the sacred nature of human life even in the womb, euthanasia, the death penalty, and war.This young scholar made his mark as a right-tolife spokesman and helped to define the issues for pro-lifers on both sides of the Atlantic. In early 1970, when the Hawaii legislature conand Sexuality: The Right to Privacy and the Making of Roe v. Wade (New York, 1994), pp. 290, 292. 5 Olasky, Press and Abortion, p. 92; Ruth Roemer,“Abortion Law:The Approaches of Different Nations,” American Journal of Public Health, 57 (1967): 1906–22. For an account of the Finkbine matter, see Olasky, Press and Abortion, pp. 93–98. 6 American Law Institute, Model Penal Code, Section 207.11 [Abortion and Related Offenses], 1962. BY ROBERT N. KARRER 531 ducted hearings on legislation to repeal the state’s old law, Catholic pro-lifers quoted from St. John-Stevas’s book.7 In 1964–65 a U.S. rubella epidemic resulted in some 20,000 babies born with a variety of birth defects after their mothers contracted the disease early in their pregnancies. The demand for therapeutic abortion increased once again as a viable option for a mother facing the birth of a deformed baby. The U.S. Supreme Court in Griswold v. Connecticut (1965) overturned the state’s law banning the sale and distribution of contraceptives.The opinion created a new “right of privacy.”The use of privacy in future abortion cases made Griswold a pivotal first volley in the judiciary’s evolving and expanding interpretation of the constitutionality of abortion statutes. As abortion became a growing issue in the media and among medical and legal professionals, Catholic writers and theologians also began to deal with the subject. Journalist Russell Shaw wrote the booklet “Abortion and Public Policy,” published by the Family Life Bureau of the United States Catholic Conference (USCC) in February 1966. “Pressure is mounting” to relax restrictive anti-abortion laws, Shaw began, acknowledging that talk of abortion liberalization had already progressed to a high level of organization and persuasion:“On network television and in national magazines and newspapers easing of the abortion laws is either treated as an open question to be debated on its merits or, in some instances, advocated unreservedly.” In his view, three reasons existed for the growing abortion rights movement. Premarital sexual relations had increased the number of illegitimate births, with abortion sometimes used to “avoid the disgrace or inconvenience of illegitimacy.” The use of contraceptives also had increased; for those individuals, “their already established determination to prevent the birth of another child tends to predispose them to abortion when contraception fails.” Finally, abortion law revisions would deprive illegal abortionists “of their business.” Shaw expanded on his theme a few years later in Abortion on Trial (Dayton, OH, 1968).8 7 Norman St. John-Stevas, The Right to Life (London, 1963); Patricia G. Steinhoff and Milton Diamond, Abortion Politics: The Hawaii Experience (Honolulu, 1977), p. 73. 8 Russell Shaw, Abortion and Public Policy (Washington, DC, 1966), p. 6; Shaw, Abortion on Trial (Dayton, OH, 1968). 532 THE NATIONAL RIGHT TO LIFE COMMITTEE The Catholic periodicals America and Commonweal stood out as early opponents along with the newspapers National Catholic Reporter and the Wanderer as did the Linacre Quarterly, the very small Catholic academic journal for the National Federation of Catholic Physicians’ Guilds. Beginning in November 1965 and continuing for fifteen additional installments in the Linacre Quarterly through 1971, Monsignor Paul V. Harrington, an official with the Archdiocese of Boston, wrote on varying aspects of the abortion issue. In his inaugural article Harrington said, restating the official Catholic position on abortion and providing little room for therapeutic procedures: Let us not deceive ourselves; let us not be deceived by others. There is a very active and well-organized campaign in operation, whose ultimate goal is the legalization of criminal abortion in each of the sovereign states of these United States. . . . Abortion is murder particularly and precisely because it fulfills in every respect the definition of murder—the willful, direct taking of the life of an innocent person without justifiable cause. Semantics will not justify abortion—because, call it whatever you will, it is killing; it is murder.9 Harrington’s articles provided a solid overview of abortion issues, observing new trends in abortion policy—whether of state legislation, abortion practices in other countries, world population concerns, church canon law, medical proofs of fetal life, or recent court decisions. In Harrington’s February 1966 installment he predicted that abortion statute revisions would be won or lost in state legislative chambers: “The effort is an organized one.” In that, Harrington was correct. Abortion rights lawmakers would indeed introduce numerous bills to weaken statutes in most states and would be successful in about a dozen between 1967 and 1970. But Harrington failed to see that the abortion rights movement would use the judiciary far more successfully than the medium of state legislatures. He also noted that changes were occurring among medical professionals. In his May 1966 article Harrington wrote: It is frightening and disillusioning to see the extent to which important and influential medical societies and members of the medical profession are actively engaged in advocacy and supporting the liberalization of abortion laws on the national, state, and local level.10 9 Paul V. Harrington,“Abortion,” Linacre Quarterly, 32 (1965), 339–45, here 339, 344. Harrington, “Abortion” [Part II], Linacre Quarterly 33 (1966), 81–92, here 81; “Abortion: Part III,” Linacre Quarterly 33 (1966), 153–67, here 153. 10 BY ROBERT N. KARRER 533 Just before the Harrington article, the February 1966 issue of America reported the results of a recent Gallup survey: 77 percent of those polled favored abortion when a woman’s health was at risk, although the term health had numerous vague interpretations. Fiftyfour percent of respondents would legally permit abortion if the fetus were malformed. In discussing the survey, America reflected on the “moral health of the American people.”Three-fourths “would sacrifice the life of the unborn child to save, not the mother’s life, but her health,” and “more than half … lest it be born deformed … [was] even more significant—and discouraging.”11 A Commonweal editorial a month later called upon Catholics to “exert pressure against any major liberalization of state abortion laws.” The editorial concluded with a dire warning: Simple opposition to change, with no corresponding effort to alleviate the basic problems, is likely to impress very few people. The case in favor of change is not, in the end, so strong that a meaningful opposition could make no difference. It is getting late, but there is still time.12 Interestingly, the Catholic Church’s foray into abortion politics in April 1967 coincided with Colorado’s enactment of the first state law in the nation that liberalized an abortion statute. The Church’s decision came thirteen months after the Commonweal editorial, a narrow window of opportunity if policy decisions and personal opinions were to be affected.The journal had warned that the time was short. In hindsight, the delay of the bishops in engaging with the issue may have been insufficient to stop the wave of abortion law revision. However, other factors may have claimed their attention.The changes implemented by the Second Vatican Council (1962–65) required much work during the crucial mid-1960s. The NCCB, formed as a result of the Second Vatican Council, did not come into existence until late 1966, along with the USCC. Prior to that time the National Catholic Welfare Conference (NCWC) served the Church through its five departments: social action, education, press, legal, and lay organizations. The NCWC functioned in a more consultative role and possessed very little episcopal authority to issue sweeping policy declarations. With the newly formed NCCB still adjusting to its role as the collective voice of American Catholicism, an abortion policy did not 11 America, November 22, 1958, 231; “Growing Consensus on Abortion,” America, February 12, 1966, 219. 12 “Abortion Laws,” Commonweal 83 (1966), 685. 534 THE NATIONAL RIGHT TO LIFE COMMITTEE receive the highest priority.Also, since abortion had become primarily a state issue, the bishops kept the issue close at hand in their own dioceses. Individual prelates drafted pastoral letters concerning abortion legislation in their states.At state House and Senate hearings bishops or their representatives called for rejection of any law that would weaken existing statutes. In that sense, while the action remained in state chambers, members of the clergy exercised their legitimate roles to influence or challenge prospective statutes they deemed immoral. Prominent bishops and cardinals condemned publicly new abortion legislation. State Catholic Conference organizations actively lobbied against any legislation intent on changing or repealing anti-abortion laws. During the pre-Roe period Conference chairmen and others spoke at legislative hearings, issued press releases, contacted local parishes, helped plan marches or rallies, and provided pro-life material—all to block new statute revisions. Local Catholic physicians, lawyers, and professors from area colleges or seminaries were also frequent speakers at abortion reform hearings. Yet opportunities were lost to the Church during the crucial period of 1965–67 in which it could have mounted a full-scale assault on the abortion rights agenda and nipped reform sentiment at the root, using lobbyists, political pressure, conservative religious bodies, professional organizations, and civic groups to convey the message that abortion was a concern not confined to Catholics. By 1967, the abortion rights movement was already bearing fruit, and lawmakers introduced still more abortion reform legislation, as they desired a more plentiful harvest. In September 1967 Harvard Divinity School and the Joseph P. Kennedy Foundation sponsored the first International Conference on Abortion in Washington, DC. The seventy-two participants represented the disciplines of medicine, social science, ethics, and law. St. John-Stevas attended, as well as Jerome Lejeune, a noted Paris physician. Two books resulted: the conference publication The Terrible Choice: The Abortion Dilemma (New York, 1968) and John Noonan’s The Morality of Abortion (Cambridge, MA, 1970).13 Also in 1967, John L. Grady, a south Florida obstetrician, gynecologist, and early pro-life leader, published the short booklet “Abortion: Yes or No?”. Coming at the beginning of the infant pro-life movement 13 Robert E. Cooke, Andre E. Hellegers, Robert Hoyt, and Herbert Richardson, eds., The Terrible Choice:The Abortion Dilemma (New York, 1968); Noonan, ed. Morality of Abortion. BY ROBERT N. KARRER 535 when few educational materials existed, Grady’s publication became an instant success with rank-and-file activists and was revised and reprinted many times. By 1979, it had sold 350,000 copies.14 Pope Paul VI’s encyclical Humanae Vitae that was issued on July 25, 1968, primarily dealt with birth control and family planning. Under the section titled “Unlawful Birth Control Methods,” the pope stated: We are obliged once more to declare that the direct interruption of the generative process already begun and, above all, all direct abortion, even for therapeutic reasons, are to be absolutely excluded as a lawful means of regulating the number of children. Generally, the pope’s section on abortion did not venture into new territory. His condemnation was in keeping with the Church’s longstanding view that abortion was morally repugnant. Humanae Vitae was an important document that inspired conservative Catholics to oppose abortion reform. However, the link between contraception and abortion, so closely articulated by the pope and other theologians, would become a dividing issue. Some pro-life leaders advocated a defense based on social justice—that the government had the duty to protect the weak and defenseless—rather than a strategy based on an issue of sexuality as many Catholic leaders regarded it. Some refrained from issuing policy statements on contraceptives. It was a separate issue, and many within the pro-life movement felt that the movement did not need to be muddled with more controversy. The Church’s decision to connect the two issues made the battle against abortion harder to fight, since most Americans and many Catholics who might have joined the movement disagreed with the pope’s encyclical on birth control and struggled with the idea that the two issues were of equal value.15 During the mid-1960s into the early 1970s four Catholic law professors stood out as pillars in the early pro-life movement: Noonan of the University of California–Berkeley, Byrn of Fordham University, Rice of Fordham and later University of Notre Dame, and Horan of the University of Chicago Law School. Patrick Allitt writes that Noonan “was the most important and persuasive anti-abortion theorist in America.” Noonan penned several articles on abortion during the mid-1960s, many appearing in the Catholic Lawyer. He edited 14 15 John L. Grady, Abortion:Yes or No? (Rockford, IL, 1967). Humanae Vitae, No. 15; Interview with William C. Hunt, June 26, 2009. 536 THE NATIONAL RIGHT TO LIFE COMMITTEE The Morality of Abortion: Legal and Historical Perspectives (Cambridge, MA, 1970), one of the most influential of the early prolife books. . In 1968 Byrn served on Republican governor Nelson Rockefeller’s Select Committee to study New York’s abortion statute and make recommendations, and later drafted the minority report. At Fordham, Byrn influenced his colleague Rice to join the anti-abortion movement. Rice was a founding member of New York’s Conservative Party in 1962 and its vice-chairman until 1969. His first pro-life book was The Vanishing Right to Live (Garden City, NY, 1969). In 1971 Horan cofounded Americans United for Life (AUL), a Chicago-based group of lawyers, doctors, and other professionals. Although AUL functioned in a dual capacity as an educational and legal organization, it became the legal arm of the movement for most anti-abortionists as it drafted amicus briefs and challenged court decisions. Horan coedited the influential book Abortion and Social Justice (New York, 1972) with pro-life colleague Thomas Hilgers of the Mayo Graduate School of Medicine.Three other scholars also contributed during the early years. Theologian Grisez of Georgetown University wrote an important book, Abortion: The Myths, the Realities, and the Arguments (New York, 1970), which discussed the aspects of the Church’s position on abortion through the centuries. In January 1971, Paul Marx, a sociology professor at St. John’s University in Collegeville, Minnesota, attended the Symposium on Implementation of Therapeutic Abortion in Los Angeles and recorded its sessions. His explosive book The Death Peddlers: War on the Unborn (Collegeville, MN, 1971) was an inside look at the pro-abortion industry. A final contributor was Granfield, professor in the Columbus School of Law at The Catholic University of America, whose The Abortion Decision (Garden City, NY, 1969), was a frequently consulted resource for early anti-abortionists.16 16 Patrick Allitt, Religion in America since 1945:A History (New York, 2005), p. 160; Noonan, Morality of Abortion. Representative of Byrn’s early work are Robert M. Byrn, “The Abortion Question: A Nonsectarian Approach,” Catholic Lawyer, 11 (1965), 316–22; Byrn,“Abortion in Perspective,” Duquesne Law Review, 5 (1966), 125–35; Byrn, “Abortion-on-Demand:Whose Morality?” Notre Dame Law Review, 46 (1970), 5–13. For Byrn’s critique of Roe v. Wade and Doe v. Bolton, see “An American Tragedy: The Supreme Court on Abortion,” Fordham Law Review, 41 (1973), 807–62. See also Charles E. Rice, The Vanishing Right to Life (New York, 1969); Thomas W. Hilgers and Dennis J. Horan, Abortion and Social Justice (New York, 1972); Germain G. Grisez, Abortion: The Myths, the Realities, and the Arguments (New York, 1970); Paul Marx, The Death Peddlers:War on the Unborn (Collegeville, MN, 1971); Granfield, Abortion Decision. BY ROBERT N. KARRER 537 Other early leaders in the burgeoning pro-life cause included three Protestants: Paul Ramsey, a longtime religion professor at Princeton University, whose Basic Christian Ethics (New York, 1950) was the single most widely used text in faith-based institutions; George Huntston Williams, the Hollis Professor of Divinity at Harvard Divinity School, founder of AUL, and a Unitarian minister; and Charles Carroll, a priest of the Episcopal Diocese of California, who had been an official observer at the Nuremberg Trials during the 1940s. In 1967 Ramsey wrote,“Every human being is a unique, unrepeatable opportunity to praise God.” Carroll, educated at Yale and Harvard, also attended the University of Berlin during the 1930s and saw firsthand the brutality of the Hitler regime. It was this Nazi connection that Carroll used to draw parallels between abortion and the Holocaust. He asked at a 1967 symposium: Must we travel the same road they traveled. . . . Must we observe the total degradation of man to come anew to “reverencee for life”? I would ask, “How many innocents will ‘liberalized’ abortion sentence to death?” Let us not do inadvertently what the Nazis did with deliberate intent!17 Birth of the National Right to Life Committee and State Groups In 1966 the NCCB asked James McHugh to begin observing trends in abortion reform. McHugh, director of the USCC’s Family Life Bureau and later bishop of Camden and the Diocese of Rockville Centre (NY), was born in Orange, New Jersey, in 1932. Ordained in 1957, he served in a few pastoral assignments in the Diocese of Newark before he was appointed to the bureau in 1965. When the bishops decided to fund the new National Right to Life Committee (NRLC) in 1967, they turned to McHugh as its logical administrator.After juggling two leadership roles, he decided to hire someone to handle the day-to-day operations of the NRLC. In late summer 1968 he selected Michiganborn Michael Taylor to fill that role. Taylor, who had taken graduate courses at The Catholic University of America, was twenty-six and had managed the bureau’s mail-order bookstore. His recollections some forty years later spoke of McHugh’s “pivotal role” as a founder of the pro-life movement. McHugh was a “real leader at the practical level,” 17 Paul Ramsey,“The Sanctity of Life: in the First of It,” Dublin Review, 241 (1967), 3–23, here 11; for Carroll quotes, see Charles Carroll,“Liberalized Abortion—A Critique,” Child and Family, 7, 1968. Repr. in The Case against Abortion, ed. Herbert Ratner, [Reprint Booklet ser.]. (n.p., n.d.), pp. 43–51, here pp. 48, 50. 538 THE NATIONAL RIGHT TO LIFE COMMITTEE one who could make hard decisions. He took the lead “where there was no map” and “knew how to get things done.” McHugh always considered the NRLC a separate organization and never identified it as part of the USCC. He knew the movement was larger than one religious group and made the NRLC as ecumenical as possible, even when abortion rights activists constantly labeled pro-lifers as tools of U.S. bishops and emphasized that a pro-life stance was solely a Catholic position. Despite Taylor’s glowing assessment of McHugh, the priest had his detractors. William C. Hunt, a theology professor and early pro-life leader from St. Paul, called McHugh “hardworking and energetic” but disagreed with Taylor’s portrayal of the priest. McHugh held tight control of the NRLC and did not pursue ecumenical initiatives unless decisions went his way. He made the NRLC a “front-organization for the Catholic Conference,” according to Hunt. Unfortunately, the NRLC, in Hunt’s words,“very early got into personalities,” sometimes clashing with Protestant leaders. Another Minnesota pro-lifer, the Episcopal priest Warren Schaller, observed that part of the problem was McHugh’s Catholicism: It’s a Protestant thing . . . that authority rests in the people of God, that when an individual is inspired he can lead . . . and that if you have faith you dare act for yourself. It is hard for the RC [Roman Catholic] hierarchy . . . to be comfortable with such a system—it is dynamic and moving, but not uniform and predictable. To them [McHugh-Taylor] it seems better to depend on recognized authority, duly qualified experts ”of Wash. DC expertise.”18 McHugh and Taylor printed NRLC’s first newsletter in October 1968, writing that it was “the formal introduction of the National Right-to-Life Committee.” By then, five states had already enacted legislation modeled on ALI guidelines. “In the succeeding months,” began an introductory column, “this Newsletter will provide information on the efforts to change the laws in the various states, and the strategies employed by those opposed to such change.” Still, the perception was that the committee was taking slow, labored steps to organize an effective campaign to stop further changes in abortion laws. It seemed content to collect and disseminate information and data but not to engage in a large, systematic, and multilevel 18 Interview with Michael Taylor, April 5, 2005; Interview with Hunt, June 26, 2009; Interview with Joseph Lampe, June 19, 2009; Unpublished account of Warren Schaller (but not identified), n.d., Folder “NRLC 1972,” Box 4,American Citizens Concerned for Life Papers, Gerald R. Ford Library (hereafter referred to as GRF Library). BY ROBERT N. KARRER 539 battle to stop abortion. But even that image is somewhat distorted. While debate on a Human Life Amendment became a “huge detour” that led to “exhausting board meetings” between 1973 and 1974 at the expense of more realistic goals, during the pre-Roe years a few key NRLC leaders studied legislative efforts, alternatives to abortion and “incremental legislation in every possible venue.” Despite what these visionaries dreamed for the NRLC, the McHugh-Taylor message in that first newsletter did not herald bold proposals as much as define the organization’s mission statement: “The national office hopes to keep the information moving among the Right-to-Life Committees in the various states,” which reinforced NRLC’s original charge of 1967 that it was little more than an educational clearinghouse. It claimed that “ultimate success” would come by setting up right-to-life committees, designating a reporter for these pro-life groups who would send information to the national office, and donating money to keep the NRLC financially secure—not an aggressive agenda.19 Small, independent right-to-life committees had already begun to emerge in various places across the United States as people learned about new legislation in their respective states.They became aware of the NRLC and relied on the national office for direction and information.Taylor continued to provide almost monthly newsletters, keeping the growing number of anti-abortion groups informed on legislation and court action. After nearly fifty years, the genesis of the right-to-life movement now can be seen clearly as the effort of ordinary people who established grassroots committees and small groups in the late 1960s. In 1966, Troy, NY, resident Edward Golden, who was in the building trade, became increasingly aware that members of the state assembly wanted to enact a bill to weaken the state’s anti-abortion law.The following year he formed a small group to monitor legislation. From that humble start, Golden founded the New York State Right to Life Committee in 1967. Charles Tobin, secretary of the New York Catholic Conference (NYCC), encouraged Golden’s efforts, even suggesting that Golden recruit non-Catholics.While the NYCC was engaged in its own campaign to defeat reform legislation, it met with Golden occa19 National Right to Life Committee Newsletter, no. 1 (October 1968), Folder “NRLC 1968 (1),” Box 4, American Citizens Concerned for Life Papers, GRF Library; Correspondence with Lampe, August 17, 2009. 540 THE NATIONAL RIGHT TO LIFE COMMITTEE sionally. New York Right to Life thus existed as a distinct organization from the hierarchy of the Catholic Church. Golden contacted the NRLC and soon began receiving material. The group remained small for the first few years. Rosemary Nossiff notes that in the first year its budget was only $400 and that activity centered on writing letters to lawmakers and newspapers. By 1968, New York Right to Life members testified against a second bill introduced by Assemblyman Albert H. Blumenthal (D–69th District). Generally, however, the organization remained fairly unproductive until 1970 when the New York legislature repealed the state’s century-old abortion law. After passage of the new statute, the group experienced tremendous growth through 1972 with thousands joining and new statewide affiliates forming from Buffalo to Long Island. In 1972 the state’s pro-life organization had its moment of glory when it collaborated with legislators to repeal the 1970 Abortion Act. New York Right to Life raised money, sent lobbyists to Albany, demonstrated, and even warned lawmakers of political retribution if they failed to cast a pro-life vote. Pro-lifers would not vote for them. Single-issue voting increasingly became an effective tool in the ensuing years.The bill passed both chambers, but the governor vetoed the bill. By the end of the year Golden’s name had become one of the most recognizable in the movement as the architect of the “New York experience.”20 In July 1968 two dozen people met in the home of Minneapolis pro-lifer Alice Hartle to form Minnesota Citizens Concerned for Life (MCCL). During the previous year she had testified against abortion reform at a state hearing, telling legislators that she had contracted rubella two weeks after she conceived. Her daughter, who had a heart defect and cataracts, nonetheless lived a normal life and later attended college. Hartle’s testimony helped convince committee members to reject the bill, voting 17 to 14.At the hearing she met fellow speaker Hunt, who had just completed his PhD at The Catholic University of 20 Keith Cassidy,“The Right to Life Movement: Sources, Development, and Strategies,” Critchlow, The Politics of Abortion, p. 139; Rosemary Nossiff, Before Roe: Abortion Policy in the States (Philadelphia, 2001), pp. 46–47. Nossiff is one of the few authors who mentions not only McHugh but also Golden and the birth of New York State Right to Life and interviewed several prominent leaders in the pro-life movement; see 83–84. For an historical chronicle of the development of New York Right to Life Committee and brief sketches of major county or city affiliates, see its untitled pamphlet (n.d.) in the private collection of Joseph Kincaid of Kalamazoo, MI (hereafter referred to as Kincaid Papers); see Binder 16. Kincaid, active in the movement since 1969, is a founder of Right to Life of Michigan and currently serves as its vice-president. BY ROBERT N. KARRER 541 America and was a theology professor at St. Paul Seminary. She recruited a few others, including John Falls, the public policy chairman for the Minnesota Medical Association; John McKelvey, a retired professor of obstetrics and gynecology at the University of Minnesota Medical School;, and neighbors Fred Mecklenburg, a Minneapolis obstetrician and gynecologist, and his wife, Marjory.Young, energetic, and attractive, the Mecklenburgs made the perfect team to spread the pro-life message across the state. Unlike the vast majority of anti-abortionists who were Roman Catholic, the Mecklenburgs were Methodists, politically liberal, and supported contraception. Fred was a member of a local Planned Parenthood, which had not yet switched its position on abortion. He became MCCL’s first president and soon joined the NRLC board of directors. Hunt recalled that Mecklenburg was the consensus choice for president and that his Protestantism and Planned Parenthood membership enhanced his influence. Mecklenburg’s Methodism diffused the stereotype of Catholic dominance within the movement, and his Planned Parenthood connection made him more acceptable to Minnesotans wary of the Catholic Church’s intrusion into the politics of abortion. Marjory, born in 1935, became one of MCCL’s lobbyists in 1969. She also served on the board of directors of Americans United for Life. In April 1972 she became president of MCCL.The Mecklenburgs had the ability to marshal antiabortion troops to help defeat pro-abortion legislation. During the first seven years of the movement the couple exerted more influence than any other in the nation. Likewise, MCCL’s dominance was felt across the nation as its leaders traveled to other states to build up their pro-life groups.21 Whereas MCCL became the strongest of the early anti-abortion groups, the distinction for the first statewide “right-to-life committee” associated with the NRLC belonged to the Virginia Society for Human Life, formed in early 1967 by Alex and Geline Williams of Richmond. The former became the group’s first president and served until 1973. The Virginia group enjoyed a good working relationship with the McHugh-Taylor team, but never attained the prominence of MCCL or New York Right to Life.22 21 National Right to Life News, 13, no. 22 (1985) contains a tribute to Alice Hartle, who died on November 8, 1985, at age seventy; Peter Vaughan,“The Vocal ‘Minority’ Is Growing,” Minneapolis Star,April 16, 1971, B-1; Interview with Lampe, July 28, 2009. 22 National Right to Life News, 28, no. 6 (2001), 21; Interview with Geline Williams, chair, NRLC board of directors, May 26, 2006. 542 THE NATIONAL RIGHT TO LIFE COMMITTEE In California, medical professionals with the Catholic Physicians Guild; Cardinal James McIntyre, archbishop of Los Angeles; and ministers attempted to derail the 1967 Beilensen bill, which was patterned after modest ALI guidelines. Another early group, the Northern California Right to Life League, also spoke against the bill at a hearing, joined by other clergy and lawyers such as Noonan. Originally the bill permitted abortion for cases of rape, incest, and fetal deformity. Republican governor Ronald Reagan indicated that he would support the measure if lawmakers removed the fetal defect portion. Beilenson amended his bill. Members of the pro-life coalition lobbied at the state capital and spoke to Reagan.The bill passed both chambers. Although Reagan, whose father was Roman Catholic, seemed to indicate that he had a better understanding of the reality of abortion procedures, he promised to sign the bill. As consolation, Reagan stated that he would never again sign an abortion bill. In response to the legislation,Walter Trinkaus, a law professor at Loyola University at Los Angeles, formed the Right to Life League of Southern California in October 1967. He served on the NRLC board of directors from 1969 to 1972. For several years Delores Hope, the wife of the legendary entertainer Bob Hope, used her substantial connections and influence to help the league.23 In 1969 Seattle attorney Kenneth Van Derhoef helped to found Voice for the Unborn, a small pro-life group in Washington. The following year it suffered the movement’s first major defeat by way of state referendum. With support from the Washington State Medical Association, reformers created Washington Citizens for Abortion Reform in late 1969. Legislators introduced a bill early the next year, far more liberal than previously enacted ALI-style reforms. Notably, it stipulated that if both chambers passed the legislation, the bill would be placed before the voters in a popular referendum that November. After modifications and four amendments, the bill survived a close 25 to 23 vote in the Senate. Abortion would be permitted “not more than four lunar months after conception”; the bill also required spousal consent if the husband lived with his wife, consent from a legal 23 The group’s Web site identifies itself as the “first” pro-life group in the nation; see http://rtllsc.org. That assertion may be debatable. On the Beilenson bill, see Garrow, Liberty and Sexuality, pp. 330–33. On Reagan’s relationship to Catholicism and a discussion of the opening of formal diplomatic relations with the Holy See under his presidency, see Andrew M. Essig and Jennifer L. Moore, “U.S.-Holy See Diplomacy: The Establishment of Formal Relations, 1984,” The Catholic Historical Review, 95 (2009), 741–64. BY ROBERT N. KARRER 543 guardian if the person was under the age of eighteen and unmarried, and a minimum residency of ninety days in the state. Washington Citizens for Abortion Reform articulated its message, even presenting case histories of women with problem pregnancies. Feminist groups joined the campaign as well. Faced with these wellfunded and -organized efforts,Voice for the Unborn was unequipped to wage a successful challenge. Seattle Archbishop Thomas A. Connolly mobilized priests across the state to energize the Catholic vote, but the effort was futile. Referendum 20 passed by a comfortable margin: 54 to 46 percent. The New York Times quoted a Catholic priest who lamented that even among Catholics, “there has been a great swing . . . toward favoring abortion reform.” Taylor reported the results to those on the NRLC mailing list. By November, Van Derhoef (whose group was renamed Human Life of Washington) had joined the NRLC board and remained an influential member for many years, becoming its second president after reorganization (1974–75).24 Other key state groups appeared between 1967 and 1970. In July 1967 John Archibold, Mary Rita Urbish, and Charles Onofrio formed Colorado Right to Life just a few months after state legislators passed the nation’s first statute that reformed abortion law. Pennsylvanians for Human Life formed in 1969 and linked with NRLC. Headquartered in Harrisburg, it soon had chapters across the state, but most were concentrated around Pittsburgh and Philadelphia. In Pittsburgh, Judy Fink, a young Baptist mother of four, became the most visible pro-lifer in the region and soon aligned with MCCL leaders in their efforts to minimize McHugh’s control over the NRLC. The Pennsylvania Catholic Conference, long a dominant force in the state, established the Ad Hoc Committee on Abortion in 1968, created right-to-life committees in the state’s eight dioceses, and proposed formation of a nonsectarian group that would appeal to non-Catholics. Pennsylvanians for Human Life and the USCC worked together on several projects. Observes Nossiff of the Pennsylvania arrangement, “The PCC needed the grassroots support 24 “Case Histories,” Washington Citizens for Abortion Reform (Speaker’s Resource Paper #10), Kincaid Papers, Binder 7; Jane E. Brody, “Abortion Laws Gaining Favor as New Statutes Spur Debate,” New York Times, November 29, 1970, 52; Garrow, Liberty and Sexuality, p. 466; on opposition to abortion as not guaranteed, even among Catholic priests, see Frank Traina,“Catholic Clergy on Abortion: Preliminary Findings of a New York State Survey,”Family Planning Perspectives 6, no. 3 (1974), 151–56; Michael Taylor to Right to Life Committees, November 6, 1970, Kincaid Papers, Binder 7. See also Susan Brownmiller, In Our Time: Memoir of a Revolution (New York, 1999), p. 116. 544 THE NATIONAL RIGHT TO LIFE COMMITTEE that the PHL could provide, and the PHL needed the organizational resources of the Catholic Church.” Other strong groups emerged in Massachusetts, Florida, Illinois, North Dakota, and Arizona. In Ohio, forty-four-year-old doctor John Willke, the son and grandson of physicians, had become alarmed by the growing movement to change antiabortion laws, especially in Ohio. In response, he formed Cincinnati Right to Life in 1970. He began writing an anti-abortion column for the Cincinnati Enquirer that generated interest and supporters that formed the base for the new organization. Cincinnati Right to Life soon affiliated with the NRLC and became the largest and most influential pro-life group in the state. Perhaps Willke’s skills as an organizer and debater were only surpassed by his career as a pro-life author and pamphleteer. Convinced that pictures or photographs could convey powerful images, Willke produced the four-page color pamphlet “Life or Death” (1971). Although opponents charged that it was laced with propaganda, extremism, and blatant sensationalism, “Life or Death” became the most widely used anti-abortion tract during the 1970s and was translated into many languages. As a follow-up, he coauthored with his wife, Barbara, Handbook on Abortion (Cincinnati, 1971), which became a fixture in most pro-life affiliate libraries.25 By 1970, despite the dozen states that had enacted new abortion statutes, the anti-abortion movement had achieved a string of victories in the other states. Clearly, 64 percent of the state legislatures rejected abortion statute change, some with resounding defeats. For example, the Montana house rejected a bill (95 to 5) that would have repealed the state’s anti-abortion law. Conferences and Campaigns The NRLC continued its slow growth, building weak but vital ties with several right-to-life state groups across the country. Joseph Lampe, born in 1942, emerged as a MCCL leader, becoming a state coordinator by 1971 and later executive director. He recalled that despite NRLC’s “trivial budget . . . it was exceptionally important as an information 25 Claire Martin, “Colo. Abortion Rights Got Start 40 Years Ago Today,” Denver Post, April 25, 2007, A-1; Nossiff, Before Roe, p. 115; J. C. and Barbara Willke, Handbook on Abortion (Cincinnati, 1971).The latter has undergone several substantial revisions.The original was only 141 pages. It was reissued as Abortion Questions and Answers (Rochester, NY, 1985) and as Abortion Questions & Answers: Love Them Both (Cincinnati, 2003); the latter was 436 pages. Interview with John and Barbara Willke, March 15, 2006. BY ROBERT N. KARRER 545 clearinghouse and distributor.” Indeed, Taylor stated that he and his small staff “lived on the phone” in the 1969–70 period, talking to antiabortion groups; they also expanded mailing lists, sending out newsletters and other materials that informed recipients of national developments or upcoming events. In spring 1970 Taylor suggested to McHugh that NRLC should host a national conference and announced it in the July newsletter. It was held at Barat College in Lake Forest, Illinois, between July 31 and August 2.The agenda of the meeting underscored the still embryonic state of affairs within the anti-abortion movement. The newsletter explained the reason for the conference: First we all need to meet one another and become aware of the other people who are involved and what others are doing. We need to identify problems that are common and those that are unique to each state or locale.We need to assess the directions in which we are going, to evaluate our resources, and, as a result, to formulate our programs.26 Only 140 people from thirty-seven states, the District of Columbia, and Canada attended the conference. Ohio sent the largest delegation with thirteen people, followed by New York and Illinois with twelve each, Minnesota with eleven, and Pennsylvania with ten. Twice as many men than women attended, including twenty-nine ministers, fourteen physicians, and five attorneys. Despite the NRLC’s humble beginnings at coalition building and setting a national agenda, its Barat College Conference established a pattern for future conferences, with political action and education workshops as regular features. The NRLC would strive to enlarge its number of state groups, expand its network of anti-abortion doctors and lawyers, and increase its activity in the political process.27 Macalester College in St. Paul hosted the second conference in June 1971. Of the 205 people attending, sixty-nine came from Minnesota, reflecting the MCCL’s preeminence in the early years as well as location. Illinois sent sixteen people, New York and North Dakota each had fourteen representatives, and Ohio sent twelve attendees.Women composed 56 percent of the total, although they generally did not serve in leadership roles. Carroll delivered the keynote address.28 26 Interview with Lampe, July 28, 2009; Interview with Taylor,April 5, 2005; National Right to Life Newsletter, no. 21 (July 1970). 27 See the mailing list of Barat College attendees in Kincaid Papers, Binder 1. 28 NRLC 2nd Annual Meeting, Macalester College, St. Paul, MN. For the list of attendees, see Kincaid Papers, Binder 6. The NRLC report of its meeting (June 25, 1971) stated that 190 people attended; see Kincaid Papers, Binder 5. 546 THE NATIONAL RIGHT TO LIFE COMMITTEE In June 1972, the NRLC held its third conference, this time at a Holiday Inn in Philadelphia. The Philadelphia conference was better attended than the previous two gatherings (287 people, according to the unofficial registration list; 357 according to Taylor; 380 based on Van Derhoef’s account).Yet the turnout, which was primarily Roman Catholic, indicated that despite the magnitude of the issue, people even marginally aligned with the pro-life movement remained noncommittal or complacent. Sixty-three people came from Pennsylvania and forty-three from New York, composing more than one-third of the total. Twenty-three came from New Jersey. More women than men attended—53 to 47 percent. Contrary to the myth that Catholic religious controlled the movement, only twenty members of the Catholic and Protestant clergy and seven nuns came to Philadelphia.29 Also occurring in 1972 was the defeat of reform referenda by Michigan and North Dakota anti-abortionists. Michigan’s rise to prominence in the right-to-life movement came somewhat late by NRLC standards. Although the Michigan Catholic Conference sent a representative to speak against a reform bill in 1967 and a few individuals addressed legislators as well, no organization existed with the distinctive right-to-life label. By 1969, only two groups were active—a small committee formed in Kalamazoo as well as the Michigan Right to Life Committee, which was led by Barbara Radigan and Mary Randall from Lansing. Between 1970 and 1972 Radigan and Randall helped organize more than a dozen groups in the southern third of the state. In 1970 two powerful groups formed:, the Detroit-area People Taking Action against Abortion (PTAAA), founded by suburban housewife Gloria Klein; and Grand Rapids Right to Life, organized with the assistance of Radigan and Randall by Jane Muldoon, the wife of a local physician. By 1972, both groups had numbers in the thousands. After the Michigan legislature rejected bills to change the state’s abortion statute, the Michigan Abortion Referendum Committee circulated petitions and succeeded in getting approval for a referendum that would permit abortion through the first twenty weeks of pregnancy and not require state residency. The vote was set for November 1972. By April, the scattered anti-abortion groups formed the coalition Voice of the Unborn to defeat the ballot proposal.30 29 NRLC 3rd Convention Registration List, June 1972, Kincaid Papers, Binder 8; National Right to Life Committee Newsletter, no. 37 (September 1972); Human Life [Seattle], (June 1972), Kincaid Papers, Binder 11. 30 Robert N. Karrer, “The Formation of Michigan’s Anti-Abortion Movement: 1967–1974,” Michigan Historical Review, 22 (1996), 67–107. BY ROBERT N. KARRER 547 Initially, abortion rights advocates believed a victory was at hand. The Detroit News and Free Press both reported in September that 59 percent of the state’s voters favored the referendum, including the popular Republican governor William G. Milliken. However, beginning that month, Voice of the Unborn waged a short but effective campaign. “The humanity of the child is the only issue,” stated Richard Jaynes, a Detroit-area physician and president of the coalition. “Nobody has the right to deprive him of his life—not even his mother.” Working with the Michigan Catholic Conference (that sponsored the campaign “Love and Let Live”with the 950 Catholic parishes in the state), anti-abortion volunteers distributed literature to tens of thousands of homes, primarily the Willke brochure “Life or Death.” Willke came to the state late in the campaign, visiting several midsized cities to speak against the referendum and promote his “Life or Death” tract.The tide turned in the final two weeks.That November, Voice of the Unborn garnered 61 percent of the vote and swiftly established itself as one of the most effective anti-abortion groups in the country.31 The situation in rural North Dakota differed from Michigan in Catholic population but was somewhat similar demographically. Whereas industrial Michigan had a Catholic population of close to 2 million people, primarily in metropolitan Detroit, North Dakota had only about 130,000 Catholics.Yet Protestants were the overwhelming majority in both states, with Catholics making up only 20 percent in each.Albert Fortman, a Lutheran vascular surgeon from Bismarck, led the state’s Right to Life group that was loosely affiliated with the NRLC. In fact, Fortman would join the NRLC board in November 1972. The North Dakota Citizens for Legal Termination of Pregnancy began a petition drive to collect signatures in February 1972, intending to place its own referendum on the November ballot. The measure would permit abortion up to the twentieth week and require a residency of a minimum of ninety days.The reform committee faced an uphill battle, since the majority of voters already indicated strong opposition. In June, 56 percent of voters said they intended to vote against the referendum. During 1972 Fortman traveled the state and helped to establish thirty-nine local right-to-life groups to fight the ballot initiative. The American Lutheran Church and the Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod supplied leadership and energized congregations, as did the two Catholic bishops who organized the Catholic 31 Karrer,“Formation,” pp. 85–95. 548 THE NATIONAL RIGHT TO LIFE COMMITTEE vote. During the final stage of the anti-abortion campaign, hundreds of volunteers distributed thousands of brochures. The Knights of Columbus passed out Willke’s “Life or Death.” In the end, the referendum was soundly rejected, 77 to 23 percent.32 The Path to Independence Just two months after the pro-life victories in Michigan and North Dakota, Roe v. Wade, which was announced on January 22, 1973, caught the pro-life movement off-guard. Groups such as the NRLC and Americans United for Life had followed the case since 1970 when it first appeared in Texas before a three-judge panel.They expected the decision to swing against them, but assumed a more narrowly written one than what Justice Harry Blackmun delivered.Anti-abortionists did not anticipate Roe’s expansive ruling that gave women unlimited rights to terminate their pregnancies during the first two trimesters and extremely limited state’s rights (at least theoretically) to protect the life of the human fetus in the final trimester. Reaction to Roe was swift.All pro-life groups condemned the decision. Anti-abortion leaders witnessed a new surge of activity. MCCL’s Paul Andreini of the Mayo Clinic described the situation in Minnesota: “We have seen here that many people who were marginally committed are now beating a path to our door asking what they can do.” Twelve new MCCL chapters organized between January and March, and state membership jumped 50 percent in four months. Kristin Luker writes that unlike the first period of pro-life activity when Catholic male professionals dominated the movement, a huge number of married women joined right-to-life groups in the period immediately after Roe: “They were known to be devout, traditional women who valued motherhood.” Luker calls them “the housewives”—a term borrowed from pro-lifers.They became the new driving force for the movement, eager for involvement and change. As pro-life groups expanded across the nation, the NRLC sensed a twofold obligation: to lead the fledgling movement and respond properly to the Roe opinion. Regarding the latter, pro-life leaders in and out of Congress called for passage of a human life amendment (HLA) that would guarantee the right to life of the unborn. The NRLC endorsed the amendment solution and eventually would propose its own at subsequent meetings, although with regrettable results. Lampe recalled that the 32 Taylor to Right to Life Committees, October 13, 1972, Kincaid Papers, Binder 12. BY ROBERT N. KARRER 549 group’s failure to reach consensus on exact wording for a HLA was “very debilitating and diverted much time and energy from the difficult task” of building the NRLC. Directing the pro-life movement correlated with the question about the NRLC’s relationship with the Catholic Conference and the quest for autonomy. Could it retain its leadership in the emerging pro-life movement while still nominally attached to the Catholic Church? Was independence necessary? In the end, most prominent anti-abortion leaders believed that only an independent organization could represent individuals from various religious denominations and conservative groups that embraced the prolife cause. Key individuals in MCCL—the Mecklenburgs, Lampe, Andreini, and Hunt—most effectively articulated that position.33 From its earliest days, NRLC leaders encountered opposition from a few of its affiliate groups, especially over this issue of reorganization. The most visible breach was with MCCL—primarily between those who supported the McHugh-Taylor management and Marjory Mecklenburg and her allies calling for a greater voice in decisionmaking from state right-to-life groups.The feuding over agenda, organizational structure, and leadership would plague the group for years. The chasm appeared as early as 1970 at the Barat College conference. Writing in 1973, MCCL’s Schaller recalled, “It was obvious to those attending that Msgr. McHugh totally dominated the NRLC and that it was a façade, not a national right to life organization.” He elaborated, “The Ohio delegation w[as] the most vocal in their [sic] opposition to the structure of NRLC, but no changes were made by Msgr. McHugh and no alternative plans were offered.” The following year at the Macalester College conference, Schaller recalled that “there was great sentiment for a commitment to an independently structured and funded NRLC, but to no avail.” At the 1972 Philadelphia conference several pro-life groups presented resolutions before the meeting to be voted on during the convention and “thereby become matters of policy.” Schaller continued,“All such groups were instructed from the chair that such resolutions would not be binding upon the NRLC and would be taken merely as recommendations.” MCCL’s Lampe, recalling that McHugh was “very skilled and talented” and Taylor was “possibly the most disciplined and careful thinker” in the movement, nonetheless agreed with Schaller. At the conventions “McHugh was on stage 33 Paul Andreini and Ruth Powers to MCCL Chapter Chairman, January 25, 1973, Kincaid Papers, Binder 17; Kristin Luker, Abortion and the Politics of Motherhood (Berkeley, 1984), pp. 131, 138; Correspondence with Lampe,August 12, 2009. 550 THE NATIONAL RIGHT TO LIFE COMMITTEE trying to explain and defend what NRLC was. Each time there was a huge uproar and negative reaction but no one had a clue what to do in response.” Lampe added, “McHugh really didn’t trust the competence of hicks from the provinces to accomplish something so huge.” NRLC’s centralized power conflicted with calls for more inclusiveness and democratic policies from state groups in what Lampe envisioned as a “citizen-based national organization.” Returning from Philadelphia disheartened and frustrated, Andreini, Marjory Mecklenburg, and Lampe met in July to draft a proposal for “a more independent, effective and representative national pro-life organization.”34 Schaller and Lampe represent perspectives of the situation clearly at odds with those of the NRLC leadership. Other documents paint a somewhat different picture. As early as February 1971,Taylor wrote to state and local leaders that “efforts on national organization are under consideration by the Board of Directors . . . and will be explored at a meeting in the Spring or early Summer.” In December 1971 the NRLC’s board met to discuss future needs and the prospects for developing a national organization. It created a five-member executive committee (Juan Ryan, NRLC president and an old friend of McHugh’s; John Archibold; Fred Mecklenburg;Van Derhoef; and Terry Weaver) to “funnel advice to the national level on programs and national policies.” The committee met three times between January and June 1972.35 At the January meeting the executive committee “definitely decided to expand and restructure the present Board.” The committee would solicit names of candidates from state organizations for an expanded board.36 Steps toward autonomy took a major leap in July 1972 when the Mecklenburgs and Lampe submitted their own organizational plan (hereafter referred to as the MCCL plan).To facilitate the process they hoped that a meeting of “carefully selected, active, effective . . . leaders” could work out the details. The six-page plan was complex. The national structure would consist of three levels of representation.The 34 Unpublished account of Warren Schaller (n.d.), Folder “NRLC 1972,” Box 4, American Citizens Concerned for Life Papers, GRF Library; Interview with Lampe, July 28, 2009; M. Mecklenburg and Lampe to McHugh and Taylor, July 11, 1972, Kincaid Papers, Binder 17. 35 Taylor to Right to Life Committees, February 10, 1971, Kincaid Papers, Binder 4; Taylor to Right to Life Committees, December 17, 1971, Kincaid Papers, Binder 7. 36 Taylor to Right to Life Committees, January 19, 1972, Kincaid Papers, Binder 9. BY ROBERT N. KARRER 551 largest body was a House of Delegates based on state population (one delegate for every million people). Delegates would be elected from the state-affiliated groups. It would meet annually and elect a president, vice-president, secretary-treasurer, and a speaker of the house. The speaker would control appointments to various committees. A national pro-life council would consist of the officers selected by the House of Delegates and of councillors elected from regional conventions across the nation (a region may include six to ten states). The council would elect an executive committee and work closely with an executive director.The national council would also appoint standing committees. Finally, state organizations “should have an effective voice in public policy.”The MCCL plan remained committed to grassroots participation and considered the state groups as foundational to the growth and stability of the national office. Marjory Mecklenburg’s dream that small, local right-to-life chapters would play a role in decision-making at the national level was realized in the MCCL plan.37 A November bulletin from Taylor announced an expanded board and plans for a December 9 meeting to discuss proposals for implementation of a national organization.The masthead reflected the nine additions including Fortman and Klein—both added due to their emerging roles in upcoming referendums in North Dakota and Michigan respectively—and Mildred Jefferson, a Massachusetts physician. Five others resigned, principally Trinkaus of California and Gloria Heffernan, an Illinois physician. Significantly, Fred Mecklenburg’s selection as the new chairman of the board added weight not only to MCCL’s preeminence but also to its reorganization proposal. New York’s Golden joined the executive committee as well.38 A week before the December 9 meeting Taylor drafted another letter that described an alternate plan. He questioned the MCCL plan as overorganized and wondered if a “professionally run organization will impede the activation of the essentially volunteer grassroots non-professional effort.”The NRLC plan called for an expanded board of directors and establishment of two committees: a Committee on State 37 Minnesota Citizens Concern for Life also prepared the 24-page booklet “State ProLife Organization: A Possible Model Presented in Outline Format” that was drafted by Paul Andreini, Joseph Lampe, Marjory Mecklenburg, and Edythe Thompson, (n.d), Kincaid Papers, Binder 17; M. Mecklenburg and Lampe to McHugh and Taylor, July 11, 1972, Kincaid Papers, Binder 17. 38 See NRLC masthead, November 1, 1972, Kincaid Papers, Binder 17. Of the new members, Jefferson would become the most influential, serving as NRLC president from 1975 to 1978. 552 THE NATIONAL RIGHT TO LIFE COMMITTEE Organizations (an advisory group to assist state affiliates) and a Committee on National Organization. The latter would have a twelvemonth assignment to “continue dialogue, research and reflection on further ways to fulfill the needs of national organization.”The committee would prepare a final plan for the board and executive committee.39 On December 9, 1972, almost two months before Roe v. Wade, forty-two pro-life leaders from seventeen states and Washington, DC, met in the nation’s capital to discuss the matter of reorganization.The time had come for a national movement that would be separate from the Catholic Church. As abortion became more politicized, an independent group unaffiliated with a religious denomination could better address the issue and construct strategies for possible legislation, legal challenges, and distribute educational materials to local groups. Fred Mecklenburg chaired the meeting. McHugh emphasized the need to develop a plan to raise funds. Mecklenburg responded, saying that only a “legal entity corporation” could raise money, but a group dependent on the USCC could not fundraise as a lobbying organization.40 Discussion turned toward the two proposals. Andreini presented the MCCL plan, Taylor the alternate NRLC plan. Andreini proposed creating a caucus committee to facilitate a compromise between the two. Mecklenburg appointed seven people: Andreini and Marjory Mecklenburg (supporting the MCCL plan), Taylor (supporting the NRLC plan), McHugh (representing the NRLC), Fink (representing a well-established Pennsylvania group),Valerie Dillon of Indiana (representing a weak state group), and Jay Bowman of Georgia (representing a new state group).The caucus made five recommendations.The most debated recommendation centered on board expansion and representation. It called for a reconstituted NRLC board to be legally established by April 1973. Later that day the NRLC board met and approved a motion to incorporate the organization as a separate legal entity. It also “mandated” that participating groups contribute financially as “seed money.”41 39 Taylor to NRLC Board of Directors, December 1, 1972, Kincaid Papers, Binder 17. Minutes, National Right to Life Committee: National Organizational Meeting, December 9, 1972, Folder 1 “NRLC 1973 Board and Executive Committee,” Box 5, American Citizens Concerned for Life Papers, GRF Library. 41 Minutes, National Right to Life Committee: National Organizational Meeting, December 9, 1972, Folder 1 “NRLC 1973 Board and Executive Committee,” Box 5, American Citizens Concerned for Life Papers, GRF Library. 40 BY ROBERT N. KARRER 553 Only days later, NRLC board member Edwin H. Palmer, a theologian from New Jersey wrote to fellow directors with his own plan. In many respects it mirrored the McHugh-Taylor proposal. Under Palmer’s plan the NRLC’s expanded board would consist of fifty members—one from each state. Its officers (chairman, vice chairman, secretary, and treasurer) would compose a board of trustees. Palmer added that Minnesota’s plan was “too costly and cumbersome,” especially regarding its call for a large House of Delegates.42 Members of the board and other prominent leaders met on February 11 and March 11. At the decisive March meeting seventeen board members adopted and ratified a constitution. They set aside the MCCL plan in favor of Taylor’s more manageable structure. The board would expand to a maximum of sixty-one members, consisting of one delegate from each state (selected by state committees), one from the District of Columbia, and several at-large delegates to be chosen by the entire membership. Officers would include a president, vice-president, treasurer, and secretary to be selected by the board and serve one year. Other officers would include a nonvoting chairman of the board and a vice-chairman, as well as an executive director “who shall serve at the pleasure of the Executive Committee.” A simple majority of the board would elect the president; in the event that no candidate received a majority of the vote, a run-off election would determine the outcome. The board could remove a president by a simple majority at any time if deemed necessary by the NRLC. The board would pick a temporary nine-member executive committee that included the president, who would be permitted to vote. The committee members each would serve a term of two years. Amendments to the bylaws required a two-thirds vote of board members present.43 The NRLC executive committee worked on establishing the new organization.They proposed a first-year budget of $400,000 to cover salaries, the services of public relations and lobbying firms, rent for office space, and other miscellaneous expenses. Most important, 42 Letter, Edwin H. Palmer to NRLC Board of Directors, December 19, 1972, Folder “NRLC 1973 (1),” Box 4, American Citizens Concerned for Life Papers, GRF Library. 43 Minutes: National Right to Life Committee Board of Directors Meeting, March 11, 1973, and Proposed ByLaws: National Right to Life Committee, Inc., March 11, 1973, Folder 2 “NRLC Board and Executive Committee,” Box 5,American Citizens Concerned for Life Papers, GRF Library. 554 THE NATIONAL RIGHT TO LIFE COMMITTEE Golden stressed that by June 1, NRLC would have a new national office in Washington, DC.44 More meetings continued during April and May. The five-member executive committee grew to nine members at an April 25 meeting. New members Jay Bowman (Georgia), John Beliveau (Maine), Fink (Pennsylvania), and Carolyn Gerster (an Arizona physician) joined Golden (replacing Fred Mecklenburg as chairman), Klein, Martin McKernan, Marjory Mecklenburg, and Van Derhoef. The executive committee held another meeting in Chicago on May 5–6. It approved setting the size of the board to a maximum of sixty-one members.Any director could be removed by a two-thirds vote of the full board.The size of the executive committee was also fixed at nine members. It appointed a search committee of Marjory Mecklenburg, Fink, and Golden to look for an executive director.The NRLC incorporated on May 14, intending to engage in “educational, charitable, scientific and political activities,” according to Joseph Lampe. It listed three principal reasons for incorporation: to promote respect for the worth and dignity of all human life, including the life of the unborn child from the moment of conception; to promote, encourage and sponsor such amendatory and statutory measures which will provide protection for human life before and after birth, particularly for the defenseless, the incompetent, and the impaired and the incapacitated; to engage in such activities . . . in the by-laws . . . which will assist in the accomplishments of those purposes.45 Final reorganization culminated at the first NRLC convention, held at Detroit’s Sheraton Cadillac Hotel on June 8–10, 1973. Detroit had been chosen after the state’s anti-abortion coalition, Voice of the Unborn (since March, incorporated and renamed Michigan Citizens for Life), achieved its remarkable victory in the November election. Taylor, Klein, and Van Derhoef wrote to constituents referring to this gathering as the “fourth” right-to-life convention, recalling the earlier meetings since 1970. However, top NRLC leaders decided that earlier 44 Edward J. Golden to Right to Life Committees, April 12, 1973, Kincaid Papers, Binder 17. 45 Minutes: National Right to Life Executive Committee Meeting, May 5–6, 1973, Folder “NRLC 1973 (2),” Box 4, American Citizens Concerned for Life Papers, GRF Library. Articles of Incorporation of National Right to Life Committee, Inc. (May 14, 1973), Kincaid Papers, Binder 17; Golden to NRLC Board of Directors, May 28, 1973, Kincaid Papers, Binder 17. BY ROBERT N. KARRER 555 conferences would not be counted since they occurred prior to reorganization.46 The Detroit convention was the largest to date.About 1500 people attended from forty-six states and Canada.“They are a driven, plucky, and resourceful lot of people,” wrote sympathetic columnist Nick Thimmesch of the conventioneers. “Their scope widens and their membership broadens.Young Jewish men wearing [yarmulkes], a few nuns in mod dress, a sprinkling of priests and ministers, and parents toting their young like papooses were seen.”47 A substantially enlarged NRLC board convened to select its executive committee and national officers. The board grew to forty-six people (twenty-four men and twenty-two women) from forty-one states, the District of Columbia, with four at-large delegates. After a marathon session late Saturday evening that stretched well beyond midnight, the board voted 22 to 18 for Golden as president over Marjory Mecklenburg. Gerster was picked as vice-president, Klein as treasurer, and Fink as secretary. Marjory Mecklenburg was later selected as chairman of the board with Jefferson as vice-chairman.The nine-member executive board also included Fortman, Robert Greene of Kentucky, Taylor, Willke, and law professor Joseph Witherspoon of Texas. Schaller agreed to serve as interim executive director for a few months.48 The expansion and make-up of the new board was criticized. Personality clashes and power struggles emerged on all fronts. Some questioned the level of competency of some board members. Recalled Lampe, “Many NRLC directors . . . were in way over their heads and lacked experience and judgment . . . incredibly naïve and green . . . no qualifications or training needed. It was simultaneously painful and laughable.”49 46 Taylor to state and local chapters, April 13, 1973; Lifespan (Detroit), 2, no. 2 (1973); Kincaid Papers, Binder 22; Human Life (Seattle), May 1973, Kincaid Papers, Binder 19. 47 NRLC convention brochure, June 8–10, 1973, Kincaid Papers, Binder 20; Nick Thimmesch,“Right to Life Fights for Human Values,” Chicago Tribune, June 17, 1973,A-6. 48 Golden to pro-life leaders, July 30, 1973, Kincaid Papers, Binder 20. States that did not send delegates to the Detroit convention were Arkansas, Hawaii, Idaho, Mississippi, Nevada, North Carolina, South Carolina, Tennessee, and Wyoming. See also Ellen McCormack’s “The 1973 Right to Life Convention,” in Who Speaks for the Unborn (Woman for the Unborn), June 14, 1973, Kincaid Papers, Binder 20. 49 Interview with Lampe, July 28, 2009. 556 THE NATIONAL RIGHT TO LIFE COMMITTEE Although other anti-abortion groups of the pre-Roe years— National Youth Pro-Life Coalition (1971), Americans United for Life (1971), and Feminists for Life (1972)—vied for attention and shared NRLC’s commitment to pro-life goals, they never achieved the influence, size, or financial stability of the NRLC. The structure of the NRLC, its diverse board of directors, its fifty state affiliates, and its hundreds of local chapters made it clearly the most democratic of the groups. Its ability to marshal constituents (principally at the state or local level) to make phone calls, distribute literature, write letters to the editor, contact lawmakers and other officials, and volunteer in local political campaigns all helped to hone its multilevel organizational skills.The NRLC’s lobbying in Washington, DC, and state capitals made it a more effective organization than other groups, especially in supporting the numerous bills introduced by pro-life lawmakers that were aimed at restricting the impact of the Roe decision. Thus, the NRLC’s emergence as an independent organization, unshackled from the USCC and governed with newly established bylaws and policies, was consequential for the future when money, networking, and political action made it the premier pro-life organization in the country. Conclusion The NRLC succeeded (with substantial bumps along the way) in its transition from subordinate of the Catholic Conference to full autonomy.The organizational plan offered by MCCL was rejected primarily because of its complexity. In the end, a majority agreed to a less structured organization proposed by McHugh and Taylor that was more functional, if perhaps less democratic. Although its first president, Golden, was Roman Catholic, its inner circle, as represented by its executive committee, was nonsectarian and thus embraced an ecumenism that surpassed other groups. After the NRLC’s first executive director stepped down after serving eight months, NRLC picked Ray White, a Mormon, as his replacement. Marjory Mecklenburg, a Methodist and popular president of MCCL, failed in her bid to become the NRLC’s second president by two votes, a devastating loss that ultimately led her to depart the group in August 1974. Other Protestants included Gerster, an Episcopalian; Fink, a Baptist; and Jefferson and Klein, Presbyterians. Much has been written regarding the Catholic element still dominant in the anti-abortion movement and the opposition’s use of the “Catholic label” as a wedge issue. Indeed, the historical record is BY ROBERT N. KARRER 557 replete with examples showing heavy anti-Catholic rhetoric. Lawrence Lader, biographer, author, and cofounder of the National Association for the Repeal of Abortion Laws (NARAL) in 1969, was notorious for his anti-Catholic vitriol, as documented by Bernard Nathanson, a former friend of Lader’s, pro-life activist, and doctor who formerly performed abortions.50 The NRLC and most other pro-life groups remained heavily Catholic in makeup throughout the 1970s. Evangelical and conservative Protestants entered the political fray during the midterm election of 1978 with modest success.The next year became a benchmark for the movement when four key events occurred: the founding of the Moral Majority, the creation of Concerned Woman for America (challenging the National Organization for Women), publication of the prolife book Whatever Happened to the Human Race by Francis Schaeffer and former surgeon general C. Everett Koop and its companion film series, and the election of a conservative president of the Southern Baptist Convention that signaled a move in the pro-life direction. These events helped to bring millions of Protestant prolifers into the movement. Despite a slow beginning in addressing abortion as a political issue, the bishops, in selecting McHugh to steer the NRLC through its turbulent first years, seem to have made a wise decision.Although not all of McHugh’s decisions were appreciated and his narrow approach to leadership allowed for very few generals in the NRLC, his steadfast resolve to engage in the abortion issue at a time when many people remained silent is significant. His efforts to build the NRLC on a meager budget laid the groundwork for the future movement. 50 Bernard N. Nathanson with Richard N. Ostling, Aborting America (Garden City, NY, 1979), p. 33. BOOK REVIEWS ________ General and Miscellaneous Protestant Empire: Religion and the Making of the British Atlantic World. By Carla Gardina Pestana (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. 2009. Pp. viii, 302. $39.95. ISBN 978-0-812-24150-1.) The making of the Atlantic world involved the clash of Europeans with each other and with non-Europeans alike. The conflict that ensued was more complex than a struggle for political or economic dominance in a rapidly changing transatlantic world; it also involved the intersection of divergent religious ideologies and practices. Believing the clash of these religious beliefs and practices to be “central to the creation of this new world” (p. 1), Carla Gardina Pestana deftly assesses how British Protestantism participated in the clash and was simultaneously transformed, playing a decisive role in the formation of a Protestant empire. Pestana begins with a survey of the Atlantic world in the sixteenth century and progresses chronologically from the Reformation and England’s nascent lead within Protestantism to the eventual formation of an Atlantic empire that was self-consciously British and predominantly Protestant. Even when political ties with the American colonies unraveled in the late-eighteenth century, this transplanted Protestantism remained strong. Pestana concentrates her analysis on the process whereby the Atlantic intersection of peoples and ideas, the transplantation of institutions and cultures, and the ensuing negotiations that such encounters necessitated (pp. 6–11) created a new and vibrant Protestant culture that permeated the empire. Her work is a significant cultural synthesis of old faiths in a new world and new faiths in an old world. She succeeds admirably in showing how the splintering of Protestantism into various denominations and sects within England and her colonies in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries did not prohibit their emerging in the nineteenth century politically disparate but “united into a common Anglophone spiritual orientation” (p. 6). Pestana moves with skill over the political, geographical, and religious landscape displaying an impressive awareness of the religious milieu in England and the religious pluralism this helped foster throughout the Atlantic. This points to one strength of her book: Although narrower studies geographically, chronologically, or even denominationally may give a sense of religious upheaval at home and abroad, Pestana exposes the overarching Protestant homogeneity of the religious pluralism evident within the British 558 BOOK REVIEWS 559 Atlantic; the empire may have experienced increasing variety as to its religious expression, but it was consistently Protestant. This British Protestant identity came to its clearest expression abroad in England’s numerous conflicts with Catholic France. However, it also fueled political upheaval at home, as evidenced in the Glorious Revolution, where “Catholicism ceased to be seen as a largely external threat” (p. 150). This English “fear of Catholicism” proves an important interpretive element, for, as Pestana affirms, “A nascent sense of British identity converged around hostility to absolutist and expansionist Catholicism, positing it as the opposite of English rights and Protestantism” (p. 161). Protestant Empire is a rich study that accounts well for the political changes in the Atlantic world between the sixteenth and nineteenth centuries and how religious life in England and her colonies both contributed to the transatlantic transformation of church and state and was itself transformed in the process. For those who desire a survey of “religion, the expansion of Europe, and the New World cultural encounters” (p. 11), this is a welcome and lucidly written volume. University of Maine RON BAINES Offenders or Victims? German Jews and the Causes of Modern Catholic Antisemitism. By Olaf Blaschke. [Studies in Antisemitism.] (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, for the Vidal Sassoon International Center for the Study of Antisemitism and the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. 2009. Pp. viii, 224. $50.00. ISBN 978-0-803-22522-0.) Was modern German Catholic antisemitism wholly constructed, or did Jews somehow “cause” it? According to Olaf Blaschke, whereas Jewish authors have complained about the former view’s “dejudaization of Jew-hatred” (p. 26, citing Dennis Prager and Joseph Telushkin), historians who have seized this opening to investigate Jewish “causes” have tendentiously assumed that they must have existed. What is new about his book, he promises, is that it pioneers the study not of “Catholic Attitudes toward Jews” (reconnoitered in a postintroductory chapter of fifty-two pages), but “Jewish Attitudes toward Catholics” (chapter 2, eighty-eight pages) and “Jewish Views of Catholic Antisemitism” (chapter 3, thirty-three pages). Not Catholic but Jewish sources are to pave the way to the promised land of historical understanding. When Blaschke arrives there, his unremarkable conclusion, despite the book’s deliberately disconcerting title, is that there were no Jewish “causes”; Jews were entirely victims and in no way offenders. What is a Jewish source? For Blaschke, the primary answer is seven imperial-era newspapers that called themselves Jewish. He shares little background information about these sources, except to say that they were distributed by Jewish societies or publicists and had low circulations. 560 BOOK REVIEWS Unsystematically sampling them (he is hampered by spotty collections), Blaschke finds that Jews who encountered Catholic antisemitism responded tactically, expressing surprise and calling Catholics to their best selves. Nor did the Kulturkampf elicit these Jews’ approval: Despite occasional intemperance (which Blaschke justifies by referring to papal militancy and the continuing difficulties of Jews in Catholic-ruled countries), these commentators saw the Kulturkampf’s dangerous parallels to their own situation. Blaschke makes these additional points: During the Kaiserreich, only a handful of Jews sat in the Reichstag; none of those Jews voted for the law that expelled the Jesuits (even if they did vote for other discriminations, about which Blaschke seems unconcerned); and, contrary to the usage that continues to be insisted upon by some “Catholic” historians, prominent liberal newspapers under Jewish ownership were not “Jewish” newspapers and did not pursue a Jewish agenda, if only because there was none. Indeed, the contrasting obscurity of the explicitly Jewish periodicals underscores a significant point: Jews differed from Catholics in this period precisely in that they did not take “refuge” in a well-articulated subcultural “ghetto” (p. 109) but rather sought assimilation. In this circumstance, assertions regarding a tightly organized Jewish press and agenda—be it cultural or socioeconomic—could only have been, in Blaschke’s view, Catholic projections. Blaschke’s intermittent use of Jewish community newspapers certainly underscores the need to seek out new types of Jewish sources on how Jews coped with antisemitism, especially practicing Jews and the less self-consciously assimilated. But Blaschke seems more interested here in answering critics of his controversial earlier publications on Catholic antisemitism. His chapter on “Jewish Attitudes toward Catholics” is mostly about the reverse. Employing a useful typology offered by Gavin Langmuir (p. 69), Blaschke examines those alleged Jewish provocations that were “chimerical” (wholly imagined), those that were “xenophobic” (generalized group attributes based on undesirable individual ones), and those that were “realistic” (based on genuinely clashing group interests). But most of this chapter’s sources are not Jewish: The endnotes refer mainly to Catholic antisemitic polemicists or to Blaschke’s belabored secondary targets. Blaschke concludes that there was no Freemason-Jewish plot for world domination (a chimera), no widespread Kulturkampf participation (a xenophobic suspicion), and—despite Jews’ “indisputable” (p. 104) social and economic rise—no genuine clash of interests. Instead, he again argues, Catholic religiosity and confessional fervor caused antisemitism. In that context, Catholic statements rejecting racialism only served to assert the crusading superiority of the Catholic milieu’s own aggressive antisemitic discourse. That discourse seems to Blaschke no less relentless than racialism in its venomous use of Jewish “topoi” to confront the challenges of modernity. Today’s “Catholic” historians who argue otherwise are either labeled apologists or deemed thoughtlessly (or “daringly,” p. 21) reliant on their antisemitic co-religionists’ own prior assertions regarding the factuality of the Jews’ alleged provocations. BOOK REVIEWS 561 As in earlier works, Blaschke shows a gift for relentless argumentation. His attention to both Jewish and Catholic rhetoric lends weight to his negative result about provocative Jewish conduct as well as his refusal to exonerate the instinctively self-adhering Catholic community from some form of antisemitism. But Blaschke pays little heed to change over time and dismisses or ignores inconvenient trends that add ambiguity to the picture.The use of isolated and narrowly cast Jewish sources begs the question of representativeness. Blaschke’s logical talents do not spare him from offering up false choices, glossing over real ones, and jumping to conclusions. In his own preliminary language, he refers repeatedly to allegedly provocative Jewish “behavior” (or “conduct”: dustjacket; pp. vii, 1, 2, 4), but does not seem to recognize any distinction between Jewish “behavior” and Jewish identity. He thereby renders problematic his entire discussion of “dejudaized” constructs, behavioral provocations, and “causes.” Moreover, in attributing Catholic antisemitism to the supposedly constant and unifying force of Catholic ultramontanism and to the overheated confessionalism of the era, Blaschke does not mention the epic (post-“Old Catholic”) internal battles over these themes in the latter part of the period under consideration (Septennatsstreit, Modernismusstreit, Gewerkschaftsstreit, Zentrumsstreit)—battles in which the less papist and more ecumenical participants were often more intrigued by antisemitic partisanship than were their opponents. If Blaschke’s shocking title, which starts as a provocation and seems to end as a pose, does not sufficiently tax the reader’s confidence, Blaschke’s tone and methods may do so. This is a pity, for many of his more empirically grounded findings are at least suggestive. Blaschke’s record argues against linking his logical assertiveness to his current empirical limitations. But the result is nevertheless an overbearing exposition that tends to leave one intermittently puzzled about the author’s aims and uneasy about the intended implications of his outcomes. College of the Holy Cross NOEL D. CARY Global Catholicism: Diversity and Change since Vatican II. By Ian Linden. (New York: Columbia University Press. 2009. Pp. viii, 337. $27.50. ISBN 9780-231-15416-1.) This book tells the fascinating and important story of Roman Catholicism’s shift from a relatively Eurocentric to a more global Church. During the 1950s the policies of the Holy See were largely devised with European problems in view (pp. 30–33). By 2000, with only a shrinking 40 percent of the world’s Catholic community to be found in North America and Europe (p. 240), things had changed. Ian Linden is a professorial research associate in the School of Oriental and African Studies at the University of London and former director of the Catholic Institute for International Relations. In this book Linden has assem- 562 BOOK REVIEWS bled a large amount of information about complex developments in Latin America,Africa, and Asia and presented it in a readable fashion. He begins by sketching the background of the Second Vatican Council, starting with the modernist controversy of the early-twentieth century. The book explores how the decision-making during the Council only slowly began to reflect a more international perspective. Each region is analyzed vis-à-vis the initial steps toward inculturation taken in the 1950s, but developments after the Council receive the most attention. Global Catholicism treats different parts of the world separately, giving considerable attention to Catholicism in Latin America, the Philippines, South Africa, Rwanda, Rhodesia/Zaire, Malawi, and Asia outside of the Philippines. Then, since “a fully global and pluralist Church is by nature collegiate, a community of communities, rather than a rigid hierarchical structure with its satellites controlled and ruled from a dominant centre” (p. 156), it explores the degree to which ideas traveled from one region to another.The answer to this question is not uniform.The indigenous “kairos theology” that developed in South Africa, for example, employed a methodology similar to that of Latin American liberation theology but was largely homegrown (p. 197). Amid the differences around the world, the dynamics were similar. Inspired by the documents of the Second Vatican Council, some activists identified with the needs of the poor or the disenfranchised, resulting in disagreements among the local bishops. Depending on the current priorities of the pope, the Holy See was more or less cautious in its response.The outcome was mixed, but as a whole the Church moved in the direction of including indigenous leaders and standing up for justice and human rights. Linden ends his book with some attention to ongoing problems associated with globalization. One is the role of popular Catholicism. Since the 1970s the official Vatican policy has been “inculturation,” defined as “the insertion of Christianity in the various human cultures” and “the intimate transformation of authentic cultural values through their integration in Christianity” (p. 239). But what sorts of popular piety are to be honored? A second problem is the role of interreligious dialogue. Dialogue has clearly been endorsed as “an integral part of the mission of the Church” (p. 254). But to what extent can inculturation include appropriating elements from the dominant local religion and regarding “a more hybrid religious consciousness as a channel for Grace” (p. 255)? “It has been in the domain of inculturation and relations with other faiths that the post-conciliar Church looks and feels, from top to bottom, significantly different from its pre-conciliar past” (p. 260). Yet, on the problems associated with these two issues the papacy has yet to find a consistent and coherent stance. Linden also applauds the Church’s witness for nonviolence. He worries about the Church becoming an “interest group” in secular societies rather than working for the common good and especially about sexual misconduct BOOK REVIEWS 563 eroding respect for the priesthood in Africa and elsewhere (p. 268). Despite the excellent work done by women’s religious orders, women “do not occupy top Curial positions or exert power in Vatican consistories” (p. 274), and “Rome has still to show a comprehensive understanding of the issue of gender relations” (p. 275). Finally, in Linden’s eyes, despite the connection between global warming and the plight of the poor, the Church has given insufficient attention to the development of a viable ecological theology and ethic. Catholicism’s capacity to develop these,“implement them in action and speak truth to power, may prove to be its greatest test as a global Church in the twenty-first century” (p. 281). Linden’s analysis often is insightful. He writes with engaging candor, not hiding his own judgments nor allowing them to dominate the narrative. His instructive book highlights significant issues that have arisen since the Second Vatican Council and provides an excellent guide to the global developments of the last half-century. DARRELL JODOCK Gustavus Adolphus College St. Peter, MN Ancient The Second Church: Popular Christianity, A.D. 200–400. By Ramsay MacMullen. [Writings from the Greco-Roman World Supplement Series, No. 1.] (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. 2009. Pp. xii, 210. $24.95 paperback. ISBN 978-1-589-83403-3.) At first sight, the thesis of this book seems improbable, so contrary is it to received wisdom—that, in the centuries covered here, only some 5 percent of Christians attended Sunday worship on a regular basis, with the other 95 percent finding fulfillment for their piety in occasional celebrations in cemeteries and especially in connection with the tombs of martyrs and other saints. The latter observances sometimes were held out of doors, frequently located on private property beyond the control of the ecclesiastical authorities, and could accommodate large numbers of people.Yet the thesis must be taken seriously, not only because it is put forward by a distinguished figure in the world of early Christian scholarship but also because it is carefully supported by a wealth of evidence—archaeological, epigrammatic, and literary. To arrive at his figures, Ramsey MacMullen calculates the likely capacity of extant places of worship against estimates for the Christian population of specific cities and towns, and provides in an appendix a detailed list of buildings throughout the ancient Christian world erected prior to 400, with measurements of their size, where that information is available (pp. 117–31). But there is much more to this relatively short book than simply these calculations. MacMullen presents an imaginative picture of the worship practices of ordi- 564 BOOK REVIEWS nary Christians of the period that helps bring to life the often thin narratives of standard liturgical textbooks and is well worth reading for that reason alone. But what of the validity of his central thesis? Were such a small proportion of nominal Christians regular attendees at Sunday worship? Recent studies by other scholars have certainly made historians take more seriously how central the cult of the saints and memorials to the departed were to ordinary Christians, rather than relegating those subjects to the sidelines as in former times.What MacMullen argues is that all these people cannot also have been in church every Sunday, because there would not have been room for them. In general, that seems to have been so. But perhaps some caveats might be acknowledged. First, there is at least some evidence for the continuance of house-churches in the fourth century (to which MacMullen pays only very scant attention—e.g., p. 87) and for the unwillingness of some of these small congregations to move to the new and larger church buildings favored by the bishops. That might account for some—although certainly not all—of those he reckoned were not in attendance. Second, his calculation of the space needed by each individual in the church buildings appears rather generous. If we presume that people generally stood, rather than sat or knelt, and were often rather tightly crowded together, then the proportion of the population that could have been accommodated may have been somewhat higher than he supposes. Third, although his figures may be accurate for the fourth century, they may be less reliable for the third on account of the much less available evidence for this period. In spite of these points, the conclusions reached do appear to embody a large measure of truth that should make historians of early Christian life and worship adopt a rather different approach to the subject in future. University of Notre Dame PAUL F. BRADSHAW Ravenna in Late Antiquity. By Deborah Mauskopf Deliyannis. (New York: Cambridge University Press. 2010. Pp. xx, 444. $95.00. ISBN 978-0-52183672-2.) This is a remarkable book, which admirably fulfills the author’s intention to produce a scholarly work in English that summarizes the whole field of Ravenna studies from the origin of the city in the third century B.C. to the present day, with a concentration on the late antique period. Her introduction covers both the rise and fall of Ravenna’s status as a capital city during that period, and the historiography which, starting in the ninth century with Agnellus of Ravenna, has developed around the history and monuments of the city. The author’s translation and annotation of Agnellus’s manuscript as The Book of Pontiffs of the Church of Ravenna (Washington, DC, 2004) has given her a unique background to undertake this formidable task. BOOK REVIEWS 565 Deliyannis’s chapters cover, in sequence, Ravenna’s history from the third century B.C. to the time of Agnellus in the ninth century A.D. In the first chapter she discusses Ravenna in Roman times, with the imperial harbor and fleet at nearby Classe.The period 400–489, when Ravenna was the de facto capital city of the western Roman empire is treated in her second chapter, followed by Ravenna’s infrastructure and imperial monuments in the third. Ostrogothic Ravenna also merits two chapters.Theoderic’s Arian rule from 493 to 526 and his secular buildings, both palaces and mausoleum, are discussed in the fourth chapter, whereas the fifth focuses on the beliefs of the rival sects, Arian and Orthodox, as expressed in their religious buildings.The magnificent buildings raised by the Orthodox Church shortly after Theoderic’s death are also discussed. Deliyannis then surveys the chaotic period in mid-sixth century Italy, when Lombard invasions and outbreaks of plague allowed Justinian’s reconquest of Italy. Ravenna was to become the capital of the Byzantine territories there under the ultimate control of representatives from Constantinople.This early Byzantine period is marked by the growing power of the Church in Ravenna from 540 to 600 and the patronage of its archbishops, who built both San Vitale and Sant’Apollinare in Classe. Finally, Deliyannis investigates Ravenna’s transition from a capital city in late antiquity to a regional center in the early Middle Ages, as portrayed by Agnellus. The book is illustrated by clear and useful line drawings and plans, as well as by black- and-white photographs and color plates, which vary in quality. It is the first to survey the bulk of the Ravenna literature, little of which is in English.The author’s background as a historian of late antiquity and the early Middle Ages, her familiarity with Agnellus’s manuscript, and her interest in the history of late-antique art have ensured that her book will be extremely useful to students and scholars in these disciplines. The quality of the voluminous reference section enables the scholar to access the literature easily, with the guidance of Deliyannis’s text. In general, the author’s policy is to outline the arguments expressed in the literature and to leave readers to form their own opinions. Very occasionally, she chooses to support a traditional option that ignores compelling recent arguments for a change of interpretation. A case in point is her traditional identification of the “running saint” in the south lunette of the Mausoleum of Galla Placidia as St. Lawrence, rather than St.Vincent of Saragossa.The latter interpretation is based on the iconography of the composition as a whole and has been well accepted in the recent literature. All in all, Deliyannis has provided an exceptional resource. Her book is a mine of information; it is functionally laid out, remarkably complete, and often points the scholar to interesting, unresolved questions.The book will become an essential resource for all those interested in the history, art, and architecture of Ravenna in late antiquity. University of Victoria, Canada GILLIAN MACKIE 566 BOOK REVIEWS Medicine and Health Care in Early Christianity. By Gary B. Ferngren. (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. 2009. Pp. xiv, 246. $35.00. ISBN 978-0-801-89142-7.) What has Cos to do with Jerusalem? Reworded,Tertullian’s famous question focuses on the relationship between early Christianity and the medicine associated with Hippocrates. No modern discussion of this can proceed very far without some reference to the writings of Darrel Amundsen and Gary Ferngren. For more than thirty years, both individually and in collaboration, they have offered overviews and particular studies of “healing and medicine in Christianity,”to quote their title in the Encyclopedia of Religion. Their articles, covering the Middle Ages as well as antiquity, are characterized by accessibility to the nonspecialist, full deployment of the secondary literature, a broad sociological framework, and sensitivity to current ethical issues. They also betray a deep familiarity with the primary evidence that is sometimes obscured by footnoting of translations only. Amundsen’s most influential papers were collected in Medicine, Society, and Faith in the Ancient and Medieval Worlds (Baltimore, 1996) and prefaced by a helpful typology of how medicine and religion can interrelate and how the early church Fathers viewed medicine (with nuanced approbation, not fundamental hostility). Now Gary Ferngren has at last followed suit. He reworks, and blends into a monograph, nine previously published papers, two of them written with Amundsen. Early Christianity did not spread around the Roman world primarily because it was a religion of spiritual healing—miracles or exorcism. Not until the fourth century did miraculous healing become at all widely sought. Christianity was far more accurately and effectively (self-)advertised as a religion of charitable health care, first in times of crisis (epidemics), then, after 300, through its institutional poor relief (hospitals). Christians of the first five centuries did not necessarily consider illness to be the result of sin or of demonic possession. They readily consulted physicians, expecting to be treated in a naturalistic way. The Fathers, whose strictures on merely human medicine have usually been quoted out of context, in fact frowned on such secular consultations only in very precise circumstances. Such have been some of the main arguments of Ferngren and Amundsen in their papers. Such are the arguments of this book. Anyone who already accepts them in outline and has propounded similar views (like this reviewer) will be pleased to see them set out in an elegant, connected, thoroughly documented way. In that sense the book pushes, almost too vigorously, at an open door. On the other hand, those who have, for instance, not previously been convinced by the author’s interpretation of the healing miracles in the Gospels, the standing in the early Church of the Epistle of James, or the polemics of Arnobius will probably not change their minds. Even those sympathetic to Ferngren’s overall thesis may detect too forced a concern to present Christians as “regular guys” in the Mediterranean med- BOOK REVIEWS 567 ical world and a downplaying of that world’s diversity. Despite initial qualifications, medicine tends to be reduced in these pages too much to Hippocratic-Galenic medicine when there were so many alternatives. Religious healing tends also to be reduced to miracles and exorcism, forgetting that of the sacraments. Illness as theodicy or purification makes too few appearances. The medical aspect of pre-Constantinian clerical philanthropy (“a system of parochial care of the sick,” as it is rather optimistically called, p. 120) is overstressed by generalizing too hastily from the evidence of St. Cyprian of Carthage. But a good book, which this one is, should regenerate discussion rather than close it down. It deserves wide scrutiny. It also deserves a more suitable cover and fewer misprints. Royal Holloway, University of London PEREGRINE HORDEN Church, Cities, and People.A Study of the Plebs in the Church and Cities of Roman Africa in Late Antiquity. By Alexander Evers. [Interdisciplinary Studies in Ancient Culture and Religion,Vol 11.] (Leuven: Peeters. 2010. Pp. xiv, 367. €58,00 paperback. ISBN 978-9-042-92206-8.) Late-antique North Africa was distinguished for its high level of urbanism and for the productivity of the land over which these many towns were scattered.As ships carried the African agricultural surplus away for consumption throughout the Mediterranean, others brought cultural and religious ideas back with them. As a consequence, Christianity took root early in the North African provinces and flourished there spectacularly.Tertullian, St. Cyprian of Carthage, and St.Augustine all expounded a Christian faith that was shaped by the rich towns in which they lived and represented the peak of late-Roman production in these important provinces. Alexander Evers’s intriguing Church, Cities, and People attempts to return Roman African Christianity to its urban context and to reclaim the writing of several of its most important champions as crucial sources for the understanding of the late-antique world. As such, it represents an important contribution to the understanding of a crucial period of early church history. Evers’s principal concern is to demonstrate that the language in which African Christian writers described the demographic structures of their Church was influenced directly by the political realities of the world in which they lived. He argues that their sermons, letters, theological tracts, and polemics can tell us a great deal about the secular municipal politics of the period and should not be dismissed as examples of a rarefied Christian rhetoric with little wider relevance.To this end, he provides a careful assessment of the usage of the terms plebs and populus in the writing of Cyprian of Carthage. He successfully dismisses the view that these terms were essentially interchangeable at this time and shows that Cyprian’s plebes were the small, local congregations upon which the nascent church depended and the pop- 568 BOOK REVIEWS ulus the Christian community (or indeed the secular community) as a whole. Close reading of Cyprian shows that the plebes were the groups partly responsible for the election (and occasional rejection) of their bishops— through acclamation, if not through the familiar apparatus of the Roman Republican political system, as the traditional associations of the term might imply. This in itself is an important observation. It shows not only that Christian congregations were consciously integrated within the political and social systems of the late-Roman African towns but also that Cyprian and his successors were anxious to underscore this conceptual link. The Christians were not a world apart and did not develop an esoteric language of their own in speaking of themselves, but rather drew their inspiration from the political world around them. Evers expands this observation in the remainder of his study to encompass, first, the writing of the fourth-century polemicist Optatus of Milevis, whose anti-Donatist writings provide a crucial source for the origins of that brutal schism, and then the greatest Roman African of them all, Augustine of Hippo. Of the two sections, the latter is the more successful— as Evers shows, both Optatus and the Donatist sources that he cites do not employ this political language with the same consistency as Cyprian or Augustine.To be sure, an appeal to the coherence of the Christian populus was a crucial rhetorical device within a dispute that placed the universality of the Church in opposition to the purity of the congregation, but the use of language is not completely consistent. In Augustine, by contrast, Evers notes a reversion to Cyprianic language. Again, plebs is used to refer to the congregation—a significant indication of continuity in language and (the author argues) in social institutions. The book concludes with a substantial discussion of the varied archaeological and literary evidence for urban life in Augustinian Africa. This study has much to commend it. It makes a strong case for the value of African Christian writers as sources for political continuity. It also adds a great deal to the continuing debates on episcopal elections in that idiosyncratic region and to the understanding of the great schism of the fourth century.At times, its origins as a doctoral dissertation do peek through.The substantial discussions of Cyprian’s personal background and African urbanism in the fifth century, for example, are competent and well-written summaries of those subjects, but detract from the central thesis of the book. More seriously, the bibliography employed is considerably richer for the period before 2001 (when the dissertation was submitted) than for the decade or so since. In several places, Evers acknowledges important recent literature with a judicious footnote—as with the citation of Lucy Grig’s seminal scholarship at p.59n29 and p.111n209—but a fuller engagement would have been welcome. Elsewhere, certain redundancies have crept in: following Brent Shaw’s recent publications, few would now accept uncritically the view of the circumcelliones as suicide-obsessed head-cases, and Maureen Tilley has substantially developed her view on the collecta ideology of the African Church BOOK REVIEWS 569 since her (excellent) book The Bible in Christian North Africa: The Donatist World (Minneapolis, 1997). A decade of archaeology, moreover, has demonstrated fairly clearly that North Africa witnessed some urban continuity well into the fifth century (and perhaps beyond), a point that renders Evers’s painstaking argument for continuity into the later fourth century somewhat redundant. Nevertheless, this remains a useful and important contribution to scholarship. University of Leicester A. H. MERRILLS Monachesimo e istituzioni ecclesiastiche in Egitto. Alcuni casi di interazione e integrazione. By Mariachiara Giorda. [Fondazione Bruno Kessler: Scienze religiose. Nuova serie 22.] (Bologna: E[dizioni] D[ehoniane] B[ologna]. 2010. Pp. 179. €12,60 paperback. ISBN 978-8-810-41516-0.) The present publication represents the first part of a doctoral dissertation submitted to the École Pratique des Hautes Études in Paris in 2007.The study focuses on the relationship between monks and the ecclesiastical world— bishops, priests, and deacons—and the reasons and occasions for their exchanges and conflicts. A notable feature of the work is the use made of the documentary as well as the literary sources in both Greek and Coptic, including narratives, historical accounts, canonical sources, and synaxaries. Mariachiara Giorda has chosen to study the period from the Council of Chalcedon until the arrival of the Arabs and Islam in Egypt. She notes that, whatever may have been the situation earlier in the relationship of monasticism with the institutional ecclesiastical authority, it is not correct to apply to this period a reading of monasticism founded on charismatic authority and antagonistic to institutional authority. Likewise it is mistaken to interpret the relationship between monasticism and the ecclesiastical institution in this period in terms of separation, conflict, and competition. On the contrary, she finds a constantly deepening integration of monasticism with the ecclesiastical institutions and an intensification of collaboration that leads to the construction of a specifically Egyptian Christian identity. Three themes have a privileged role in this research: the celebration of the Eucharistic liturgy among the monks and in the monasteries; the presence and role of a monastic clergy; and the relationship between the monks and the bishops, including the figure and model of the monk-bishop. The book is divided into six chapters.The first examines the pluralism in Egyptian monasticism and the relations among monks, ecclesiastical institutions, and the laity as well as the state of research regarding the celebration of the liturgy, the monastic clergy, and monk-bishops. The second examines the celebrations in the monastic churches and the participation of the monks in the liturgy.The third studies the presence of a monastic clergy, its liturgical 570 BOOK REVIEWS function, and other functions that distinguished the clerical monks from the lay monks. In the fourth chapter the specifically monastic roles of spiritual father, business manager, and so forth are examined. The fifth examines the relations between monks and bishops and presents some monk-bishop figures.The final chapter studies the relations of monks and institutions as can be seen from the biography of Shenoute and from a monastic Melitian archive. Athanasius set in motion a complex process of integration between the monastic movement and the rest of the Church, which resulted in new and changed roles in the Church. With the ever-increasing diffusion of monasticism throughout Egypt, the monks assumed a role in the Church alongside the clergy and the laity. Many were consulted as spiritual guides.The monasteries became the place of encounter par excellence of the Christian life, the sacred place of encounter among monks, laity, clerics, and God (pp. 143–45). From the point of view of methodology and of content the present work represents an important advance and synthesis in the study of monasticism in the period from 451 to 642 AD. MARK SHERIDAN, O.S.B. Dormition Abbey, Jerusalem Medieval Archaeology of Frankish Church Councils, AD 511–768. By Gregory I. Halfond. [Medieval Law and Its Practice,Vol. 6.] (Leiden: Brill. 2010. Pp. xii, 299. $138.00. ISBN 978-9-004-17976-9.) The first surprise of Gregory Halfond’s new book is that, despite its title, it is not about archaeology, either in the physical, excavation-related sense or in the epistemological, Foucauldian one. Rather, it is “an effort to construct a narrative of institutional history from isolated shards of evidence” (p. viii). The second surprise is that it is unexpectedly successful. The book can be divided roughly into three sections.The first, comprising the introduction and chapters 1 through 4, deals with Merovingian councils. Here, Halfond makes several important and convincing arguments. After discussing, among other topics, the continuity of the Merovingian council with its late-Roman predecessor, Halfond begins to construct his argument that the church council was indeed an institution: he shows that there was continuity of personnel, protocol, and concerns across the three centuries of Merovingian rule in the old Roman province of Gaul. Here he is addressing, in a focused way, the question of whether our very limited sources from the period after 511 should be read in a minimalist or maximalist fashion, and he BOOK REVIEWS 571 comes down firmly on the maximalist side. In chapter 2,“The Physical World of the Frankish Councils,” he sets out to answer questions that few historians have ever considered: how exactly was a council called, who decided where it might meet, how did the attendees get there, who set the agenda, and what actually happened in the week or two that the council was sitting.These are all questions that are crucially important to understanding exactly what a council was, and how it saw itself, but have been very rarely addressed in scholarly literature. Chapters 3 and 4 are concerned with the actual legislation that the Merovingian councils produced. Halfond argues forcefully that the canons produced by the more than fifty councils he examines should be understood as reflections of the social and political reality of the Merovingian world, and that Merovingian bishops meant them to be taken quite seriously. He notes the repetitive nature of some legislation but believes that this was quite intentional; quoting earlier councils, whether ecumenical or Frankish, allowed the bishops to situate themselves in the larger Christian world and to establish their orthodox credentials. Moreover, he detects in the sometimes repetitious canons subtle changes in language and focus, which he says obscures their innovative nature. Finally, he argues that the bishops of Francia worked alongside the Merovingian kings to create a policy that would allow ecclesiastical legislation to have a real force. The second section of the book, which consists of chapter 5, examines how and to what degree the decisions of Frankish councils influenced the later development of canon law in the high Middle Ages. The final section (and chapter) of the book examines to what degree there was continuity between Merovingian and early Carolingian (or Pippinid) councils. Halfond marshals most convincing evidence to present the following nuanced argument: that, although there were some important changes that marked the rise to power of Charles Martel, his sons, and his grandsons, these changes were “neither unprecedented nor sudden” (p. 198), and almost all of them have Merovingian antecedents.Thus, the author makes an important contribution to recent work on the rise to power of the Carolingians, arguing that they were not so much innovators as wily manipulators of preexisting traditions. The book has a few shortcomings. The author does not seem to know Peter Godman on the relationship between St. Gregory of Tours and Venantius Fortunatus, nor Albrecht Deim on St. Columbanus.There is an occasional tendency to reify such concepts as church and state; a certain lack of generosity in dealing with the work of earlier scholars with whom the author disagrees might belie the book’s origin as a dissertation. That said, however, The Archaeology of Frankish Church Councils makes a significant contribution not just to our understanding of the institutional history of the Merovingian and early Carolingian church but also to our knowledge of the impact of Christianity in early-medieval Francia. University of San Francisco M.A. CLAUSSEN 572 BOOK REVIEWS Die Gegenwart von Heiligen und Reliquien. By Arnold Angenendt. Edited by Hubertus Lutterbach. (Münster: Aschendorff Verlag. 2010. Pp. 260. €29,80. ISBN 978-3-402-12836-7). Arnold Angenendt studied Catholic theology and history at the Westfälische Wilhelms-Universität in Münster, was ordained in 1963, and completed a Habilitationsschrift in Catholic theology in 1975. He held the chair for liturgical science at Münster, where, among many other distinguished publications prior to his “retirement” in 1999, he completed a magisterial synthesis on Heilige und Reliquien (Münster, 1994) that became the premier guide to hagiology in the German-speaking world. His career continues through a series of distinguished appointments and invitations, and now Hubertus Lutterbach has chosen to commemorate Angenendt’s seventy-fifth birthday by republishing some of his articles on matters hagiographical. Lutterbach offers an introduction linking Angendt’s studies of relics to contemporary German fixations on the body, pilgrimages, and other themes. Even with the assumption of the (sometimes tenuous) links postulated, to connect a body of scholarship to today’s effervescent popular culture neither validates the former nor forestalls the impending obsolescence of the latter. More useful are the eight studies by Angenendt; although two of these were previously available in major journals, most were published in the symposia, local periodicals, and Festschriften that are beloved by German scholars but not by American libraries.The best of these articles deserve a wider public. To a 1994 symposium on medieval historiography,Angenendt contributed “Gesta Dei—Gesta Hominum,” observations on how medieval writers used the “anger of God” as a causative factor in religious and theological history. To a 2002 symposium on miracles he offered a history-of-religions and Christian perspective. In a 1999 issue of a local journal he presented a few pages on St. Martin as homo Dei and bishop. More important is a 1991 Saeculum article on “Corpus Incorruptum,” an unprecedented survey of pre-Christian and Christian traditions of miraculously preserved bodies. Perhaps the most original and insightful piece—“In Porticu Ecclesiae Sepultus,” originally published in the 1994 Festschrift for Karl Hauk—presents the development of the tradition of burial in the forecourts of churches as a mirroring of eschatological visions of the souls of the just awaiting judgment in the gates and towers of the heavenly Jerusalem. From a 1999 issue of a local journal comes an overview of Christian and non-Christian traditions of relics that have their own vitality, “sprouting like plants.” A study from a 2002 symposium on medieval piety looks at the tradition of the resurrected body as clear as crystal. A survey from the 1997 Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique evaluates the literature of Patrozinenforschung, the study of the patronage networks of saints, a traditional German specialty centered on folk and national identities that now involves new researchers and new questions—here Angenendt presents his own theory about how dedications to the Savior, an early tradition, re-emerge in the Carolingian north. BOOK REVIEWS 573 Much of the attraction of Angenendt’s original Heilige und Reliquien involved the systematic way he moved from initial definition to a topical and narrative development stretching from early Christianity to the present. Despite Lutterbach’s best efforts, emphasized by his echoing title, this eclectic collection is no Heilige und Reliquien II. Yet Angenendt’s studies do have common traits. All rely heavily on primary sources, proceeding by means of “thick description.” All are Germanocentric in their use of the secondary literature, although masterworks from other traditions do appear. Many incorporate a broad history-of-religions perspective and are quick to identify parallels from other traditions. Yet here the timeless world of the phenomenology of religions does not always coexist smoothly with Angenendt’s attempts at identifying origins: Did Sulpicius Severus give the West its first example of a Vir Dei? Was Gregory of Tours one of the first to treat “relic worship” in a depersonalized way? Such tensions may be inherent in the material, but, just because Angenendt has a universal perspective, his questing after what Marc Bloch called the “idol of origins” can be disconcerting.1 Nevertheless, these erudite studies have much to say, and Lutterbach has done well to make them more widely accessible. Texas Tech University JOHN HOWE St. Nersēs the Gracious and Church Unity: Armeno-Greek Church Relations (1165–1173). By Aram I [Keshishian], Catholicos of the Holy See of Cilicia. (Antelias, Lebanon: Armenian Catholicosate of Cilicia. 2010. Pp. 256. $12.00. ISBN 978-9-953-01442-5.) As Catholicos of the Holy See of Cilicia,Aram I stands in an ecumenical tradition that characterizes the Cilician hierarchy of the Armenian Church. The progenitor of this ecumenical tradition, more accurately a lasting spirit of ecumenism, is the saintly Catholicos Nersēs IV, known as the Gracious (in office 1165–66). Much has been written on his manifold contributions to the Armenian Church as theologian, hymnographer, poet, and statesman; in recent decades he has been acclaimed by both Armenian and non-Armenian churchmen as a prophet of today’s ecumenism, even a pioneer of the ecumenical movement. However his polyvalent and saintly life is regarded, Nersēs was certainly far ahead of his time as one deeply concerned about the unity of the Church. He was genuinely involved in a conciliatory dialogue with the Greek Church, engaging Emperor Manuel I Komnenos (reigned 1143–80) and Patriarch Michael III of Constantinople (in office 1170–78). The two-part study was originally a thesis written in 1974. In part 1 the author surveys the historical background of the rapprochement: the ecclesiastical and political realities of several centuries and the more immediate cir1 Marc Bloch, The Historian’s Craft (Manchester, UK, 1992), p. 24. 574 BOOK REVIEWS cumstances in the shadow of which initiatives were taken and negotiations begun. He then turns his attention to the historical developments during the negotiations, documenting their every aspect. Fortunately, the primary sources accounting for the full cycle of events are preserved in Armenian: from the initial correspondence to the end of the negotiations. Furthermore, a diary of the two-phased dialogue is extant in Greek, written by Theorianos, the imperial/patriarchal representative at the negotiations held in Hromklay in 1169 and 1171. As Catholicos Aram notes, some work remains to be done in the area of reconciling the Greek and Armenian sources. A translation of the Armenian documents constitutes part 2 of the book, followed by an epilogue, a bibliography, and indices. A map highlighting the Armenian Kingdom of Cilicia and the neighboring principalities is provided at the end. After elaborating on the doctrinal openness of the Armenian Church vis-àvis the dogmatic position of the Greeks, the author highlights the three guiding principles espoused by Nersēs in his ecumenism that ought to be imperatives for Christian unity: (1) “the communion of love and the spirit of fellowship must continue to sustain the relations of the churches”; (2) “churches should overcome isolation and stagnation and become involved in frank dialogue and closer cooperation”; and (3) “without minimizing the importance of their own theological teachings and doctrinal positions, the churches must transcend their divergences” that are often the result of varying semantic understanding and nontheological factors (pp. 95–96). Similarly, the epilogue “Looking Forward with a Renewed Vision,” underscores the relevance of Nersēs’s vision of church unity for our times (pp. 213–19).The epilogue is tempered by the author’s years—indeed decades—of ecumenical involvement and leadership. In this lucid book Aram I has opened up ancient sources with echoes of modernity, an old window with interesting and new perspective on today’s ecumenism. St. Nersess Armenian Seminary New Rochelle, NY ABRAHAM TERIAN Medieval Italy: Texts in Translation. Edited by Katherine L. Jansen, Joanna Drell, and Frances Andrews. [The Middle Ages Series.] (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. 2009. Pp. xxviii, 596. $69.95. ISBN 978-0812-24164-8.) Frustrated with the dominant Anglo-French “normative” approach to medieval history, the editors have undertaken an ambitious and important task: to gather together “for the first time in one volume the primary sources in translation necessary for teaching the history of the Central and Later Middle Ages in Italy” (p. xix).This aid for university instructors is organized in BOOK REVIEWS 575 twelve thematic chapters, beginning with the deep structure of the peasant economy, documenting the exercise of secular and ecclesiastical power, and culminating with examples of religious and social life.There is much to learn from what is certainly the most extensive collection of translated medieval Italian documents in the English-speaking world. Many of the 120 documents are translated for the first time from a variety of languages: Italian, Latin, Arabic, Greek, and Hebrew. Clear prefatory material introduces the documents, which are drawn from administrative records, legal codes, educational texts, and chronicles. Although often from minor political and economic areas, the documents are illustrative of texts and practices widely used throughout Italy. Readers and instructors will do well to heed the editors’ stated organizing principles to focus on the current state of Anglo-American research and the exceptional aspects of the Italian experience.As a result, this book is neither an anthology of well-known medieval texts nor a traditional survey of medieval history. Most of the selections are brief economic and political documents regarding people and places unfamiliar to most American undergraduates, the intended audience of the book. Scholars and students looking for the classic literary works, such as those by St. Francis of Assisi or Dante, will have to look elsewhere. Those seeking a straightforward historical narrative should consult the textbooks referred to by the editors in the introduction. A goal of the publisher was to provide a teaching tool with “one-stop shopping” for instructors, and the selections do indeed broach almost every aspect of daily life in medieval Italy. Particularly noteworthy is the integrated approach to Italian political history. The editors arranged thematic rather than chronological chapters in an effort to transcend the traditional bifurcation between the communal north and the monarchical south. Unfortunately, this division reappears in a secondary table of contents that provides a geographic designation to northern and southern documents. One wonders why all of the twenty-two documents from the fifteenth century are from the north. Another disappointment is an idiosyncratic scholarly apparatus that falls short as a comprehensive reference for medieval Italian history, admittedly not one of the claims of the editors. The chronology, which stops with the fall of the Visconti in 1447, seems incongruous with the list of popes that ends with Martin V in 1431. The royal genealogies of southern Italian rulers are most helpful, but why are there no charts or historical atlases listing the rulers of northern Italian states? There also are no Internet sites listed in the otherwise up-to-date bibliography. One might quibble about editorial inconsistencies and omissions, but there is no doubt that the editors have done a great service to the study of medieval Italian history in the English-speaking world. This book is a longoverdue and much-needed compendium to the traditional literary sources of the Italian Middle Ages. Harnessing the expertise of more than fifty contribu- 576 BOOK REVIEWS tors, the editors have produced an impressive chronological, geographical, and interdisciplinary range of texts. Read individually or as a whole, the selections reflect the cultural, religious, and linguistic diversity of the Italian peninsula and make this volume an essential resource for medieval Italian history. Oklahoma State University DAVID D’ANDREA Poesia e Teologia in Giovanni Scoto l’Eriugena. By Filippo Colnago. [Biblioteca di Cultura Romanobarbarica, 11.] (Rome: Herder Editrice e Libreria. 2009. Pp. viii, 401. €48,00 paperback. ISBN 978-8-889-670-8-4.) John Scotus Eriugena represents a fundamental step in the development of Western philosophy and culture; his work can be considered as a crucial junction of Hellenic neo-Platonic tradition and medieval Christian philosophy. In despite of his historical role, several aspects of Eriugena’s theoretical system are still not considered by philosophical historiography. Filippo Colnago’s book is a precious and extremely comprehensive hermeneutical instrument that allows readers to understand and explore one of the most hidden but most fascinating aspects of Eriugena’s work: his poetical production. The book is organized in two parts.The first part represents an extensive and careful clarification of the historical background in which Eriugena’s poetry was conceived.This part can be seen as a sort of large introduction to the second one, in which is developed the main argument of the book: the theological value of Eriugena’s poetry. Colnago’s essay is structured like a progressive zoom on the main theme of the analysis.The introductory part is composed of three chapters, in which the author explores the historical-cultural background of Carolingian Age, the respective theological-intellectual debate, and finally the profile of Eriugena. The first chapter describes the Carolingian Age as a renaissance cultural period, particularly in the court of Charles the Bald, where Eriugena spent the central part of his life. In the second chapter is a careful exposition of the methodology of theological research in Carolingian Age and a description of the principal theological disputations—the questions of the Eucharist and predestination—that are the fundamental arguments in Eriugena’s most famous works. In the third chapter Eriugena’s biographical and philosophical profile is delineated through an exhaustive study of his life, writings, and main theological themes. The second and principal part of the book is a close examination of Eriugena’s poetry (his Carmen). The first introductory chapter explores the morphological problems of the transmission and authenticity of the critical available ancient editions of Eriugena’s texts; this examination is a necessary philological clarification of how the codices of what we read as Eriugena’s BOOK REVIEWS 577 autographs were transmitted to modernity. In the second chapter the author develops a careful and specific textual analysis of several sections of Eriugena’s Carmen by explaining the main themes and the linguistic questions of his lyrical lines.The third chapter examines the theological aspects of the Carmen and proposes a clever comparison with the same questions in Eriugena’s main works. In the fourth chapter, the author explains the morphological questions of the sources, language, and style of Eriugena’s poetry. Colnago considers the literary, biblical, and patristic sources of Eriugena’s texts and offers an intriguing profile of the peculiar metrical style of Eriugena. In approaching the question of the Latin language of the Carmen, the author also sets forth an intelligent perspective on the “mysterious” question of Eriugena’s perfect knowledge of Greek language. From a theoretical point of view, the most relevant point of the book is the third chapter of the second part, in which the author develops a deep hermeneutical analysis of Eriugena’s poetry by noting the theological questions disclosed in the poetical lines. The fundamental problems of Trinity, Christology, Creatio ex nihilo, Incarnation, Resurrection, Ascensus of the human soul, and Angelology (essential topics of the entire medieval culture) find in Eriugena’s poetry an extremely interesting moment of philosophical reflection. According to the neo-Platonic tradition, what is absconditus, or hidden, reveals a deeper truth. Colnago’s book explores a hidden part of Eriugena’s philosophical system, extremely precious for a better understanding of his thought and, in a wider perspective, of the main theological aspects of medieval philosophy. The book also is a useful instrument to reflect on the hermeutical question of the relationship between philosophy and poetry in Western culture. The merit of the book is twofold. On the one hand, it represents for the reader a well-documented and exhaustive instrument to approach Eriugena’s thought; on the other hand, it explores an almost unknown but fundamental moment of medieval theological philosophy with a very rich set of linguistic, bibliographical, historical, and hermeneutical references. Porto San Giorgio (FM), Italy CESARE CATÀ The Letters of Robert Grosseteste, Bishop of Lincoln. Translated with introduction and annotation by F. A. C. Mantello and Joseph Goering. (Toronto: University of Toronto Press. 2010. Pp. xviii, 528. $130.00. ISBN 978-0-80209813-0.) Robert Grosseteste (1175?–1253), bishop of Lincoln (1235–53), was an activist bishop who insisted on the supremacy of pastoral office over any 578 BOOK REVIEWS other kind of clerical work In his letter-book, here in an excellent translation, there are a number of letters to friends and acquaintances pleading with them to take up pastoral work or to renounce secular or some other office to take up pastoral duties. He also was especially concerned with defending the liberties of the Church. Most of the letters on this subject center on issues of jurisdiction. Some defend ecclesiastical privileges against secular intrusions; others involve Grosseteste’s jurisdiction, as bishop, over resistant clerics or clerical institutions supposedly under his supervision.The lengthiest of these contests—it ended in the papal Curia—concerned whether Grosseteste had the right of visitation of the clergy at his own cathedral. Both the Franciscans and the Wycliffites revered him, the latter group frequent adversaries of the friars. Grosseteste’s letters evidence why such disparate groups should have become so devoted to this learned cleric and ideal bishop. At the request of Brother Agnellus, the leader of the small group of Franciscans who had arrived in Oxford in 1224, Grosseteste in 1229–30 renounced his position as secular master to become the friars’ first teacher. The relationship continued after his election as bishop of Lincoln. Grosseteste wrote frequently to Franciscan friends and ministers general requesting knowledgeable and skilled brothers to be sent to him to aid him in the administration of his very large diocese (he similarly employed Dominicans). He acted as protector of the order when, for example, the Cistercians of Chester tried to block the establishment of a Franciscan house there, but, more important, when he attempted to aid the friars who had become involved in the debate over what their rule meant, a matter that eventually came before Pope Gregory IX. The Wycliffites idealized the bishop because, among other things, he objected to clerics holding secular office, to pluralities in pastoral office, and to the installation of incompetents named to benefices in his diocese. Grosseteste wrote stern letters to lay lords and popes alike lecturing them on the duties and obligations of pastoral office as the reason for rejecting their candidates.The most famous of these confrontations was occasioned by the papal provision of Pope Innocent IV’s nephew. The vehemence with which Grosseteste rejects the candidate is outdone only by the language of the dismissal: refusing on the grounds that the appointment would violate apostolic commands and because this unholy intrusion into pastoral affairs exemplified the sins of Lucifer and the antichrist, Grosseteste—the humble and obedient servant of his superiors, out of loyalty to the apostolic see—says he must disobey, oppose, and rebel against the pope’s directive to install the incompetent and absent nephew. The volume contains a valuable appendix that provides a summary of each letter under the name of the person to whom it was sent. There also is a detailed index. BOOK REVIEWS 579 This translation provides a wonderful introduction to the life and work of this important cleric that also will be of use to those already familiar with Grosseteste. Indiana University LAWRENCE M. CLOPPER Thomas of Cantimpré: The Collected Saints Lives—Abbot John of Cantimpré, Christina the Astonishing, Margaret of Ypres, and Lutgard of Aywières. Ed. Barbara Newman. Trans. Margot H. King and Barbara Newman. [Medieval Women: Texts and Contexts.] (Turnhout: Brepols, 2008. Pp. x, 324. €60,00. ISBN 978-2-503-52078-0.) In Thomas of Cantimpré Barbara Newman builds on Margot King’s early work—polishing translations, supplementing the apparatus, and bringing it up-to-date and in line with the scholarly norms for this type of production. In addition, Newman adds a finely wrought general introduction to the world and hagiographical writing of the Dominican Thomas of Cantimpré (c, 1200–c. 1270) as well as a new and accomplished translation of Thomas’s earliest hagiographical effort, the Life of John of Cantimpré. The Life of John of Cantimpré, along with the three improved translations reprinted in the volume, allows the reader to compare and contrast his treatment of his early male spiritual hero with that of three women: the fiercely adolescent Dominican devotee Margaret of Ypres, the madly spectacular mulier religiosa Christine of St. Trond, and the magisterial Cistercian nun Lutgard of Aywières.The Life of John’s literary swashbuckle also raises questions about Simone Roisin’s still authoritative account of Thomas’s gradual, linear development as a hagiographical writer. These Lives make it clear that Thomas of Cantimpré was a truly talented storyteller. His narrative gift, wedded as it was to an insatiable taste for religious spectacle, endows his hagiographical efforts with a delightful, sometimes Felliniesque, charm. The fact that these works also are surreptitiously sophisticated in their theological construction, while seemingly unbothered by theological loose ends, only adds to the fun. Newman is to be congratulated both on the delicate ways in which she has raised the quality of King’s earlier efforts and her strong translations. This work should help raise the profile of Thomas of Cantimpré among medieval scholars and undergraduate students—a welcome development. Institute for Christian Studies, Toronto ROBERT SWEETMAN 580 BOOK REVIEWS Le concile de Perpignan (15 novembre 1408–26 mars 1409). Actes du colloque international (Perpignan, 24–26 janvier 2008). Edited by Hélène Millet. [Études roussillonnaises, Revue d’histoire et d’archéologie méditerranéennes,Tome XXIV.] (Canet en Roussillon, France: Éditions Trabucaire. 2009. Pp. 227. €30,00 paperback. ISBN 978-2-849-74104-7.) The council of Perpignan is one of the numerous medieval church assemblies that, although intended to be general councils by the popes who convoked them and presided over them, were not recognized as such when, at the end of the sixteenth century, Cesare Baronio established their official list for Catholic historiography. He did not explain those eliminations, but the council of Perpignan—if known to him at all—had no chance to be included, for the inviting pope, Benedict XIII (Pedro de Luna), was considered illegitimate after political powers joined in ending the Great Western Schism and he lost every support, and the participants represented only a small section of the Roman Church. Nevertheless, the council of Perpignan deserves close attention as an outstanding event in the tormented existence of the papacy in that period. The proceedings of a conference held to remember its celebration after six centuries cover most of the relevant aspects of the council’s history. Hélène Millet begins with an overview of its background and activities; the last contribution, by Flocel Sabaté, reflects its historical position.The council never came to an end; it was interrupted with the fourteenth session; then several adjournments followed until 1416. Nine sessions were necessary to read the official report of the pope’s activities since his election in 1394; Barbara von Langen-Monheim illustrates this. Perpignan was chosen, as Gilbert Larguier observes, because it was situated within the lands of the Crown of Aragon, but near to France, formerly the most important country of Benedict’s obedience. Carole Puig describes the town at that time; MarieClaude Marandet states that the local archives do not contain information useful for study of the council. Jean-Baptiste Lebigue and Philippe Perrier illustrate details of its proceedings. Stéphane Péquignot and Claire Ponsich treat aspects of the relations to the strongest remaining supporter,Aragon. In reference to his family name, this pope’s fortune was compared to the waning moon, as Jean-Patrice Boudet points out. Émilie Rosenblieh discusses the contemptuous designation of the assembly as conciliabulum. Three versions of the official list of participants are published at the end of the volume: the original one, grouped according to ecclesiastical hierarchy, and two in alphabetical order of proper names and ecclesiastical titles respectively. Roughly 250 individuals had the right to sit in the council’s hall: cardinals, patriarchs, papal protonotaries, archbishops, bishops, ambassadors of princes, abbots, superiors of the military and the mendicant orders, procurators of other prelates, chapters, convents, and universities, and even twelve high officials of the Curia. This field needs further investigation, in addition to the five papers that comment on those coming from Gascony (Hugues Labarthe), Savoy (Bruno Galland), Scotland (David Ditchburn), Castile (Óscar Villarroel González), and BOOK REVIEWS 581 Catalonia (Prim Bertrán Roigé). María Narbona Carceles notes the absence of representatives from the Kingdom of Navarre. However, important regions such as the lands of the Crown of Aragon are not covered. The volume offers a solid contribution to a particularly agitated and highly significant period in the history of the Church. Abstracts in five languages facilitate the approach to its contents, but those interested in the council of Perpignan will regret the absence of registers. University of Göttingen DIETER GIRGENSOHN The Life and Works of Tolomeo Fiadoni (Ptolemy of Lucca). By James M. Blythe. [Disputatio,Vol. 16.] (Turnhout: Brepols. 2009. Pp. xvii, 292. €60,00. ISBN 978-2-503-52923-3.) The Worldview and Thought of Tolomeo Fiadoni (Ptolemey of Lucca). By James M. Blythe. [Disputatio, Vol. 22.] (Turnhout: Brepols. 2009. Pp. xviii, 276. €60,00. ISBN 978-2-053-52926-4.) It is James Blythe’s ambition that his previous translation of Tolomeo’s sections of the De regimine principum (Philadelphia, 1997) and now his two volumes on Tolomeo himself should make clear his originality and importance, much as Alan Gewirth’s translation and commentary brought Marsilius of Padua to a wider audience. Blythe argues that Tolomeo’s work will show us a complex worldview created out of biblical traditions and Augustinian theology influenced by the newly available Politics of Aristotle. This worldview was crafted out of Tolomeo’s firm belief in a papal hierocratic theory and an equally firm admiration for the civic culture of the northern and central Italian city-republics. He further argues that the positive public values of the fifteenth-century civic humanists can be found in Tolomeo and, by extension, in other late-Scholastic writers. He makes his case by showing that Tolomeo’s understanding of St.Augustine and Aristotle evolved between his first writings and his important continuation of the De regimine principum left incomplete by St.Thomas Aquinas. In the course of doing so, Blythe challenges Hans Baron’s reading of Scholastic political thinkers and J. G. A. Pocock’s subsequent use of Baron to argue that the idea of historical decline that was at the heart of Edward Gibbon’s history was lacking before the civic humanists of the fifteenth century. Blythe faces two tasks. First, he needs to make Tolomeo and his works— especially their dating—better known. After establishing an understanding of the contours to Tolomeo’s life and works, he will explicate the worldview.The first volume on the life and works is, in effect, a series of monographic studies or excursuses that establish the groundwork for the second volume. This merchant’s son from Lucca was Tolomeo and not Bartolomeo or Ptolemy—later inventions that have no basis in surviving documents. The Fiadoni were well established in Lucca, and various public documents of the 582 BOOK REVIEWS thirteenth century do identify him as Tolomeo Fiadoni. Blythe argues forcefully that now he should be known by his family name, Tolomeo Fiadoni. Blythe recounts both the history of Lucca and Tolomeo’s interest in Lucca’s history since, he argues, Tolomeo’s experiences there and elsewhere were keys to his later thought. Blythe documents, to the extent possible,Tolomeo’s movements to Rome (which is where Blythe thinks Tolomeo met Aquinas, but did not formally study with him), Florence, and Avignon. In addition to dating De iurisdictione imperii (c. 1278) and De regimine principum (c. 1300), Tolomeo’s key political writings, he also analyzes and dates Tolomeo’s Historia ecclesiastica nova, Annales of Lucca, and numerous lesser works. This is a technical volume meant to establish details critical to the arguments of the second. Perhaps for this reason Blythe has not been as careful as he is in the second.There are numerous typos and slips with names of people and places. He writes Montecatino for Montecatini (p. 110), Pelavisinus for Palavicinus (p. 50), and he assumes the Cattani mentioned in the thirteenth century are a single family rather than the designation for a group of noble families who dominated the Garfagnana (p. 59). Yet these seem to be slips caused by haste to move quickly to larger issues.They do not undermine his main purpose in this volume—to reconstruct Tolomeo’s life and provide, to the extent it can be done, clear historical introductions to his works. Using the information established in the first volume, Blythe proceeds in the second to investigate the subjects that reveal a worldview.The volume is organized around topics such as “Women, Gender and the Family,”“God’s Plan for History,” and “City Governments and Civic Humanism,” which allow Blythe to demonstrate the implications of Tolomeo’s thought.The translation of the Politics in 1260 had a profound influence on Tolomeo. There was and remained a tension in his works between the natural and supernatural. Aristotelian or materialist explanations predominate in his secular writings, but in his writings on the six days of creation and in his ecclesiastical history, the supernatural is strongly present. He combines Augustinian and Aristotelian ideas to argue that civil society is not simply necessary by reason of sin; rather, in Blythe’s words, “only in civil society . . . [can] human needs and virtues exist” (p. 27).Thus a virtuous people—that is, Roman republicans and Italian citizens—could live free of monarchical rule, even if residents of northern kingdoms could not. Both the Donation of Constantine and the theory of the Translation of Empire are important in Tolomeo. Blythe argues that Tolomeo rejects an argument used by Dante—that the Roman Peace (and therefore the Roman Empire) was a necessary precondition for the birth of Christ. Rather, Tolomeo believes that Rome’s role as the Fourth Monarchy ended with the end of the Republic and thus the papacy represented the “Fifth Monarchy.” As a result, the Donation of Constantine was merely an “acknowledgment” of papal dominion.Throughout his treatment, Blythe is at pains to make clear that as a Dominican and as an Italian townsman,Tolomeo remained a strongly committed churchman and strong advocate of the positive virtues of civil life. BOOK REVIEWS 583 Blythe’s books are not always easy to read, but the discussions of the Donation of Constantine in the late Middle Ages, the theology of communal life, and larger questions of the nature of history show the creative mix of Augustinian and Aristotelian in Tolomeo’s work. Blythe is correct when he argues that Tolomeo deserves a wider audience. University of Virginia DUANE J. OSHEIM Civic Christianity in Renaissance Italy:The Hospital of Treviso, 1400–1530. By David M. D’Andrea. [Changing Perspectives on Early Modern Europe, 5.] (Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press. 2007. Pp. xiv, 214. $75.00. ISBN 978-1-580-46239-6.) David M. D’Andrea’s impressive new book is a study of the Trevisan confraternity of Santa Maria dei Battuti. He traces the confraternity’s importance for the material and spiritual well-being of the city, but also sees it as an important element in Treviso’s civic religion—its fundamentally religious sense of its civic identity. Indeed, the most remarkable sections of his work use the confraternity as a key to understanding the complex relationship between Treviso and Venice. Santa Maria dei Battuti was the city’s preeminent lay religious organization, attracting members, donations, and the support of both church and commune.The confraternity was a devotional family:“brothers” and “sisters” were to live according to a code that fostered piety, were obliged to aid weaker members, and were required to remember the departed with funerals and Masses. The various charitable services that this family provided to the broader community are traced in two fascinating chapters. Its complex of buildings lay at the center of a network of giving that benefited some of the most vulnerable groups in Treviso: widows, foundlings, pilgrims, prisoners, and debtors. It also was the site of a large hospital that provided the poor with medical treatment, aided by the proximity of the medical school in Padua and the spice markets of Venice. D’Andrea suggests that after Treviso yielded its independence to Venice in 1344, the confraternity, at the center of public life, became even more important as a symbol of civic pride. Here was an institution whose liberties recalled the city’s vanished independence; here was a locus of power for a ruling class deprived of sovereignty; here was the source and the sign of divine favor. This “mini-commune” played an important role as a mediator between subject city and dominant city. A particularly fascinating section treats civic processions. These were rituals in which the confraternity “act[ed]” the “self-assertion” of the subject city but in cooperation with the dominant city:Venice defended the primacy of the Battuti in the processional life of Treviso while the confraternity processed in honor of ducal elections 584 BOOK REVIEWS and military victories. The author elegantly uses the processional banner of the confraternity to embody its role as mediator between the universal and the local, between center and periphery: The Virgin Mary appeared on both sides, accompanied on one side by Ss. Peter and Paul and on the other side by St. Mark (the patron saint of Venice) and St. Liberale (the patron saint of Treviso). D’Andrea’s analysis of the political importance of the confraternity reflects scholarship on the early-modern state that emphasizes the balance of cooperation and conflict that existed between center and periphery.Trevisans saw the confraternity as an embodiment of their city’s independent identity within the state while Venetians saw the good governance and the good works of the confraternity as a source of stability and divine favor for the state. It is the wedding of disparate themes—religious association and social welfare to state politics—which makes this book a fascinating contribution to confraternity studies. University of Massachusetts, Dartmouth MATTHEW SNEIDER Pio II e le trasformazioni dell’Europa cristiana, 1456–1464. By Barbara Baldi. [Centro per gli studi di politica estera, 11.] (Milan: Edizioni Unicopli. 2006. Pp. xxiii, 271. €20,00. ISBN 978-8-840-01149-3.) Barbara Baldi’s book is a close and long-needed look at the pontificate of the Piccolomini pope Pius II (1458–64) in terms of its political issues. The book begins by examining Pius’s viewpoint on Europe. Europe appears as a cultural, not just a geographic or political entity. Furthermore, the pope is described, even before Aeneas Sylvius Piccolomini ascended the papal throne, as led by Rome.This ideal would come into conflict with European realities, especially the political interests of princes and communes. Not even mild diplomacy could budge most princes toward a crusade against the Turks, whether via the Congress of Mantua or through normal diplomatic channels. Moreover, the papacy could not act without being accused of using the crusade to raise money for selfish purposes. As the author notes, both the Congress of Mantua and the declaration the pope would lead his crusade were accompanied by actions against critics—Diether von Iseberg, archbishop of Cologne, in the one case, and George Podiebrad, king of Bohemia, in the other. Particularly, the book deals with the Italian entanglements of the pope as he sought to promote a unified effort to repel the Turks.The depth of Pius II’s tie to the Sforza regime in Milan is given particular attention. Moreover, the book casts light on the issue of the Neapolitan succession, which is familiar but not ordinarily studied as deeply as it might, for the period after the death of King Alfonso the Magnanimous of Aragon.The French interest BOOK REVIEWS 585 in the Angevin claim to the Neapolitan throne looms large, although no campaign was undertaken to oust the Aragonese dynasty until late in the fifteenth century. The Neapolitan situation informs Baldi’s discussion of Pius’s relations with France. France pressed Rome to recognize the Angevin claimant. The repeal of the Pragmatic Sanction of Bourges was a short-lived triumph of papal diplomacy in this long-running contest. A recently crowned king, Louis XI, who had local troubles, placated the pope for a time. After that brief period of amity, the king soon resorted to threats of a general council and alliance with George Podiebrad, the “Hussite king,” to pressure Rome. Moreover, the complicated relationship of France and Burgundy—and of both to England— deprived Pius of active support by Duke Philip the Good. One irony of Pius’s crusade is that it received late support from Venice, which had not been an early backer. The advance of the Ottomans in the Balkans made the Serenissima more interested in armed action. Baldi gives a solid account of this diplomatic about face by Venice. Moreover, she gives us a clear idea how the relationships of the papacy with condottieri and lesser princes, especially the Malatesta of Rimini, were intertwined with the interests of the greater powers. The use of diplomatic correspondence gives balance to this interpretation. Pius is shown not just in his own words but also those of envoys, especially of the Milanese ambassador.This gives Baldi’s account a balance it would lack if only the Piccolomini pope’s Commentaries were used. Rutgers, the State University of New Jersey THOMAS M. IZBICKI The Gift of Tongues: Women’s Xenoglossia in the Later Middle Ages. By Christine F. Cooper-Rompato. (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press. 2010. Pp. x, 217. $75.00. ISBN 978-0-271-03616-8.) The practice of “speaking in tongues” has received scant scholarly attention, although it has remained firmly in the public eye thanks to the activities of Christians mostly of the charismatic persuasion. As Cooper-Rompato’s timely study reminds us, it is all too easy to oversimplify the terminology of what is a multifaceted phenomenon reaching back to the biblical narrative of Pentecost. Contemporary Christians tend to express a belief in glossolalia; in other words, that the Holy Spirit can move individuals to speak in an abstruse language that calls for an interpreter to decode the message. CooperRompato’s concern is instead with xenoglossia, a coinage borrowed from the psychologist Charles Richet. Xenoglossia takes two chief forms, what the critic calls “miraculous Latinity” (p. 123)—the ability to speak untutored in Latin—and “miraculous vernacularity” (p. 145)—the acquisition of other contemporary languages. 586 BOOK REVIEWS Hagiography is the first port of call for tracing the medieval depiction of this miracle.A sharp gender gap is discerned, as for male saints the gift of vernacular xenoglossia was usually tied up with the Pauline injunction to preach the Gospel. Where women’s vitae are concerned, vernacular xenoglossia is “almost always semiprivate, and it emphasizes vulnerability and a certain lack of control or limited control over the language” (p. 40). The author deftly demonstrates that females were all too often caught up between the sometimes opposing expectations that they should prove conduits for sapiential wisdom and yet remain obedient servants of the patriarchy. With Latin xenoglossia the situation is even more challenging. Some saints like Christina of Stommeln were not blessed with immediate fluency, but with an accelerated ability to acquire Latin for the purposes of study.This in itself is a most productive point. It certainly implies that the designation of a holy woman as illiterata in a vita is, to say the least,“slippery” (p. 68). Chapters 3 and 4, which amount to half the length of the study, are devoted to Margery Kempe’s experiential encounters with different languages and to Chaucer’s literary use of xenoglossia. In the former, CooperRompato casts the quest for authority on the part of the textual Margery as animated through the adaptation of “xenoglossic tropes” (p. 104) by both Kempe herself and the scribe of her Book. Whereas critics such as Charity Scott-Stokes have tried to explain the mechanics of how Margery might be able to converse with German and Frisian interlocutors, the author avoids speculation about overlap between the East Anglian dialect and continental vernaculars.As for Chaucer, he, too, is seen as a medieval figure who was fully conscious of the discourses of miraculous Latinity (The Prioress’s Prologue and Tale) and miraculous vernacularity (the Man of Law’s Tale). The book is adapted from the author’s dissertation and stands as an extremely fine model of how apprentice material can yield a monograph of pedagogical substance. Particularly impressive is the pan-European breadth of scholarship in the literary review section. Some of the anecdotes add verve and humor. Repeated references are made to the testy Flemish-speaking nun Lutgard of Aywières. She prays that she will not receive the gift of conversing in French so as to eschew a position of higher authority within the Francophone religious community—in effect, allowing her to remain an isolated solitary (pp. 48–49). Furthermore, as her elders had successfully prayed for her to receive understanding in Latin, she pleads with God to remove this onerous blessing (pp. 78-79) as she did not want to challenge the authority of her male superiors. Northwest University Xi’an, People’s Republic of China ROBIN GILBANK BOOK REVIEWS 587 The Curse of Ham in the Early Modern Era:The Bible and the Justifications for Slavery. By David M. Whitford. [St. Andrews Studies in Reformation History.] (Burlington,VT:Ashgate Publishing. 2009. Pp. xviii, 217. $119.95. ISBN 978-0-754-66625-7.) Among the followers of the Abrahamic religions, the Curse of Ham has arguably been the most widespread justification for condemning darkskinned peoples to slavery. Its purported proof-text is Genesis 9:18–27, the story of the responses of the sons of Noah to their father’s nakedness. Whatever Ham did—mockery, voyeurism, rape, castration?—and Shem and Japheth did not, it provoked a paternal curse, targeting Ham’s son Canaan with enslavement. On this as well as almost everything else, the twists of the text as well as its subsequent interpretations are endlessly confusing. Over recent decades, exactly when, where, how, and among whom these disturbing verses became the Curse have provoked studies by numerous scholars, notably David Aaron, John Bergsma, David Goldenberg, Scott Hahn, Steven Haynes, Ephraim Isaac, Sylvester Johnson, Abraham Melamed, Thomas Peterson, Jonathan Shorsch, and the present reviewer. To a degree, David Whitford engages this growing research. Displaying much erudition, the author has exhaustively revealed new details from the sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries about the emergence and diffusion of the Curse. His painstaking examination of how Ham supplants Canaan as its target during the sixteenth century (pp. 77–104) is his most significant contribution. Unfortunately, he fails to explore the relationship of the medieval Latin manuscript confusion of Ham, Canaan, and Cain (which he acknowledges, p. 35n57) to this later transformation. By adding persuasive new details (pp. 105–22), his argument about the motive instigating the sixteenth-century George Best to introduce the blackened Ham to England reinforces the emerging consensus that it arose from the advocacy of expansion, not racism.Whitford attempts to sort out the degree of influence of two eighteenth-century divines in firmly establishing the Curse. He argues that Thomas Newton, the Anglican bishop of Bristol, played a greater role than the learned Benedictine Augustin Calmet (pp. 141–69). Since the earlier Calmet did play a part in the later Newton’s argument—albeit in misleading fashion, as revealed by Whitford—the question is still unresolved, but Whitford does present evidence that Newton was favored by Anglophones. The book’s discussion of the ancient and medieval background to the development of the Curse is less secure. It seems to treat Genesis 9:25 as if that were Israelite Scripture’s only engagement with slavery. Repeatedly it claims that Genesis 9 and 10 as well as medieval texts consign Ham to Africa (e.g., pp. 39, 59, 60, 67, 77, 101). Continents do not exist in ancient Near Eastern literature and elsewhere did not even begin to acquire their current conception, identity, and significance until the late Renaissance. Biblical Hebrew is often mangled (e.g., pp. 5, 99n72, 146).The book mischaracterizes 588 BOOK REVIEWS as Renaissance innovations claims—notably by the influential forger Annius of Viterbo—that had long-established Jewish and Christian precedent. However, whatever the origin, Annius’s hypersexualization of Ham did contribute to the nature of the Curse, as Whitford correctly argues (pp. 54–62). Whitford persuasively demonstrates the might of Ham in early- and mid-sixteenth-century royal genealogies (pp. 66–76), but he fails to explain satisfactorily how he moved so quickly from kingship to a slaveship. Nor does he acknowledge that the myth of Ham’s majesty had been widespread in ancient and medieval thinking.The Bible and its exegetes made much of the empirebuilders, Egypt and Nimrod, son and grandson of Ham. From the mid-fourteenth century onward, the well-known—and similarly fraudulent—Travels of Sir John Mandeville called Ham “the sovereign of all the world.”1 Unfortunately, diligent scholarship alone cannot eliminate the Curse. Martin Marty once wrote “. . . you overcome story with story. You break the spell of myth with another myth.”2 Whitford now adds his insights to the others who have exposed the fraud, distortion, ignorance, and self-interest that created the Curse, but no one has yet created a myth to counter it. Boston College BENJAMIN BRAUDE Life Writing in Reformation Europe: Lives of Reformers by Friends, Disciples and Foes. By Irena Backus. [St. Andrews Studies in Reformation History.] (Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing. 2008. Pp. xxxiii, 259. $114.95. ISBN 978-0-754-66055-2.) Who were the Reformers? A question that today would be dismissed as irrelevant, even impertinent, was genuinely important during a time when the merits of a person’s teachings were validated by the sanctity of the person advancing them. Irena Backus, whose work has detailed the confessionalizing of humanism and various Reformers’ retrieval of the church Fathers, approaches the topic of early-modern biography with the sure eye of one who knows the theological literature as few others. Backus makes clear that the Lives of Reformers are not biographies in the modern sense, but rather a genre of religious writing conditioned by confessional controversy during a time when divine agency in human affairs was a largely uncontested given. Hence the early Lives of Martin Luther depict that Reformer as an instrument of God for good or ill, depending on the author’s perspective. Backus recognizes that religious writing before the formation of confessional canons was a swirl of texts, each polemical to some extent; and 1 Bibliothèque Nationale (Paris), Nouvelle Acquisition Française 451, fols. 66v–67r.. Martin E. Marty, The One and the Many:America’s Struggle for the Common Good (Cambridge, MA, 1997), p. 145. 2 BOOK REVIEWS 589 hence she reads sixteenth-century documents inclusively and sees the ways in which the authors’ perspectives shape their narratives. Backus places Johann Mathesius alongside Johannes Cochlaeus and Philipp Melanchthon on Luther; Jerome Bolsec, Papire Masson, and Cardinal Richelieu as well as Theodore Beza on John Calvin. Heinrich Bullinger wrote a Vita of Leo Jud and would himself be the subject of a biography by his son-in-law, Josiah Simler, who also would write Lives of Peter Martyr Vermigli and Conrad Gesner.The resulting impression can be somewhat kaleidoscopic and would surely be confusing without Backus’s expert guidance. In Backus’s interpretation, Reformers’ lives form a genre beyond the merely polemical, in which the subjects are presented either as instruments of divine benevolence toward a church in dire need of healing or as diabolical agents unleashed on a sinful world. Such intensification of the roles of these figures in the history of salvation invited equally vehement counterportrayals, a result of which was what Backus rightly calls the confessionalization of the biographical genre. Although the individual Reformers would not have been as conscious of their confessional categories as their heirs were to be, their successors portrayed them as agents of the divine will to establish or reinforce specific traditions and as models of piety, sanctity, erudition, political acumen, or whatever other virtue the author wished his subject to model. Backus’s narrative clarifies the way in which the lives of specific individuals became the means by which they became icons for the churches that later claimed them as founders. The authors of these lives constructed confessional icons, in some cases emphasizing nuances of doctrinal positions that would be critical only in later decades. To see biography as a theological and polemical genre is a significant step forward for our understanding of religious writing in the early-modern period. As Backus makes clear, the earliest Lives of Reformers were based on—or at least were organized around—factual biographical details. Over the course of time, however, they became vehicles for praise and invective, conceived more with the ecclesiastical factions with which they were identified than in their efforts to reform the dominant church. Backus has identified the salient nuances that make the lifewriting genre so variegated.The mix of characters notable and obscure, guided by a range of motivations and drawing on a variety of sources, yields an intimate look at a body of religious writing more complex than previously recognized. Some of these Lives are hagiographical; others are “Plutarchan” in their depiction of psychological forces. Backus effectively demonstrates that reductive generalizations distort the genre beyond recognition; indeed, the only generic property is that these are lives of figures who were religious leaders prominent in their day.We can be grateful for such a careful analysis of this body of writing. University of Illinois at Chicago RALPH KEEN 590 BOOK REVIEWS Cardinal Bendinello Sauli and Church Patronage in Sixteenth-Century Italy. By Helen Hyde. [Royal Historical Society Studies in History: New Series.] (Rochester, NY:The Boydell Press. 2009. Pp.xvi, 203. $95.00. ISBN 978-0-861-93301-3.) Was it lèse majesté or Cardinal Bendinello Sauli’s failure to disclose Cardinal Alfonso Petrucci’s scheme to kill Pope Leo X through the introduction of poison into the pope’s painful fistula that brought about Sauli’s downfall? Despite various contemporary and near contemporary narratives and more recent attempts to solve the mysteries surrounding the 1517 cardinals’ plot to assassinate Leo X, Sauli’s role therein will probably never be completely understood. Helen Hyde gives a thorough examination of the available evidence, including surviving transcripts of the trials and confessions, diplomatic accounts, letters, and subsequent scholarship. She leaves her conclusions to the very end in the manner of a delightful, old-fashioned page-turner. The plot occupies the third and final section of the book.Two earlier parts examine Sauli against the background of his Genoese family and in the context of his role as a cardinal-patron in High Renaissance Rome. Hyde offers a well-rounded assessment according to the expectations of magnificence that accompanied a papal prince in early-sixteenth-century Rome. Sauli, elevated to the purple at age thirty, came from a family of very ambitious merchant bankers who, from popolani origins, had clawed their way to the top in Genoa and Rome. Sauli’s uncle, cousin, and two brothers had enjoyed the prestigious position of depositor general of the Camera Apostolica—gateway to power and influence at court and access to papal revenues—prior to their dismissal in 1515 in favor of Filippo Strozzi, a Florentine and Medici in-law. Bendinello’s pathway to the purple had been not unlike the Medici themselves, who had been papal depositors and eventually obtained a cardinalate in 1489 for a young Giovanni de’ Medici, later Leo X. After one nearly successful attempt and many papal loans later, the Sauli had landed the same dignity for Bendinello in 1511 under Pope Julius II. A cardinal, who, like Sauli, aspired to project a splendid image in papal Rome, measured his success in terms of the number of lucrative benefices received from the pope, suitable to support a large retinue of retainers, humanists among them, and maintain and furnish a grand palace, all of which brought Sauli a reputation for “splendour and pomp” (p. 71). Paolo Giovio and Agostino Giustiniani were among the handful of intellectuals whom Sauli patronized. Sebastiano del Piombo portrayed both men standing behind their cardinal patron in his stunning portrait of Sauli, seated in a pose reminiscent of Raphael’s famous likeness of Julius II. Hyde accepts the identification of Raphael’s earlier Portrait of a Cardinal (c. 1511), currently in the Prado, to be that of Sauli, perhaps commissioned upon his elevation. Although Sauli was not a cardinal committed to church reform, some of his relatives seem to have shared those sentiments. More often Sauli appears on BOOK REVIEWS 591 hunting trips or an occasional diplomatic mission among the retinue of Leo X. Since he left no significant literary remains, it is impossible to determine what he thought about the pressing issues of his day, whether theological or political. Hyde’s portrait is built from circumstantial evidence carefully pieced together from archival and printed sources. Her study complements Kate Lowe’s of Cardinal Francesco Soderini, also implicated in the papal plot. Although Sauli’s personality remains as obscure as his motives for participating in the scheme to murder a pope who had favored him, Hyde’s study gives a clear view of the unstable world of favor and finance, dynastic ambitions and intrigue that swirled around the papal court amidst shifting international alliances and war in the early decades of the sixteenth century. University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill MELISSA MERIAM BULLARD Ignatius of Loyola, Letters and Instructions. Edited by Martin E. Palmer, S.J.; John W. Padberg, S.J.; and John L. McCarthy, S.J. [Series I: Jesuit Primary Sources in English Translations, No. 23.] (St. Louis: Institute of Jesuit Sources. 2006. Pp. xxxii, 732. $40.95 clothbound, ISBN 978-1-880-81067-0; $30.50 paperback, ISBN 978-1-880-81068-9.) The number of letters written or commissioned by St. Ignatius of Loyola is enough to daunt any translator: probably some 7000 exist, and 6800 have already been given a critical edition in the Monumenta Historica Societatis Iesu. Moreover, as they were written in more than one language (mainly Spanish and Italian, but also in Latin) and often in a convoluted style— Ignatius seems to have thought in subclauses—only selections have appeared in translations. Significant editions are Maurice Giuliani’s Ignace de Loyola, Écrits (Paris, 1991), which contains 231 letters, and Hugo Rahner’s Saint Ignatius Loyola, Letters to Women (Freiburg, 1956), which includes eighty Ignatian letters written to women and a number of replies. With the 369 letters selected and translated by the late Martin Palmer, the Institute of Jesuit Sources provides the widest overview so far of this essential source. John Padberg refers in his introduction to the great variety of topics apparent in the corpus of letters: “personal, political, social, educational, financial, and religious concerns” (p. vii), requiring alterations of tone adapted to the social classes addressed (from popes and kings to female friends). He concludes:“What has been assembled here comes with the hope that they will be an aid to understanding Ignatius in his undoubted complexity and his equally undoubted greatness” (p. xiv). Perhaps equally striking is the light these letters shed on the early Jesuit order. It is the letters of spiritual direction and friendship that predominate, along with many addressed to Jesuits that illustrate the cura personalis and the pastoral policies cultivated by Ignatius.Very striking are his thoughts on education. However, readers should not turn to this volume hoping to pursue any particular line of investigation with any depth: obvious examples are Ignatius’s 592 BOOK REVIEWS relations with women (only 33 of the letters selected by Rahner can be found here), his financial dealings, and his social preoccupations. Missing from the volume is any reference to Bertrand’s groundbreaking study La politique de S. Ignace (Paris, 1985).This study of the correspondence of Ignatius is largely devoted to the latter’s appraisal of the social world of his time; it lists 142 letters dealing with financial matters and includes only six in the volume. However, there is a good selection of the letters classified by Bertrand as théoriques: little treatises dealing with a variety of problems (nearly half of the 100 listed by Bertrand are translated). At the death of Palmer, John Padberg, with the help of John McCarthy, took over the editing of this work; he added helpful introductions to the letters, and McCarthy compiled an excellent index. In some ways this volume can only be a pointer to further work, but, like so many signposts, it will remain indispensable. Oxford, UK JOSEPH A. MUNITIZ, S.J. Profezie di riforma e idee di concordia religiosa: Visioni e speranze dell’esule piemontese Giovanni Leonardo Sartori. By Lucia Felici. [Studi e testi per la storia religiosa del Cinquecento, Vol. 16.] (Florence: Leo S. Olschki Editore. 2009. Pp. xi, 370. €39,00 paperback. ISBN 978-8-822-25822-9.) Specialists in Sabaudian institutional history know of Giovanni Leonardo Sartori, a ducal secretary from Chieri and treasurer of the county of Asti during the early-sixteenth century, last mentioned in bureaucratic records from 1541. Historians of heterodox sixteenth-century Italian religious figures are familiar with Johannis Leonis Nardi (sometimes also referred to as Sertorius or Sartorius), a visionary who, in the early 1550s, opposed coercive, institutionalized religion and sought to inaugurate a new age of a universal, invisible church. Lucia Felici, a historian of the Italian Reformation, argues (against Delio Cantimori) that these two individuals were the same person. Strangely, although this discovery appears to be the central contribution of this book, Felici buries the evidence for it in a footnote on page 252, which cites a chronicle entry by the Bernese theologian Johannes Haller: in 1554 “Joannes Leo Nardus, der sich auch Mosen secundum nampt, was vorzejten ein secretarius dess fürsten von Saphoij,” visited the city. Eight pages later, a second piece of evidence from Strasbourg city council records makes a similar identification.This evidence appears to seal Felici’s argument, but it is frustrating for the reader not to learn about it earlier and to have to take for granted the identification of Sartori and Nardi until the final twenty pages of the text.This finding also could have been more forcefully exploited for its relevance to Sartori’s thought (beyond the notion that Sartori opposed social disorder), or to the intellectual development of heterodox thinkers generally. How many radical Reformers were there who had begun their careers as state officials, and how did this affect their religious positions? Exploring these BOOK REVIEWS 593 questions could have enlivened debates in Italian religious history of the early sixteenth-century. Despite these missed opportunities, Felici offers an interesting study of Sartori’s life and ideas. After retiring from ducal service, Sartori returned to Chieri, where he likely encountered Reformed preaching, and then crossed the Alps to Geneva in late 1550 or early 1551.Thence he traveled to England, Flanders, back to Geneva, Lausanne, Basel, Berne, Zürich, Strasbourg, and Stuttgart, claiming to have been appointed by God to spread a message of universal religious concord.This message was articulated in a series of texts: the Tabularum duarum legis evangelicae, gratiae, spiritus et vitae libri quinque (Basel, 1553), the Revelationes factae Iohanni Leonis Nardi (1554, a set of manuscripts in the Zürich state archives), and others that were lost. Along with a portion of the Tabularum, part of the Revelationes was published for the first time as an appendix to this book (the only citation to the text’s archival location is in a footnote on p. 217). For Sartori, being filled with the Holy Spirit was crucial for Christians, who together composed the true church, independent of any organized ecclesial structure (which was a mark of the antichrist). In contrast to many radical Reformers, Sartori affirmed Trinitarian doctrine and believed that a correct reading of the Koran and the Old Testament pointed to Christ’s position in the Godhead. For all believers, outward (although nonformulaic) behavior was the crucial sign of one’s spiritual position: Sartori did not believe that everyone would be saved. He was eventually captured on Sabaudian territory and, while his heresy trial was being prepared, died in prison in 1556. Felici wants to counterbalance a historiographic emphasis on social disciplining and confessionalization, seeing Sartori as a resister of discipline whose nonconformity could be related to Enlightenment Deism. However, Sartori’s radical individualizing of spirituality might be viewed as a necessary complement to the well-documented process of bodily disciplining in early-modern Europe. West Virginia University MATTHEW VESTER The Quest for Shakespeare: The Bard of Avon and the Church of Rome. By Joseph Pearce. (San Francisco: Ignatius Press. 2008. Pp. 216. $19.95. ISBN 978-1-586-17224-4.) The question of Shakespeare’s Catholicism has recently reinvigorated the increasingly rarefied field of Shakespeare studies. The Bard’s religion is perhaps the last remaining central topic of interest to a nonspecialist audience. In The Quest for Shakespeare Joseph Pearce sets out to “assemble the considerable body of biographical and historical evidence that points to 594 BOOK REVIEWS Shakespeare’s Catholicism” (p. 10). Thus what he has produced here is not a biography of Shakespeare, but a sequence of biographical and historical topics that pertain to the great dramatist’s alleged Catholicism. The overall case is convincing. Against the academic skeptics who defensively call for positivistic evidence and raise objections, Pearce rightly argues from what Cardinal John Henry Newman called “converging probabilities,”1 a more sensible criterion given the nature of historical evidence about Catholics of the time. He takes us through Shakespeare’s background; his family connections; his father’s Catholic Spiritual Testament; his Catholic schoolmasters; the literary links with Marlowe, Greene, and Chettle; St. Robert Southwell’s reference to his “cousin, Master W. S.”; his purchase of the Blackfriars gatehouse; and his will. All of these elements have been explored over the course of the last century. Pearce provides nothing new, but he usefully summarizes past scholarship. Along the way he provides a good deal of historical context and interesting, if sometimes loose, speculation in a readable and lively style. Less satisfying are the two short appendices, preludes to a second book on the evidence from the plays. In appendix A, Pearce speaks of “authorial authority” and “the transcendent nature of the creative process” (pp. 175, 176)—rather anachronistic phrases that he derives from J. R. R.Tolkien, Percy Bysshe Shelley, and T. S. Eliot. He seems unaware of the mimetic poetic of Sidney, Spenser, and Shakespeare, all of whom aimed to “figure forth” passions, virtues, and vices. In appendix B, Pearce restates the old optimistic “coded” Christian interpretation of King Lear with Lear ending deliriously happy, mystically united with the suffering Christ, all “enshrined in the play’s happy ending” (p. 198). Forget about the wages of sin, the death of the innocent Cordelia, and the sorrowful endings of Elizabethan-Jacobean tragedy. Jesus died and saved us all. In sum, Pearce provides an informative and readable summary of the evidence for a Catholic Shakespeare, especially useful for undergraduates and the general reader. However, he might have enhanced his book by covering the arguments of his skeptical, agnostic, or Protestant opponents. In contrast with these positions, the Catholic case is remarkably strong. What is the evidence for the Protestant Shakespeare? There has been some occasional criticism, but no one has mounted even the outline of an overall argument.What is the evidence for a secular Shakespeare, whose “secular” values are supposedly in the Enlightenment tradition of freedom, tolerance, and skepticism? How can this be squared with Shakespeare’s notions of hierarchy, sin, grace, virtue, and providence? These questions are largely ignored in Pearce’s book. St. John’s Seminary School of Theology Boston 1 DAVID N. BEAUREGARD, O.M.V. Newman, An Essay in Aid of a Grammar of Assent (London, 1891), p. 321. BOOK REVIEWS 595 Savage Fortune: An Aristocratic Family in the Early Seventeenth Century. Edited by Lyn Boothman and Sir Richard Hyde Parker. [Suffolk Record Society Publications, XLIX.] (Rochester, NY: Boydell Press. 2006. Pp. xcvi, 248. $60.00. ISBN 978-1-843-83199-0.) This collection of documents relates to the life and estate of Thomas, Viscount Savage (d. 1635); his wife, Elizabeth (née Darcy), countess of Rivers from 1641; and their close kin. A long introduction traces the ancestry and careers of this couple. The Savages were a Catholic family, originally from Cheshire, where they continued to own lands and maintain a seat at Rocksavage, but by the seventeenth century they had acquired a considerable estate in Essex and Suffolk as well as Melford Hall, their main country house in Suffolk after 1605. The countess came from a prominent Suffolk Catholic family with court connections; shortly after the marriage, her husband embarked on his own career as a courtier. Prince Henry served as godfather to the first of the couple’s nineteen children in 1604; the next year, Savage became a gentleman of the king’s Privy Chamber. By 1617 Savage had become a client of George Villiers, earl of Buckingham, with whom he must have established a close relationship since he later served as an executor of his patron’s will. He also seems to have been friendly with Spain’s famous ambassador, Don Diego Sarmiento de Acuna, count de Gondomar. In 1622 he was admitted to Prince Charles’s council without taking the oath of allegiance, perhaps as a result of the ambassador’s intercession. A series of further appointments—as a counselor for Charles’s revenues, a commissioner for the sale of crown lands, a commissioner for trade, and the head of a commission charged with investigating Buckingham’s rights as lord admiral to shares of prizes seized at sea—suggest his capacity for hard work and financial competence. In August 1626 the newsletter writer John Pory reported that Savage had been appointed chancellor to Queen Henrietta Maria and his wife a member of her bedchamber.Although the editors could not find any records of these appointments, other circumstantial evidence suggests that both Savages were connected to the queen’s household from the late 1620s. In November 1626 Savage was created a viscount. The countess seems to have encountered financial difficulties after her husband’s death and attempted to use her court connections to gain profitable concessions like the right to collect fines from London freemen working in trades to which they had not been apprenticed. Real disaster struck in 1641 when Melford Hall was ransacked, inflicting damages assessed at £50,000. The countess left the country during the Civil War but returned by January 1645 and was imprisoned for debt in 1650. The 134 pages of printed documents consist mainly of correspondence, wills, legal agreements, and assorted commissions and orders relating to court service. They also include probate inventories of Rocksavage, Melford Hall, and the couple’s town house on Tower Hill, taken shortly after Savage’s 596 BOOK REVIEWS death and illustrative of the rich material culture of an aristocratic court family of the period. The editors have reconstructed the layout of rooms on a plan of Melford Hall to facilitate interpretation of the inventory. Beautifully produced color plates, including contemporary aerial views of Melford Hall and the Tower Hill property, add to the volume’s aesthetic appeal. Although these documents do not contain any major surprises that will significantly alter our understanding of the period, they do provide a useful trove of information documenting the affairs of a recusant court family associated with Villiers and Henrietta Maria. University of Massachusetts, Boston R. MALCOLM SMUTS La coexistence confessionnelle à l’épreuve: Études sur les relations entre protestants et catholiques dans la France moderne. Edited by Didier Boisson and Yves Krumenacker. [Chrétiens et Sociétés: Documents et Mémoires, No 9.] (Lyon: Institut d’Histoire du Christianisme, Université Jean Moulin—Lyon III. 2009. Pp. 261. €22,00 paperback. ISSN 1761-3043.) Much as ecumenism and interfaith dialogue offer hope for lessening the religious tensions of the twenty-first century, so early-modern Christians throughout Western Europe pursued confessional coexistence as a potential solution to the unrelenting, murderous conflict that accompanied the Reformation. To be sure, coexistence was not the same as toleration, but at least it presented possibilities for containing conflict. Chief among the places where this important if not always successful experiment unfolded was France. There the religious divide pitted a powerful Catholic majority against a determined Protestant minority. The nine essays gathered in this volume span three centuries; explore the economic, political, religious, and social dimensions of confessional coexistence; and bring an array of historical sources to bear on the subject. Denis Crouzet and Pierre-Jean Souriac’s essays are the most politically oriented.The former focuses on the Queen Mother Catherine de Medici’s oscillation between patience and anger, dissimulation and openness, deception and violence in her efforts to realize concord and stability. Souriac examines the oft-cited, though little-studied, surety towns where armed Huguenot garrisons protected Reformed worshipers, concluding that the provisions offered security but meant that the urban bourgeoisie was unlikely to take up arms when the Protestant Henri, duc de Rohan, rose against the Catholic monarchy in the 1620s. A second set of essays examines the various arrangements for confessional coexistence in the seventeenth century. Philippe Chareyre surveys developments at Nîmes, a southern Protestant bastion. Drawing on a close reading of church disciplinary records, he emphasizes the practical need for coexistence to maintain social cohesion and economic prosperity. Michelle Magdelaine BOOK REVIEWS 597 and Edwin Bezzina also direct attention to particular communities, in this instance Sainte-Marie-aux-Mines and Loudun.The former investigates the contours of confessionally mixed marriages, while the latter presents the results of an exhaustive analysis of wills. Christian Aubrée shifts attention to the Parisian metropolis, where he probes the intricacies of Catholic-Protestant interactions in the credit market. He points up one of the less scrutinized aspects of the revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685: a financial crisis brought on by the crown’s seizure of Protestant assets and the collapse of the so-called banque huguenote. Adopting a broader perspective, Yves Krumenacker describes the major methodological approaches in current scholarship on seventeenth- and eighteenth-century religious cohabitation. Thus far historians have underscored the importance of chronology, the values attached to lieux de mémoire, confessional power struggles within local communities, the importance of legal frameworks such as the Edict of Nantes of 1598, the pressure of external groups upon any given community, the practical motivation for coexistence, the frustrations of irenic endeavors, and the cultural bridges explicit in literary efforts toward the construction of a République des Lettres. The collection concludes with two essays that probe the limits of confessional coexistence as displayed in the century following the revocation of the Edict of Nantes. The Protestant revolt of the early-eighteenth century in the rugged Cévennes mountains stands at the center of Chrystel Bernat’s analysis of the permeability of confessional frontiers.Valérie Sottocasa’s piece on the fragility of religious coexistence in southern France during the same period nicely complements Bernat’s contribution. An introduction by Myriam Yardeni and conclusion by Olivier Christin complete the ensemble. Altogether, the essays gathered here, although plainly introductory, are accessible, encompassing, and perceptive. They touch upon the major elements of an important subject, suggest useful methodologies, and propose a range of interpretative viewpoints. Finally, although they are centered on the particular circumstances of early-modern France, they add to our knowledge of a seemingly ever-present problem and evoke the possibilities and obstacles toward its resolution. RAYMOND A. MENTZER University of Iowa Late Modern European Painting the Sacred in the Age of Romanticism. By Cordula Grewe. [Histories of Vision.] (Burlington,VT:Ashgate Publishing. 2009. Pp. xvii, 418. $99.95. ISBN 978-0-754-60645-1.) Although it is prolix, sometimes repetitious, and would have benefited from the attention of a good editor, Painting the Sacred in the Age of 598 BOOK REVIEWS Romanticism is an immensely learned, carefully argued, and beautifully illustrated book. It should quickly win recognition as a major contribution in English or in any language to modern understanding of the work of the oncecelebrated “Nazarene” artists of early- to mid-nineteenth century Germany. Cordula Grewe approaches the work of these deeply committed Christian artists not only as they themselves would have wanted, but in the only way appropriate—that is, not with a sensibility shaped by exposure to modern “autonomous” art, nor from the angle of pure form or painterly quality, but rather with an eye to deciphering meanings and reading complex compositions designed to provoke reflection and meditation in the viewer. Nazarene art, as Grewe demonstrates, is not primarily representational.The artists’ aim was not to provide a vivid picture of historical events, but to induce the viewer to recognize the actions and figures in their drawings and paintings as signs to be interpreted. Ultimately the image was expected to stimulate a significant spiritual experience in the viewer such as a transformation or a conversion. In some cases—especially in the work of Johann Friedrich Overbeck, one founder of the movement and arguably the artist who remained truest to its original inspiration—the images themselves include features that point to their character as constructions to be “read,” rather than simple representations. This self-consciousness or self-reflectiveness, Grewe argues convincingly, is what defines Nazarene art as “romantic” and “modern,” rather than a simple revival of an earlier style of painting. For the author of Painting the Sacred, the approach adopted has clearly entailed not only deep familiarization with the texts of the Old and the New Testaments, which provided the thematic material for most Nazarene art, but also an impressive immersion in Christian and, more specifically, Catholic theology and liturgy, as well as close study of the political, theological, and general ideological context in which the art of the Nazarenes arose and evolved. Interpictorial allusion—which emerges from Grewe’s study as infinitely more sophisticated than is commonly believed—also plays an important role in the work of encoding and decoding, as, for instance, in the 1817 fresco Joseph Sold into Slavery that Overbeck made for the Casa Bartholdy in Rome (now in the Alte Nationalgalerie, Berlin). Whereas the artist adapts the basic structure of this scene and many of its details from Raphael’s representation of it in the Vatican Loggia, he turned to a different part of the Vatican cycle, the Baptism of Christ, for the figure of Joseph himself, who stands out as the only nude figure (except for a white loincloth). By modeling his Joseph after Raphael’s Christ, Overbeck introduces a typological motif characteristic of Nazarene art—Joseph as a prefiguration of Christ. Grewe’s sharp and experienced eye for specifically pictorial elements of composition, color, and decoration produces detailed and brilliantly illuminating readings of many individual works. Painting the Sacred also brings out tensions within the art of the Nazarenes and explores how these work themselves out in four of the move- BOOK REVIEWS 599 ment’s leading artists—Overbeck, Franz Pforr, Wilhelm Schadow, and Julius Schnorr von Carolsfeld—to each of whom, in succession, a major section of the book is dedicated. Grewe focuses in each case on works that allow her to highlight both the essential character of the Nazarene project and the tensions inherent in it. A Nazarene artwork, for instance, should ideally be open and capable of accommodating multiple references and meanings, both private and public, and thus of drawing the viewer into it and stimulating an intensely personal and individual engagement with it. Such an engagement is the condition of its effectiveness as a work of religious art. At the same time, given the Nazarenes’ conviction that art must recover its original function, which (in their view) is not to glorify powerful patrons or provide the wealthy with sensuous aesthetic pleasures, but to serve Truth and promote the spiritual well-being of the individual and the community, subjective responses to artworks must be reined in, directed toward, and ultimately subordinated to shared, recognizable, objective meanings. Individual engagement is vital for achieving the ends of Nazarene art, but so is true doctrine. Different ways of negotiating the conflicting demands of interior reflection and doctrine are examined in the work of Pforr and Overbeck in particular, and a decided shift, over time, toward closure of meaning is observed in the later work of Overbeck. To this tension between polysemy and controlled meaning in the art of the Nazarenes corresponded a related tension between, on one hand, the artists’ use of familiar and immediately recognizable figures and scenes capable of arousing a response in any viewer and, on the other hand, their inclination to demand considerable theological and even art-historical awareness on the part of the viewer so that routine responses could be transformed into intense and spiritually significant ones. It was one irony of the Nazarene movement, Grewe points out, that, thanks to the enormous success throughout Europe of projects such as Schnorr’s Bible in Pictures (Leipzig, 1853–60), in contrast to the far more limited appeal and impact of Overbeck’s intellectually demanding and less immediately accessible series of The Seven Sacraments,“Nazarene ideology and art boomed in the fields of education, child-rearing, and leisure activities at a moment when their stardom in the art world had already been eclipsed,” with the result that “the Nazarenes’ influence would continue most potently on a popular level” while becoming “unnoticed, ignored, or denounced as kitsch by most art historians” (p. 249). Regarding the character of Nazarene “anti-Judaism,” as manifested in the work of Friedrich Overbeck in particular, I am not in full agreement with Grewe, as she herself notes (p. 301). But that is a complex issue that cannot be examined in a short review of an extraordinarily rich, original, and stimulating study. Princeton University (Emeritus) LIONEL GOSSMAN 600 BOOK REVIEWS Karl Lueger (1844–1910): Christlichsoziale Politik als Beruf. Eine Biographie. By John W. Boyer. [Studien zu Politik und Verwaltung, Band 93.](Cologne and Vienna: Böhlau Verlag. 2010. Pp. 595. €39,00. ISBN 978-3205-78366-4.) This book is partly based on John Boyer’s magisterial two-volume history of Christian Socialism in Vienna (Chicago, 1981, 1995). There also is a great deal of new material, both additions to Boyer’s earlier treatment of the Lueger era and an extension of the story to the 1920s, when Ignaz Seipel led Christian Socialism. Boyer begins with the crisis of Austrian Liberalism and Christian Socialism’s rapid rise in Vienna, which culminated in Karl Lueger’s election as mayor in 1897. A great many elements—religious loyalties, economic deprivation, social antagonisms, political ambitions—contributed to the triumph of Christian Socialism, but as Boyer argues, antisemitism played a vital role in giving the movement shape and cohesion. Heartless and often cruel, this antisemitism, Boyer insists, was not racist and, in contrast to nazism, respected Jews’ civil rights. From its bastion in the imperial capital, Lueger’s party faced a series of opportunities and challenges after the turn of the century, including the introduction of universal suffrage, the aspiration to be a national movement, and—with lasting consequences for Austria’s political future—the deeply-rooted rivalry with Social Democracy. Despite its title, this book is not really a biography. Despite (or perhaps because of) his celebrity, Lueger remains an elusive, two-dimensional figure. Nevertheless, there is no doubt about his importance for the movement, both during its formative years as the vital alternative to the liberals and during its first decade of success when Lueger’s authority maintained unity and cohesion. As mayor of Vienna, “boss” of an elaborate urban patronage network, chairman of the party’s parliamentary faction, and leader of its national organization, Lueger personified Christian Socialism.After his death in 1910, no one was able to bring these different roles together, not simply because no one had Lueger’s personal charm and political gifts but also because the world in which these qualities worked so well was fading away. Vienna was always at the center of Lueger’s political realm.This was not, to be sure, the Vienna so brilliantly rendered by Carl Schorske—the Vienna of modernist art, expressionist drama, and psychoanalysis—but rather the Vienna of municipal politics, urban construction projects, and economic vitality; this was the Vienna that Lueger helped to create and on which his power rested. It also is a Vienna that Boyer has come to understand and admire.The health of the Habsburg Empire, Boyer suggests, depended on the health of its capital; when, in the course of the war, the structures of Lueger’s Vienna disintegrated, the monarchy was doomed. Throughout Karl Lueger are displayed Boyer’s characteristic virtues as a scholar: deep and meticulous research; a mastery of detail; and the ability to BOOK REVIEWS 601 weave together political, cultural, and social developments. To a greater degree than in his earlier work, Boyer seems ready to take risks; suggest provocative comparisons; and make sharp, concise judgments about personalities and politics. In other words, here is a historian at the top of his game, reflecting on a lifetime’s engagement with Austria,Vienna, and the fascinating but always troubling problem of Christian Socialism. Stanford University JAMES SHEEHAN Fr.Victor White, O.P.: The Story of Jung’s “White Raven.” By Clodagh Weldon. (Scranton, PA: University of Scranton Press. Distrib. by University of Chicago Press. 2007. Pp. xii, 340. $30.00 paperback. ISBN 978-1-589-66153-0.) Born Gordon Henry White in 1902 and renamed Victor upon his profession in the Order of Preachers in 1924, the subject of this meticulously researched study became the foremost mediator between Catholic Thomistic theology and analytical psychology. Between the time of his initial contact with Carl Jung in 1945 until his untimely death in 1960, White worked diligently and expertly at this difficult interface. Clodagh Weldon concentrates on White’s personal relationship with Jung and the nature of the dialogue that grew out of it. Jung named White his “white raven” after receiving a letter and a batch of papers from him in August 1945 upon the occasion of his seventieth birthday. This image plays on White’s name and on Jung’s long-held desire for an interlocutor from the inner circles of Christian doctrine and theology. In White, Jung thought, he had found his perfect conversation partner.To the aged Jung, this seemed like a gift from God, and, as Weldon argues, it also seemed to be an opportunity to make a gift back to God. Jung wanted to engage Christianity in a dialogue with a view toward changing it for the better from a psychological point of view. Weldon says that he wanted to Jungianize Christian theology and that, in White, he saw his best chance to realize this dream. White, for his part, wanted to supplement and complete analytical psychology with Christian truth and also to demonstrate how Christian doctrine answers the deepest questions and needs of the human soul and heals it. From the beginning, the two men were on a collision course. Weldon has produced a most excellent scholarly work. The story of White’s life and his friendship and intellectual debate with Jung is told with zest and precision. The footnotes are extensive and add a great deal of detail. Weldon is better versed in the details of Catholic doctrine and history, however, than she is in Jungian side of the story, and occasionally she stumbles over the latter. But the errors are rather few and mostly trivial in comparison to the depth of her exposition of the profound philosophical issues that divided the psychoanalyst and the theologian. In this meeting between Jung 602 BOOK REVIEWS and White, the world of secular modernity and the world of Catholic antimodernist medievalism came into close contact.Although White was anything but a dyed-in-the-wool traditionalist like the neo-Thomist Dominicans around him, he did live his entire adult life within a religious order, which was in his time a relatively closed and cloistered existence. Jung, born a Protestant in the Swiss Reformed tradition, lived in a post-Christian environment shaped intellectually by Immanuel Kant, the Enlightenment, and science. Although the two men eagerly reached out to one another, in the end they sadly recognized the impossibility of a convergence of views. This story is emblematic of the incompatibility between modernity and traditional Catholicism of the sort that stamped Victor White. It would take the Second Vatican Council and some decades of further work on both sides to make dialogue a more productive possibility. Goldiwil (Thun), Switzerland MURRAY STEIN Mobilizing Youth: Communists and Catholics in Interwar France. By Susan B. Whitney. (Durham: Duke University Press. 2009. Pp. xii, 318. $89.95 clothbound, ISBN 978-0-822-34595-4; $24.95 paperback, ISBN 978-0-82234613-5.) What is particularly noticeable about Susan Whitney’s earlier work and this book is her fresh and lucid analysis of significant groups of young Frenchwomen in the interwar period. The Communist and Catholic organizations she describes were previously studied by admiring historians—either members of the Parti Communiste Français (PCF) or former students of René Rémond, the “pope” of Sciences Po.The party oversaw the PCF archives and potential interviewees; Remond oversaw the Catholic sources.The cocos and cathos, with exclusive access to sources, were gentle with their subjects and their failings.Whitney’s approach is distinguished for its scholarly detachment and reassuring “ring of truth” as it depicts zealous, often blinkered, young people, who were willing to give their lives for their respective causes. Whitney’s book—multidimensional, fair-minded, neither pious nor patronizing—cites a considerable amount of relatively unknown and unexplored sources while providing a rich amount of new information about young women who, only a few decades ago, seemed mortal enemies divided by life and death issues. Cathos were usually more economically advantaged and sexually repressed, and considered themselves gentler and kinder, than the cocos, but in their willingness to submit to authority and discipline as well as their earnest selflessness, were fairly similar to their fearsome adversaries. Why have the greatest autobiographies of the twentieth century been written by detached atheists and not by catho or coco believers? Whitney makes resourceful use of relatively unknown autobiographies by communists BOOK REVIEWS 603 (e.g., of the tough Stalinist Jeannette Thorez-Vermeersch [pp. 75–78]) and by Catholics (e.g., of the budding communitarian theologian Yves Congar [pp. 26–27]), providing a number of telling, vivid illustrations and anecdotes. Rather than searching out materials on the Web, Whitney obviously did considerable digging in dusty French archives, where she found interesting, unfamiliar, and enlightening things. Whitney has made an authoritative contribution in this area and is already known as one of Canada’s leading authorities on modern European history. Her scholarship is unassuming, informed, wide-ranging, and solid. Her ideas and conclusions are fair-minded and substantiated. She tells the story of these young people in an empathic, lively, and interesting way, without revealing her personal sympathies or ideological or spiritual bent. The roles of age, gender, and class in interwar France—particularly in the background to the National Revolution of Marshall Pétain—are finally beginning to receive free, full, and objective treatment from a gifted new generation of scholars less beholden to powerful mentors. Whitney’s debt to Joan Scott is not obtrusive. This book, built upon extensive work in primary and secondary sources, constitutes a solid and significant contribution to knowledge in an important field of historical inquiry. McGill University JOHN W. HELLMAN Hidden Children of the Holocaust: Belgian Nuns and Their Daring Rescue of Young Jews from the Nazis. By Suzanne Vromen. (New York: Oxford University Press. 2008. Pp. xx, 178. $24.95. ISBN 978-0-195-18128-9.) Suzanne Vromen’s book forms a critical element in the mosaic of Holocaust scholarship in the underexamined area of hidden children. After the Nazi invasion on May 10, 1940, with persecution of the Jews increased, reaching a high point by 1942–43, Jewish parents reached out to those they might somehow trust to save their children. Many of the parents were later deported to death camps and murdered.This moment in their family life was an unexpected, unwanted, and devastating one. Her interpretation of findings from unstructured interviews with surviving hidden children, rescuers, and Resistance workers deepens our knowledge of the difficulties and victories in the long-term bonds they formed. Although Belgium had been known as a base of Resistance operations during World War II, little had been done to explore factually the questions it raised or the multifaceted nature of the process of keeping the Jewish children safely hidden in Roman Catholic convents and orphanages. Vromen with sophistication and elegance interprets the emotional minefields in the data. Successful, long-term hiding of the Jewish children would have been difficult in Belgium without the help of Roman Catholic nuns and parish priests. 604 BOOK REVIEWS Hiding Jewish children of various ages meant configuring the identities of the children so that they appeared as their legitimate wards under occupation laws. To do this convincingly at convents meant that the Jewish children would have to join in the daily life of the religious community.Vromen details the variations in how the children dealt with this.The decisions concerning whether to help Jews and how to do it came “from the bottom, not from the top” (p. 87), yet Vromen, like Yad Vashem, is meticulous in recounting the Catholic archbishops, monsignors, and cardinals who helped the Jews in Belgium. If the analysis of the rescuers and the hidden children is superlative, the chapter detailing the work of the Escorts and Resistance workers is unsurpassed. The Resistance agencies (e.g., Committee for the Defense of Jews [CDJ], Aide aux Israelites Victimes de Guerre [AIVG], the Oeuvre Nationale de l’Enfance [ONE], and the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee [the JOINT]), as a key element in the organization of rescue, are briefly described. Using in-depth interviews, the main focus is on two women Resistance workers, Andrée Geulen and Paule Renard. With them, Vromen brings to life the rescue process and the successful hiding of large numbers of Jewish children who were smoothly ushered to safety under the withering surveillance of the occupation authorities. They formed the interface between the organizational level and institutions or households doing the hiding. Situationally, they were left to their own intuition—to “pluck and luck”—to survive tight situations. The social contexts of their success were the thousands of “faces in the crowd” who, without realizing it, helped them in myriad ways. The heroism of these women Resistance workers and nuns was utterly brilliant in its simplicity and represents collective (rather than a form of idealized individual) rescue.. The fourth chapter is on memory and commemoration, looking at the hidden children fifty years after the close of World War II. Inasmuch as collective memory represented by parent survivors might have been quite different from their children’s, the role played by formal processes of commemoration was of central importance in giving the hidden children their own voice and allotting them their own place within the hierarchy of Holocaust survivors. In the final pages of her monograph,Vromen sifts through her findings, assessing them in terms of theories of rescue based on social research. This work is a welcome contribution to general reading on the Holocaust and can easily be integrated into courses from sociology to philosophy at both undergraduate and graduate levels. Rowan University MARY GALLANT BOOK REVIEWS 605 “You will be called Repairer of the Breach”: The Diary of J. G. M. Willebrands, 1958–1961. Edited by Theo Salemink. (Leuven: Maurits Sabbebibliotheek Faculteit Godgeleerdheid, Uitgeverij Peeters. 2009. Pp. viii, 450 [includes Annex: The original Dutch text]. €44,00 paperback. ISBN 978-9-042-92257-0). This diary and another volume, Les Agendas Conciliares de Mgr J. Willebrands (annotated French translation by Leo Declerck, Leuven, 2009) that covers 1963–65, were discovered almost by chance in 2005. The diary covers the periods July 1958 to September 1959, May 1960 to August 1960, and September 1960 to March 1961. Starting with Willebrands’s appointment on August 1, 1958, as episcopal delegate for ecumenical affairs for the Dutch Bishops’ Conference (the first to hold that position for a bishops’ conference), it runs, with considerable gaps, through the first months of the Secretariat for Promoting Christian Unity (SPCU, created by Pope John XXIII on June 5, 1960) when early preparations for the Second Vatican Council were taking place. Salemink’s helpful introduction,“Willebrands the Ecumenist 1958–61,” and critical annotations identifying the many individuals or events mentioned but not identified by Willebrands are indispensable for appreciating the diary. Since 1952 Willebrands (1909–2006) had promoted the Catholic Conference for Ecumenical Questions (CCEQ), bringing theologians and bishops together for ecumenical study, developing contacts with the World Council of Churches (WCC) on theological matters, and continually reporting developments to well-placed persons in Rome such as Father Augustine Bea and Roman authorities such as Cardinals Alfredo Ottaviani and Eugène Tisserant. He asked permission of Ottaviani before proceeding with certain initiatives. The diary shows levels of trust developing in these relationships. It shows the intensity of Willebrands’s contacts with the WCC, with entries (usually several) about WCC for every month from August 1958 to July 1959, references to meetings with General Secretary Willem Visser’t Hooft in seven of those twelve months, and entries in nine of the twelve months relating to CCEQ’s work supporting the WCC study-project Lordship of Christ. His persistence led to several breakthroughs. In 1958 Willebrands worked to have, for the first time, a joint meeting of CCEQ and the WCC study department on the Lordship of Christ project. Ottaviani approved and suggested Assisi as a possible location. In 1959 two Catholics—Willebrands and Christophe-Jean Dumont, O.P.—were invited for the first time to the WCC Central Committee meeting in Rhodes. Ottaviani confirmed approval of the meeting in Assisi, approved Willebrands and Dumont’s participation at Rhodes (as journalists), and also other ecumenical initiatives.The continuing delicacy of ecumenical relations was shown in a misunderstanding, when Catholics and Orthodox held a joint meeting at Rhodes and WCC officials, who had not been informed in advance, negatively interpreted the intensions behind it. Willebrands’s daily accounts of the Rhodes meeting that run from August 17 to 28, 1959, provide new information about the incident and show the anger 606 BOOK REVIEWS of WCC officials, which led to postponement of the Assisi meeting. The matter was eventually resolved. The diary shows Willebrands’s role as SPCU secretary—his close collaboration with Bea and staff colleagues Thomas F. Stransky and Jean-François Arrighi, preparation of SPCU for its work with the Council, selection of its members and consultants (many of whom had been active in CCEQ), organization of its first meetings, and management of initial ecumenical challenges such as the unprecedented visit of Archbishop of Canterbury Geoffrey Fisher to Rome in December 1960. Willebrands’s extensive contacts with the WCC, despite the tensions at Rhodes, help explain the relative quickness with which the SPCU began to develop good relations with the WCC even during the Second Vatican Council. Although Catholics had been forbidden to attend the 1948 and 1954 WCC assemblies, designated Catholic observers attended its 1961 New Delhi Assembly after some internal Catholic disagreements about this matter had been resolved. The diary reminds us of Willebrands’s unique ecumenical contributions even before the Council. It is an important new ecumenical source. Seton Hall University JOHN A. RADANO The Struggle for Shared Schools in Northern Ireland: The History of All Children Together. By Jonathan Bardon. With a preface by Dr. Mary Robinson, an introduction by the Rt. Hon. the Lord Mawhinney, and an epilogue by Donald Akenson. (Belfast: Ulster Historical Foundation. 2009. Pp. xiv, 322. £13.99 paperback. ISBN 978-1-903-68887-8.) When the violence that was to last for thirty years erupted in Northern Ireland in 1968, the leaders of the Catholic Church and the Protestant churches were at pains to explain to the world that it was not about religion and the scandalous division of Christians. Perhaps the most prophetic sign that they could have given that this was the case would have been to join together in starting an experimental “shared school.” It would have been an experiment because school segregation was almost total—all but a handful of Catholic pupils attended Catholic schools and virtually no Protestant pupils attended Catholic schools.To have been able to present to the world a desegregated school, shared by the Catholic and Protestant churches, would have been an ecumenical project of the first order, demonstrating most effectively that whatever the violence was about it was not about differences between Christians. Sadly, as the vivid cartoon on the cover of Jonathan Bardon’s The Struggle for Shared Schools in Northern Ireland makes clear, most clerical leaders chose the other side of the struggle. BOOK REVIEWS 607 All Children Together (ACT) was established to campaign for an alternative to Roman Catholic or state (i.e., Protestant) schools. Driven from the outset, as Mary Robinson, former president of the Republic of Ireland, states in the preface, by “a group of ordinary women, not previously prominent in public life” (p. viii),ACT is to be commended for commissioning this history of the organization. Tracing its origins in 1973 through to its winding-up in 2003, Bardon’s book complements Fionnuala O Connor’s A Shared Childhood: The Story of the Integrated Schools in Northern Ireland (Belfast, 2002). As one would expect from the author of A History of Ulster (Belfast, 1992), Bardon’s history of ACT is extremely well written.The two opening chapters—a summary of the three previous, failed attempts to establish nondenominational schools (Lord Edward Stanley’s National School system in 1831; Lord Londonderry’s Education [Northern Ireland] Act in 1923; Basil McIvor’s Shared-Schools Plan of 1974)—skillfully sets the context for the ACT story. The fourth chapter, “Direct-Rule Dilemmas,” is an object lesson in how to make best use of confidential government files recently released under the “thirty-year rule”; it is fascinating, for example, to discover how Northern Ireland direct-rule ministers and civil servants referred unenthusiastically to Cardinal William Conway, Bishop William Philbin, and Bishop Edward Daly as “The Armagh Three.” There are a number of very helpful appendices, including a chronology of the conflict against which are set significant developments in the progress toward shared schools.The decision to include an epilogue by Donald Harman Akenson, who has written so influentially about the history of Irish education, was inspired, helping to chart the terrain ahead in the continuing struggle for shared schools. Notwithstanding Bardon’s considerable strengths, there remains a major problem: his failure to consult Tony Spencer, one of the leading Catholic sociologists of his generation and the key ideologue and activist of the movement. At the dramatic heart of the story is Spencer’s split in 1984 from his closest colleagues in ACT. Bardon fails to offer a more than one-sided account. Thus the book falls short of being a definitive history. It is to be hoped that the veteran Spencer will find his historian before it is too late to speak to him in person. Certainly, future researchers interested in understanding how the struggle for shared schools in Northern Ireland started should not ignore his archive, which is now in the process of being deposited in the Centre for Catholic Studies at Durham University. Centre for Migration Studies at the Ulster American Folk Park Omagh, Northern Ireland BRIAN LAMBKIN 608 BOOK REVIEWS American Fathers on the Frontier, French Missionaries and the Roman Catholic Priesthood in the United States, 1789–1870. By Michael Pasquier. (New York: Oxford University Press. 2010. Pp. xii, 295. $74.00. ISBN 978-0-19537233-5.) With a fine command of the rich array of primary sources, Michael Pasquier has crafted a distinctive narrative of the ”lived experience[s]” (p. 61) of French missionaries in the United States from the French Revolution to the Civil War. He is committed to presenting “the Private Lives of Priests” (p. 19), symbolized by the eighty-five pages of endnotes with citations of their letters and diaries. Pasquier’s chapters are organized topically with more than a nod to chronology. The Sulpicians, who arrived in Baltimore in 1791, play various roles in the narrative.They passed on the ideals of the priesthood in the practical service of the Church. Although Pasquier frequently refers to the “Sulpician Order,” the Society of St. Sulpice, founded in France in 1642, is actually a community of diocesan priests on leave from their bishops to teach and form seminarians according to Sulpician ideals. In contrast to the other seminaries that appointed one spiritual director for all students, the Sulpician seminaries provided each student with his own spiritual director within the context of the sacrament of penance. This process forms a meaningful bond between director and penitent. Letters from priests of Sulpician seminaries voice a deep concern with the missionaries’ commitment to a life immersed in the sufferings of Christ. Pasquier focuses on Benoit Joseph Flaget and Jean-Baptiste David, Sulpicians on the Kentucky frontier; Simon G. G. Bruté in Emmitsburg, MD; and Louis G. B. Dubourg in New Orleans. Other prominent figures such as Bishop Jean-Baptiste Blanc of New Orleans and Jean-Marie Odin of San Antonio and later of New Orleans also are featured.Although seminaries were formative of vocations, they had not prepared these men for the harsh realities of the frontier.These French priests “often failed to maintain the integrity of their missionary ideology. . . . Hunger, sickness, fatigue, boredom, loneliness, isolation, indifference, all these physical and emotional states affected how French missionaries lived throughout the dioceses of the trans-Appalachian West” (p. 61). Few in number, they became demoralized by the scandalous behavior of other French priests, particularly in Louisiana and Texas. Because the missionaries confronted these harsh conditions with a rough-hewn honesty, they were not overcome by them and achieved a solid resilience guaranteeing their continued service to the Church. Besides his research in the Sulpician archives, Pasquier also consulted material from the Oeuvre pour la propagation de la foi in Lyon and Paris and BOOK REVIEWS 609 from Propaganda Fide in Rome. The latter sheds light on Roman authority and discipline of the United States as a mission country. The Oeuvre published letters from missionaries throughout the world to encourage vocations and to provide the basis for contacting donors and financing missionaries. Letters from French missionaries to the Oeuvre were sometimes edited to give them positive character. It was common for French frontier bishops to spend a year or more recruiting priests and seminarians to volunteer for service in the trans-Appalachian West. Pasquier titles chapter 3, which encompasses these developments, “Missionary Revival and Transnational Catholicism.” Pasquier describes the increasingly Ultramontane Catholicism among frontier bishops dependent on Propaganda Fide to resolve issues between trustees and their pastors, the appointments of coadjutors, and relations with Protestants. The rise of Marian and other forms of devotional Catholicism promoted by the Vatican gained popularity among the French clergy. The Sulpicians in France and Baltimore countered these trends by maintaining their Gallicanism. The French missionary priests were in accord with their bishops’ Ultramontanism, but they were so deeply immersed in ministering to the uniformed laity that ecclesiology became almost irrelevant. The final chapter “Slavery, Civil War, and Southern Catholicism” is a fascinating account. The French clergy were committed to serving the needs of the local Church. Pasquier remarks they became “amenable to southern concepts of social conservatism and white supremacy. . .” (p. 9). Because this book is a significant scholarly effort written in an accessible style, it is highly recommended for librarians, scholars, and a wide range of students in religious studies and history. The Catholic University of America (Emeritus) CHRISTOPHER J. KAUFFMAN Prayers of the Faithful: The Shifting Spiritual Life of American Catholics. By James P. McCartin. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. 2010. Pp. x, 225. $25.95. ISBN 978-0-674-04913-0.) James P. McCartin’s book is an historical examination of the changing forms and content of prayer in the American Catholic community from the late-nineteenth to the late-twentieth century. Examining prayer, he maintains, provides a window into how people viewed themselves in their changing relationships with God, their religious community, and the world around them.A major shift, he argues, took place in the period under consideration: from an immigrant Church in which prayer was dependent upon the mediation of clergy and patron saints to a Church after the Second Vatican Council in which prayer no longer depended on such forms of mediation and in fact 610 BOOK REVIEWS developed a growing sense of spiritual independence where the laity were more likely to find God on their own. The book is divided into five major chapters, detailing the gradual spiritual shifts in Catholic spiritual life.“Praying in the Immigrant Church,” the first chapter, focuses on dependence on the mediation of the institutional and hierarchical Church.“Praying in the American Century” emphasizes the shifting emphasis in the first half of the twentieth century on mental prayer,devotion to the Sacred Heart, and St. Thérèse’s spirituality of “the little way” as manifestations of a more direct and immediate contact with the divine.“Prayer Becomes a Crusade” outlines the Family Rosary Crusade of Patrick Peyton after World War II, stressing a family-centered spirituality and the attempts to bring spiritual influence to the wider culture through mass media. “Prayer Becomes Secular” concentrates on transformations between 1945 and 1975 that stressed a convergence of the sacred and the secular (manifesting the spiritual in everyday life and in public life). “Prayer Becomes Personal and Political,” the fifth chapter, focuses on the late-twentieth-century emphases on the sacredness of the human person that brought about a new universalism and egalitarianism in Catholic spirituality demonstrated by the charismatic movement and various forms of political and social activism transforming Catholic spirituality from its earlier emphasis on private and communal devotionalism to publicly oriented spirituality with a social conscience. These various shifts in the spiritual life, moreover, brought about a “continued decline of hierarchical authority” (p. 157). McCartin’s study is an attempt to demonstrate that the growing spiritual independence in American Catholicism was in fact a gradual development throughout the twentieth century and not a capitulation to a creeping secularism, as some had argued. There is much that is valuable in McCartin’s book. He writes with clarity and grace, has an eye for detail and specific events that illustrate his argument, and has consulted a wide variety of sources. Particularly interesting and informative is his chapter on Peyton and his popularization of a spirituality that focused on “individuals’ actions in the present” (p. 75). What is problematic is his overall thesis because it seems based on a monolinear understanding of development. No doubt, changes in American Catholic spiritual sensitivities have taken place over the last century, but many Catholics have not changed from a state of spiritual dependence to one of independence. Mediation is still a large part of Catholic spiritual life among immigrants and the descendants of immigrants who fill the pews on Sunday mornings across the country. Spiritual and sacramental mediation in the longer Catholic tradition, moreover, is not a sign of dependence. McCartin needed to make some Catholic distinctions in his use of the concept of mediation. Despite these reservations, McCartin’s book is a good examination of some changes in spirituality that have indeed taken place within American BOOK REVIEWS 611 Catholicism over the past century. Marquette University PATRICK W. CAREY Avery Cardinal Dulles, SJ: A Model Theologian, 1918–2008. By Patrick W. Carey. (Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press. 2010. Pp.xxv, 710. $49.95. ISBN 978-0809-10571-7.) Although we scholars live exciting intellectual lives with our research and interaction with students, to the outside observer they look dull as dishwater—reading books, writing books, talking to small coteries of specialists like ourselves.We rarely make a splash in the public fora. In many ways, the life of Cardinal Avery Dulles, S.J., conformed to that stereotype, which explains why he told Patrick W. Carey that a biography of himself was a strange idea. As is well known, however, Dulles’s life deviated from the stereotype in a number of ways—his prominent family; his conversion; his special prominence in the American theological world where he sometimes lectured on currently controversial issues of general public interest; his much-discussed shift of theological perspective; and, finally, his elevation to the cardinalate as the only American theologian in history to receive that honor. Thanks to Christopher Bellito of Paulist Press, who promoted the idea of such a biography, and to Carey, who brought the idea to such excellent conclusion, we can follow this unusual career in minute detail. Dulles’s life itself surely justifies a biography, but it is in this case also, as Carey develops it, the vehicle for a review of the American Catholic theological scene for the past half-century. The book has a value, therefore, beyond what its title might suggest. After the main text, Carey provides an “Essay on the Sources” that runs ten pages. If reading the biography does not impress readers with the care and sheer diligence of the author, this essay will. Carey faced a daunting task for many reasons, but surely tops among them was the tidal wave of sources, written and oral (including interviews with the cardinal himself), that he had to master. There were, of course, sources that he could not examine, usually because of archives’ standard limits on access. He cannot, therefore, provide peeks behind the scenes to explain, for instance, what specifically prompted Pope John Paul II to single out Dulles for the cardinalate. Dulles, even in his careful and generally understated way, was not an uncontroversial figure, about which Carey is fully aware. The author admits that he is in sympathy with the cardinal’s positions, but, good historian that he is, he proceeds with an even hand and abstains from judgment on the respective merits of Dulles’s positions and those with whom he came into conflict. Carey gives the latter “equal time” in expressing their opinions. He reports and analyzes Dulles’s positions, therefore, but does not subject them to a theological critique. 612 BOOK REVIEWS At the reception in Rome in honor of Dulles after the ceremony in St. Peter’s where he received the red hat, Richard John Neuhaus spoke “on behalf of his [Dulles’s] theological and professional colleagues” (p. 519) and compared him to Cardinal and Saint Robert Bellarmine, S.J., and Blessed Cardinal John Henry Newman. Reputable theologians have compared him, more modestly, with Henri de Lubac, Yves-Marie Congar, and similar luminaries of the twentieth century (p. 521). The cardinal himself would have found even the latter comparisons exaggerated. They in fact do a disservice to the memory of a distinguished theologian and fine human being. Dulles is much better served by Carey’s appreciative yet sober biography. JOHN W. O’MALLEY, S.J. Georgetown University Latin American Biography of a Mexican Crucifix: Lived Religion and Local Faith from the Conquest to the Present. By Jennifer Scheper Hughes. (New York: Oxford University Press. 2010. Pp. xvi, 312. $99.00 clothbound, ISBN 978-0-19536706-5; $29.95 paperback, 978-0-195-36707-2.) Combing both historical/critical and theological perspectives, Jennifer Scheper Hughes has written a captivating five-century history of the Cristo de Totolapan, a crucifix carved from the woody trunk of the maguey cactus. The story begins with the miraculous appearance of the image in 1543 to Antonio de Roa, an Augustinian friar who labored to convert the Nahuatl-speaking Indians of Totolapan (modern state of Morelos, Mexico). It continues through the removal of the Cristo to Mexico City in 1583 and its eventual repatriation to its home three centuries later. The author then carries the narrative into the twentieth century, when she addresses how Sergio Méndez Arceo, the famous “red” bishop of Morelos, ambivalently reconciled his liberationist faith with the renowned crucifix and concludes with a study of how contemporary local devotions to the Cristo uneasily coexist alongside a modernizing clergy.This broad historical arc allows the author to broach a range of topics in the historiography of Mexican Catholicism: the methods of missionary friars and indigenous reactions to evangelization, baroque piety and subsequent attempts to subdue its “excesses,” nineteenth-century Liberal efforts to secularize society, the rise and fall of liberation theology, and contemporary indigenous Catholicism. Although the book addresses many topics, not all receive the same consideration. Due to the weight of available sources—documentation generated by the appearance and later removal of the image to Mexico City and the author’s interviews with the faithful of Totolapan and their clergy—most of the work is devoted to the sixteenth, twentieth, and twenty-first centuries. Hughes sustains two overarching arguments. First, she contends that scholars have overemphasized the prominence of the Virgin and undervalued BOOK REVIEWS 613 the importance of Christ in Mexican (and more generally in Latin American) piety.The author supports this argument not simply by telling the fascinating story of the Cristo of Totolapan but also by placing it in the context of devotions to other Christocentric images.This contextualization allows Hughes to reconstruct the complicated relationship between the Cristo of Totolapan and the Cristo de Chalma, currently the most popular Christocentric devotion in Mexico. She argues that the Augustinians first promoted veneration of the Cristo of Totolapan, but changed course in the eighteenth century to focus on the Cristo de Chalma. The author notes that the Cristo de Chalma’s sacred narrative borrows much from that of his earlier counterpart. Hughes posits that the Cristo de Chalma succeeded in the long run whereas the Cristo of Totolapan did not, largely because the Augustinians removed the latter from his original environment to bring him to Mexico City whereas they maintained the Cristo de Chalma in his local context. Second, Hughes argues against the widespread notion that battered, tortured, and bloody crucifixes are prominent in Mexican devotions because indigenous and mestizo devotees see in them a representation of their own suffering—a shared anguish that allows them to identify intimately with Christ’s passion and death. Rather, she insists that the local faithful approach their beloved images, not primarily with compassion, but with affection and tenderness, often viewing images through the aesthetic lens of the beautiful. Building on this insight, she contends that contemporary indigenous Catholicism, although composed of European Catholic content, retains indigenous affective dispositions toward the divine. She argues that in preColumbian practice, home images were treated with the same care and affection that permeates image-based piety in Mexico today. Hughes has crafted a cogently argued, well organized, and clearly written work. Its compelling story and broad historical span will appeal to a wide audience, both scholar and student alike. St. John’s University Collegeville, MN BRIAN LARKIN Decretos del concilio tercero provincial mexicano (1585). Edición histórico crítica y estudio preliminar por Luis Martínez Ferrer. 2 vols. (Michoacán: Colegio de Michoacán; Rome: Universidad Pontificia de la Santa Cruz. 2009. Pp. 186, 187–681. €96,80. ISBN 978-6-077-76423-6.) It can be argued that the Third Mexican Provincial Council of 1585 was one of the most important religious events in the history of Mexico. Summoned by Pedro Moya de Contreras, the all-powerful archbishop, visitador, and later viceroy, it was one of many such councils held in Spain and its dominions in the aftermath of the Council of Trent. It not only enacted a comprehensive code of canon law for New Spain but also commissioned 614 BOOK REVIEWS important works such as a uniform catechism and ceremonial. One of the most important of these was the directory for confessors, a lengthy summary of moral theology, canon law, and pastoral practice designed to compensate for the poor education of the clergy. It is an invaluable source for the social, economic, and religious life of sixteenth-century New Spain. The work of the council met determined opposition on both the civil and religious front. Because of this, the decrees were not published until 1622, the ceremonial was never completed, and the catechism and directory fell into oblivion. The decrees, however, had a remarkable staying power. They were extended to the Philippines in 1626 and were retained by Guatemala when it became an independent ecclesiastical province. They were the code of canon law for the province of Mexico until 1896 and other parts of the country until 1917. The working papers of the first three provincial councils (1555, 1565, 1585) were in the archives of the archdiocese of Mexico as late as 1746. In 1869 they were sold at auction in London and were purchased by Hubert Howe Bancroft for his library. Knowledge of them seems to have been lost, and it was only in 1958 that Ernest Burrus, S.J., rediscovered them. In recent years the Colegio de Michoacán in Zamora, Mexico, under the direction of Alberto Carrillo Cázares, has undertaken the Herculean task of publishing every document relating to the Third Council.The present two volumes are a critical study and edition of the decrees, together with an analysis of their sources and their various manuscript sources, all done by Martínez Ferrer. Of particular value is the first volume, which surveys the history of the decrees, their sources, and roles played by various participants in the Third Council. It is far more detailed and informative than any other work dealing with this important subject. In some ways these two volumes may be more useful as reference works than as something to be read from beginning to end.They are an invaluable contribution to the social, religious, and governmental history of colonial Mexico. Los Angeles, CA STAFFORD POOLE, C.M. BOOK REVIEWS 615 Nahuatl Theatre, Vol. 3: Spanish Golden Age Drama in Mexican Translation. Edited by Barry D. Sell, Louise M. Burkhart, and Elizabeth R. Wright. Foreword by John Frederick Schwaller. With contributions from Daniel Mosquera and John Bierhorst. (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2008. Pp xx, 420. $55.00. ISBN: 978-0-806-13878-7). Nahuatl Theatre, Vol. 4: Nahua Christianity in Performance. Edited by Barry D. Sell and Louise M. Burkhart. (Norman, University of Oklahoma Press, 2009. Pp. xvi, 405. $49.95. 978-0-806-14010-0.) The two books reviewed here form part of a collection dedicated to publicizing and analyzing a little-known cultural phenomenon: the theatrical works that were composed in the Nahuatl (Aztec) language during the colonial period in New Spain. In volume 3, the editors compiled the works translated by Don Bartolomé de Alva Ixtlilxóchitl, the nahuatlato (speaker and writer of Nahuatl). Volume 4 is the compilation of seven complete writings and a fragment that were produced in the eighteenth century, dramatize Christian doctrine, and provide a moralizing message. The son of a cacica (an Indian noblewoman with political power) and a Spaniard, Alva was born c. 1597. He was the brother of the historian Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxóchitl, and both men were descendents of the royal lineage of Nezahualcóyotl Acolmiztli, the famous ruler of the pre-Hispanic kingdom of Tetzcoco-Acolhuacan. Unusually, Bartolomé de Alva became a member of the colonial Catholic hierarchy and established contacts with the Jesuits of the college of Tepotzotlan. Especially important was his association with the Italian Horacio Carochi, who was an outstanding scholar of the Nahuatl language. In 1640–41 Alva applied himself to translating three plays by two significant authors of the Spanish theater of the Golden Age: Lope de Vega y Carpio (The Animal Prophet and the Fortunate Patricide and The Mother of the Best) and Pedro Calderón de la Barca (The Great Theater of the World). Alva, with the help of Carochi, not only translated the European religious dramas but also adapted them for indigenous audiences—a major accomplishment. The exposition of the texts conveys the nuances of the original Spanish version, the Nahuatl translation, and the corresponding English.Along with very useful introductory essays, the editors provide footnotes that clarify various aspects of the content. Volume 4 presents two moralizing works, two plays on the Passion, and another three plays that deal with Nahuatl history. The latter show how the Christian traditions were dramatized to reinterpret the multidimensional encounter of the two cultures. Also included is a brief farcical intermezzo, a piece with a single act that was performed during theatrical intermissions. Internet sites are provided so related documents may be consulted. This collection goes beyond extending and explaining the processes of evangelization that occurred in the center of New Spain after the seventeenth century. Additionally, there are valuable references to the morality of the 616 BOOK REVIEWS period, gender roles, and native conceptions of Christianity. The effort also calls attention to the places where the theatrical pieces originated. Included is a work, without European antecedents, Colloquy of How the Fortunate Saint Helen Found the Precious and Revered Wooden Cross. According to tradition, St. Helen, mother of the Roman emperor Constantine, found this highly important relic. The play comes from a small altépetl (Indian town) of rural people from the Tlaxcala region, east of Mexico City, and was written by Manuel de Santos y Salazar. Santos y Salazar was a Tlaxcalan noble, diocesan priest, ecclesiastical judge, and recipient of a bachelor’s degree.The translations of Alva and Santos y Salazar allow readers to explore the purpose of the works and the particular audiences to whom they were directed. Readers also can investigate the extent to which historical elements and traditional indigenous cosmovision are incorporated. From name changes of the characters (Malintzin for Irene, Colhua Tecuhtli for Alexander, and Tízoc for Vulcan in the tragicomedy of Lope de Vega) to an extensive and surprising description that St. Helen provides of the “precious and revered wooden cross” (p. 307), not very distant echoes of pre-Hispanic poetry are heard in references to the Tree of Life.This kind of insertion is comparable, for example, to Nahuatl: la Psalmodia Christiana (Christian Psalmody) of Friar Bernardino de Sahagún, circulated in 1583. The conscientious work done by the editors and their collaborators no doubt will bear fruit among Mesoamericanists from various disciplines. XAVIER NOGUEZ (Engl. trans. by MERIDETH PAXTON) Centro de Estudios Históricos El Colegio Mexiquense, A.C. Zinacantepec, Mexico Asian Hidden Treasures and Intercultural Encounters: Studies on East Syriac Christianity in China and Central Asia. Edited by Dietmar W.Winkler and Li Tang. [Orientalia—patristica—oecumenica,Vol. 1.] (Münster–Vienna: Lit Verlag. 2009. Pp. iv, 395. €39,90 paperback. ISBN 978-3-643-50045-8.) In the last twenty years, research on the commonly mistermed “Nestorian” Christianity in central and eastern Asia has grown in Eastern and Western academic circles. New publications have resulted in a new approach that is based more on sources and a broader philological foundation, which can be truly regarded as a turning point in the history of research on East Syrian Christianity in Asia. The volume under review is the outcome of the second conference on “Research on the Church of the East in China and Central Asia” in 2006. It contains papers written by scholars from disciplines such as church history, BOOK REVIEWS 617 philology (Syriac, Turkic, Iranic, and Chinese), archaeology, and theology. It explores the subject of East Syrian Christianity from various perspectives. The volume is organized in four parts.The first part, on “Inscriptions” (pp. 13–132), contains current research on texts carved in stone from various geographical areas (Central Asia, Inner Mongolia, China). Particularly relevant in this section are essays on Syriac and Syro-Turkic inscriptions by Mark Dickens, Wassilios Klein, Kuvatbek Tabaldiev, Li Chonglin, and Niu Ruji. They give the original text, transliteration, translation, and a commentary of Christian gravestones found in Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzistan, Inner Mongolia, and Xinjiang (China), all dating from the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.Also worth mentioning is Li Tang’s preliminary study (text analysis, commentary, and translation) on the Chinese Christian inscription found in Luoyang in 2006 and dating from the ninth century. The second part deals briefly with “Manuscripts and Texts” (pp. 135–80). Among the three articles in this section, Max Deeg’s provocative essay invites scholars to consider the proper and improper ways to proceed in placing in their context the Chinese Christian documents of the Tang period (618–907). The third part, on “History” (pp. 183–334), is the richest and presents the evaluation and interpretation of various sources such as inscriptions, archaeological evidence, and texts coming from different regions of central and eastern Asia and dating back to various historical periods. Among the eleven essays contained in this section five concern Syriac Christianity in China and Korea during the first centuries of the second millennium: Pierre Marsone writes on the time when the Temple of the Cross at Fangshan was a “Christian Temple”; Maurizio Paolillo about King George, the thirteenth-century Christian chief of the Öngüt tribe; Li Tang on Christians of the Mongol (or, better, Mongolised Turkish) Naiman tribe and one of their princes, Küchlüg khan, as referred to in medieval sources; Yin Xiaoping on Christians in the Chinese region of Jiangnan during the Yuan dynasty (1272–1368); Alexander Toepel about Christians in Korea at the end of the thirteenth century. In addition, Matteo Nicolini-Zani shows how Jesuit missionaries in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries referred to Tang Christianity in their writings to further their own mission, and Chen Huaiyu investigates the textual and artistic encounter between East Syrian Christianity and Tantric Buddhism in medieval China and Tibet. The last part is devoted to “Liturgy and Arts” (pp. 337–92), with three articles exploring the fields of liturgical music and religious arts. Yan Xiaojing’s article, in particular, shows the interaction between Christian, Buddhist, and Daoist artistic patterns. Photographs of historical relics are inserted in some of the contributions. Regrettably, the volume is rather carelessly edited.The two editors note in their introduction that they were aware of the challenging work of editing 618 BOOK REVIEWS such a collection of diverse interdisciplinary scholarship. Nevertheless, the book is a unique collection of “hidden treasures” for all those who wish to know more about those fascinating and mostly neglected interreligious and intercultural exchanges in which Christianity was involved in its diffusion along the Silk Road for about one thousand years. Monastero di Bose Magnano, Italy MATTEO NICOLINI-ZANI Le premier concile plénier chinois, Shanghai 1924: droit canonique missionnaire forgé en Chine. By Paul Wang Jiyou. (Paris: Les éditions du Cerf. 2010. Pp. 413. €42,00 paperback. ISBN 978-2-204-09205-0.) Paul Wang Jiyou presents a well-researched study of the first plenary council of China held in Shanghai from May 15 to June 11, 1924, under the leadership of Archbishop Celso Costantini, the apostolic delegate. After an excellent preface by the French sinologist Jean Charbonnier, the book is organized into two parts. The introduction and the first three chapters provide an historical overview of the origin and the ups and downs of Christianity in China from the early-seventh century to the dawn of the twentieth century. Readers unfamiliar with that history will find it very informative whereas others better versed in the subject might feel that Wang, who devoted almost half of the book to that topic, could have been more succinct. The four chapters in the second part of the book are what make this study especially significant.The first chapter presents the antecedents of the council.These include the role of Bishop Jean-Baptiste Budes de Guébriant, who, as vicar apostolic of Canton and apostolic visitor to China and bordering countries, briefed Willem van Rossum, the cardinal-prefect of Propaganda Fide, on the situation of the Church in China; Pope Benedict XV’s call for a missionary reorientation in his apostolic letter Maximum illud of November 1919; and Pope Pius XI’s nomination of Costantini as apostolic delegate to China in August 1922. The second chapter describes the preparation for the gathering, its actual course, and various ceremonies associated with it. The third chapter examines the major legal and pastoral decrees that were approved, showing how the 1917 Code of Canon Law and the letter Maximum illud influenced them. Chapter 4 discusses the implementation of the council and its enduring impact on the missionary reorientation and the life of the Chinese Church such as the ordination of six Chinese bishops in Rome in 1926, the 1939 abolition of the interdiction to perform the Chinese rites, and the establishment of a Chinese native hierarchy in 1946. Page after page, Wang adeptly shows how Costantini, through the proceedings of the council, was able to set in motion changes that aimed at deoccidentalizing the Catholic Church and thereby fostered a local church BOOK REVIEWS 619 respectful of the Chinese culture and led by a Chinese clergy. The Shanghai plenary council put the Chinese Church on a new course as well as set guidelines and directives for the apostolate on Chinese soil that perdured until the Second Vatican Council. The book has seven useful appendices, including Pope Paul V’s brief of 1615 on the Chinese liturgy, a list of the council’s participants, and Costantini’s allocutions at the opening and the closing ceremonies. There is no index, but the very rich bibliography is a welcome addition. The book has some minor inaccuracies. It also is regrettable that, among the persons who had a part in bringing about the plenary council of Shanghai, Wang fails to mention Ma Xiangbo. This well-respected Chinese Catholic scholar argued for equal rights between Chinese and foreign priests and opposed the abuses of the French protectorate over Catholic missions. Several of his suggestions were not only embraced by de Guébriant but also were reflected in Maximum illud. Ma became one of the first to translate the papal letter into Chinese. This book will profit a wide range of scholars and students interested in the Church in China, the local applications of the canon law, the establishment of local churches and local hierarchies, and the process of evangelization. It should be on the shelves of seminary libraries. The Beijing Center for Chinese Studies JEAN-PAUL WIEST 623 NOTES AND COMMENTS Meehan of Seneca College at York University chaired the session that included Peter S. Cajka of Boston College on “The Making of a Modern American Pilgrimage: Holy Hill Shrine, 1880–1906,” and Frances Swyripa of the University of Alberta on “Saints and Saintliness in Western Canada: The Intersection of Faith, Ethnicity, and Politics.” Indre Cuplinskas of St. Joseph’s College at the University of Alberta chaired “Social Action and Worship,” which included papers by Nicholas Rademacher of Cabrini College on “Aiding Immigrants, Serving the Poor, Combating Communists: Catherine de Hueck Doherty’s Friendship House Apostolate in Toronto”; Sarah Jardine of St. Paul University in Ottawa on “Women of the Catholic Women’s League of Canada Versus Atheistic Communism”; and Robert Hurteau of Loyola Marymount University on “Seamy Charity? John Considine, Ivan Illich, and an Appraisal of the North American Catholic Mission to Latin America in the 1960s.” R. Bentley Anderson, S.J., of Fordham University chaired “Communities, Power and Religion,” which included papers by Benjamin Looker of Saint Louis University on “A Theology of Neighborhood? City Spaces, the New Ethnicity and Postconciliar Catholic Communalism” and Phyllis LeBlanc of the Université de Moncton on “The Weight of Tradition or a Simple Power Struggle? Conflict and Tradition within the Catholic Church of North America: A Comparative Study of Louisiana and the Maritime Provinces.” Paul G. Monson of Marquette University chaired “Communicating Identities across Borders and Centuries,” which included papers by Markus Faltermier of the University of Munich on “The Central Verein and Social Thought:The Struggle for a German-American Voice in the American Catholic Discourse on Social Issues in the Early 20th Century,” Molly Burns Gallaher of the University of New Hampshire on “Faith without Boundaries:The Intermarriage of Catholic English and French-Speakers on the 19th-Century Maine-New Brunswick Border,” and Paul G. Monson on “In Search of Cluny: Benedictines in the New World, 1846–1892.” Dennis Castillo of Christ the King Seminary in East Aurora, NY, chaired the session “Catholicism in North America,” in which Carolee Pollock of Grant MacEwan University presented on “A Pragmatic and Conservative Measure: Catholic Toleration in Quebec after the Treaty of Paris” and David Kingma of Gonzaga University presented on “Spinning the Jesuit Alaska Mission, 1886–89.” Dan Donovan concluded the program by offering a tour on religious art in the Odette Building. University of St. Michael’s College at the University of Toronto TERENCE J. FAY, S.J. Exhibition Dedicated to Pope John Paul II From April 29 to July 24, 2011, the exhibition “John Paul II: Homage of Benedict XVI for the Beatification” is open in the Charlemagne Wing of Bernini’s colonnades around St. Peter’s Square. The exhibition, organized by the Governorate of the Vatican City State in collaboration with the Polish Embassy to the Holy See and the Polish Culture and Heritage Ministry, is 624 NOTES AND COMMENTS divided into fifteen sections illustrating the life and pontificate of Karol Wojty la, from his infancy and childhood in Wadowice to the last stage of his life and solemn funeral on April 8, 2005.With a wealth of detail it presents all the moments and aspects of the life of the newly beatified pope. During the exhibition’s inaugural ceremony, in the presence of Cardinal Tarcisio Bertone, secretary of state, and various other figures, the official stamps issued jointly by the Vatican City State and Poczta Polska (Polish Post) were presented. Research Tools The Italian government is sponsoring the research project “Piecing Together a Mosaic: Describing, Digitizing, and Using Medieval Legal Manuscripts” among three universities (Bologna, Roma Tre, and Federico II of Naples). It aims to create the “Mosaic Project” (http://mosaico.cirsfid.unibo.it), a Web site that will provide descriptions of medieval codices connected with a collection of high-resolution digital legal manuscripts cited in academic publications. Noted scholars will provide new comments on and descriptions of several manuscripts. A catalogue of the canons that appear in systematic pre-Gratian canonical collections, based on Linda Fowler-Magerl’s Clavis canonum, can be viewed online at the Monumenta Germaniae Historica Web site: http://www.mgh .de/ext/clavis/index.html. Lectures and Conferences On August 26, 2011, Frederick Lauritzen will speak at the Byzantine Studies Conference in Sofia, Bulgaria, on “Psellos before the Synod: The Defense of Lazaros of Philippopolis.” On September 23–24, 2011, the 78e Congrès de la Société canadienne d’histoire de l’Église catholique will hold the conference “Le patrimoine matériel et immatériel des communautés religieuses” at the Musée de la civilisation, 16 de la Barricade, Québec, Canada. For more information, contact Mélanie Lanouette at mlanouette@mcq.org or tel: (418) 528–1258. On October 17–18, 2011, the international workshop “Jews in the Ecclesiastical, Roman-Barbarian, and Byzantine Law (Sixth to Eleventh Centuries)” will be held at the Abbey of Fontevraud. It will investigate the legal condition of Jews in Latin Europe and Byzantium in the early Middle Ages. For more information, contact Laurence Foschia at laurence.foschia@ univ-nantes.fr. On October 27–29, 2011, the international conference “‘Virgo Digna Coelo’: Caterina e la Sua Eredità,” will commemorate the 550th anniversary of NOTES AND COMMENTS 625 the canonization of St. Catherine of Siena (1347–80) and will be held at the Santa Maria sopra Minerva complex in Rome and at the Archivio di Stato and Convent of San Domenico in Siena. The first session, “Santità, Mistica e Profezia,” will feature a “Prolusione” by Gabriella Zarri and the presentations “Caterina e il Papato” by Agostino Paravicini Bagliani,“Caterina da Siena nella storiografia” by Sofia Boesch, “Caterina e il rinnovamento della teologia” by Francesco Santi, “La discussione sulle stimmate” by Alessandra Bartolomei Romagnoli, and “Le leggi e le donne: Santa Caterina e la società del Trecento italiano” by Elena Brizio.The second session,“Il Processo di Canonizzazione,” will have the following presentations: “Modelli di santità femminile nei processi di canonizzazione fra Trecento e Quattrocento” by Giulia Barone;“La legenda maior di Raimondo da Capua: una eredità condivisa” by Silvia Nocentini;“Il Processo Castellano: studio prosopografico” by Luciano Cinelli, O.P.; and “Pio II, santa Caterina e l’Ufficio liturgico di santa Caterina” by Concetta Bianca and Elio Montanari. The third session, “Caterina nella Stagione delle Osservanze,” will contain five presentations:“Caterina e Siena” by Paolo Nardi, “La memoria di Caterina nei sermoni dell’Ordine dei Frati Predicatori” by Carlo Delcorno,“Caterina e gli Ordini religiosi” by Pierantonio Piatti, “Caterina e l’Osservanza domenicana: il rinnovamento del secondo Ordine” by Isabella Gagliardi, and “Dalle Mantellate al Terz’Ordine domenicano: la regola di Munio da Zamora” by Mario Sensi. The fourth session, “La Memoria di Caterina in Età Moderna e Contemporanea,” will feature “Il modello cateriniano nelle leggende agiografiche femminili domenicane” by Gianni Festa, O.P.; “Ambrogio Catarino, teologo e agiografo” by Fausto Arici, O.P.; “L’eredità cateriniana nel movimento savonaroliano: Il caso di San Silvestro al Quirinale” by Alessio Assonitis; and “Caterina e la tradizione letteraria dell’epistolario femminile” by Anna Scattigno. Carla Zarrilli; Luciano Cinello, O.P.; and Franco Cardini will lead a roundtable discussion. The fifth and final session,“Caterina nell’Arte,” will have six presentations:“Iconografia cateriniana: tipologie, committenza, aree di diffusione” by Diega Giunta, “L’immagine di Caterina nell’iconografia medievale” by Michele Bacci, “L’immagine di Caterina a Siena” by Raffaele Argenziano, “L’immagine di Caterina nell’iconografia moderna” by Martine Boiteux, “La basilica di Santa Maria sopra Minerva e la tomba di Santa Caterina” by Vitaliano Tiberia, and “Conclusioni” by Anna Benvenuti. On December 6, 2011, Norman Tanner, S.J., and Alberto Melloni will present the program “Cristiani d’Italia” at the Gregorian University in Rome. In spring 2012 a conference will be held at Biola University on “Christian Scholarship in the 21st Century: Prospects and Perils.” Alvin Plantinga and Nicholas Wolterstorff will lead a two-week seminar on significant issues of the day. Research fellowships that provide a stipend of $25,000, office space, and a research assistant are available at the Center for Christian Thought. For further details, see the Web site http://www.cct.biola.edu, or contact Steve L. Porter, associate director, at steve.porter@biola.edu. 626 NOTES AND COMMENTS The Causes of Saints On February 21, 2011, Pope Benedict XVI held a public consistory at which three blesseds were approved as saints: Guido Maria Conforti (1865–1931), who founded the Society of St. Francis Xavier for Foreign Missions, became bishop of Ravenna at age thirty-seven and archbishop of Parma at age forty-two, and died during a trip to China; Luigi Guanella (1842–1915), who founded the Servants of Charity and the Institute of the Daughters of St. Mary of Providence that works in Rome among the poor, elderly, and disabled; and Bonifacia Rodríguez de Castro (1837–1905) from Salamanca, who founded the Congregation of the Sisters of St. Joseph and created the “Nazareth workshop” that labored for the social advancement of women workers. On April 2, 2011, Pope Benedict XVI advanced the causes of a number of candidates for sainthood. He authorized miracles for the causes of Clemente Vismara (1897–1988), an Italian professed priest of the Pontifical Institute for Foreign Missions; and of María Catalina Irigoyen Ecjegaray (1848–1918), a Spanish professed nun of the Congregation of the Servants of Mary, Ministers of the Sick. He approved the status as martyr for Pierre-Adrien Toulorge (1757–93), a French Premonstratenisan canon regular who was killed during the French Revolution as well as for Francisco Estaban Lacal, his twenty-one companions of the Missionary Oblates of Mary Immaculate, and the Spanish layman Cándido Castán San José who were all killed in hatred of the faith in 1936. He recognized the heroic virtues of the fourteen-year-old German lay youth Bernhard Lehner (1930–44); of Thomas Kurialacherry (1873–1925), the Indian bishop of Changanacherry, who founded the Sisters of the Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament; of Adolphe Châtillon (ThéophaniusLéo), a Canadian Brother of Christian Schools; and of Maria Chiara of St. Teresa of the Child Jesus (born Vincenza Damato, 1909–48), an Italian nun of the Order of St. Clare. On April 25, 2011, Cardinal Donald Wuerl, archbishop of Washington, announced that he was introducing the cause for sainthood of Mary Virginia Merrick, Servant of God (1867–1955). Born to a wealthy Washington family, this partially paralyzed laywoman, who was confined since age fourteen to a wheelchair or bed and in constant pain, devoted her life to helping the poor. She established settlement houses, summer camps, and convalescent farms for children with special needs; set up free dental clinics and legal services for immigrants; and founded the National Christ Child Society in 1887. Monsignor Charles Antonicelli will serve as episcopal delegate for the instruction of the cause. Those with information about Merrick may email it to MVMcuase@adw.org. A jubilee year has been declared in the Czech Republic to commemorate the 800th anniversary of the birth of St. Agnes of Bohemia (1211–82), the daughter of Premysl Otakar I (c. 1155–1230), king of Bohemia (1197–1230). NOTES AND COMMENTS 627 She rejected marriage proposals from Emperor Frederick II and King Henry III of England and became instead the Poor Clare abbess of a convent she established in Prague. She also founded a hospital for the poor and an order of hospitallers to staff it. Her canonization in 1989 occurred at the same time as the “Velvet Revolution,” and she is considered to have helped in the downfall of the communist regime in her native country. Publications The annual volume for 2009 (LXXXV) of the Rivista di Archeologia Cristiana, which has just been published, begins with five items under the heading “Atti della Pontificia Commissione di Archeologia Sacra” (pp. 7–234), dealing with images in the Roman catacombs. Then follow ten Studi: Darija Damjanović,“Un affresco dalla necropoli dell’antica città romana di Certissia in Croazia. A proposito del cantaro, dei pavoni e degli elementi astrali” (pp. 237–60); Javier Á. Domingo Magaña,“Los capiteles de la Iglesia de San Miguel de Escalada (León, España)” (pp. 261–92); Lorenzo Dattrino, “Tertulliano e il Millenarismo” (pp. 293–312); Vincenzo Fiocchi Nicolai, “Vocazione funeraria della basilica di S. Paolo sulla Via Ostiense (Roma)” (pp. 313–54); Federico Guidobaldi, “Sectilia pavimenta tardoantichi e paleocristiani a piccolo modulo dell’Italia settentrionale” (pp. 355–419); Angela Miele,“I deambulatori periabsidali nelle chiese paleocristiane dell’area peninsulare” (pp. 421–68); Cinzia Palombi,“Nuovi Studi sulla Basilica di San Valentino sulla Via Flaminia” (pp. 469–540); Matteo Poddi, “Le iscrizioni della regione già denominata di ‘Vigna Chiaraviglio’ nel complesso di S. Sebastiano sulla Via Appia: note e osservazioni” (pp. 541–66); Ute Verstegen, “Die symbolische Raumordnung frühchristlicher Basiliken des 4. bis 6. Jahrhunderts. Zur Interdependenz von Architektur, Liturgie und Raumsstattung” (pp. 567–600); and Norbert Zimmermann and Vasiliki Tsamakda,“Pitture sconosciute della Catacomba di Domitilla” (pp. 601–40). The proceedings of the international colloquium held at the Abbey of Sainte-Marie du Désert on the occasion of the ninth centenary (1110–2010) of the birth of Ælred of Rievaulx have been published in Collectanea Cisterciensia, vol. 73, no. 1, for 2011 under the heading “Intentio Cordis: Temps, histoire, mémoire chez Ælred de Rievaulx.” In the section “Histoire et théologie” are the following four articles: Jacques Verger, “ Ælred en son temps. Le contexte historique, culturel et religieux du XIIe siècle” (pp. 27–37); Marsha Dutton,“ Ælred comme historien et acteur dans l’histoire: La philosophie politique de ses quatre traités historiques” (pp. 38–55); Domenico Pezzini, “La théologie politique chez Ælred de Rievaulx d’après ses œuvres historiques” (pp. 56–85); and Philippe Molac, P.S.S., “Théologie de l’histoire chez Ælred d’après les sermons De oneribus” (pp. 86–98). A conference on “Cultura, Arte, Committenza al Santo [Antonio] nel Quattrocento” was held at the Basilica del Santo in Padua on September 628 NOTES AND COMMENTS 25–26, 2009.The proceedings of the conference have been published in fascicles 2–3 of Il Santo for 2010 (vol. L), as follows: Luciano Bertazzo, “Introduzione” (pp. 225–31); Maria Teresa Dolso, “«O Padua, audi vocem meam»: la predicazione francescana a Padova nel Quattrocento” (pp. 233–68); Andrea Tilatti,“Quattrocento agiografico tra scritture e riscritture. L’opera di Sicco Polenton” (pp. 269–82); Elda Martellozzo Forin, “Studenti, maestri e teologi al Santo. Storia religiosa e culturale tra città, università e convento del Santo” (pp. 283–99); Antonino Poppi,“La comunità francescana del Santo nel XV secolo” (pp. 301–48); Giulia Foladore,“Parole di pietra: le epigrafi quattrocentesche al Santo” (pp. 349–59 and 18 plates); Nicoletta Giovè Marchioli,“La cultura scritta al Santo nel Quattrocento fra produzione, fruizione e conservazione” (pp. 361–88); Giordana Mariani Canova, “I manoscritti miniati della Biblioteca Antoniana. Nuove riflessioni sulla genesi della raccolta” (pp. 389–400 and 12 color plates); Donato Gallo,“La Veneranda Arca quale espressione del ceto dirigente padovano nel Quattrocento” (pp. 401–13); Edoardo Demo,“L’Arca del Santo nei suoi aspetti economici e contabili. L’inedito «libro de la intrada e spesa de la fabrica de messer santo Antonio» per l’anno 1439–1440” (pp. 415–46); Giorgetta Bonfiglio-Dosio, “L’archivio della Veneranda Arca del Santo” (pp. 447–56); Antonio Lovato,“Il silenzio della polifonia” (pp. 457–83); Giovanna Baldissin Molli,“Stefano «Erasmo» da Narni ditto Gattamelata. Note biografiche padovane” (pp. 485–516); Cinzia Maria Sicca, “L’arredo liturgico del presbiterio prima dell’incendio del 1749: I disegni di John Talman (1677–1726)” (pp. 517–32 and 12 plates); Francesco Lucchini, “«Disjecta membra»: circolazione di reliquie e committenza di reliquiari al Santo nel primo Quattrocento” (pp. 533–55); Anne Markham Schulz, “La tomba Roselli nel Santo e l’opera giovanile di Pietro Lombardo a Padaova e a Venezia” (pp. 557–83 and 28 plates); Davide Banzato,“Verso il Cinquecento: da Bellano a Briosco” (pp. 575–88 and 20 color plates); Antonio Rigon, “Conclusioni” (pp. 589–94). A summary in English follows each article. Bohemia is the theme of the issue of XVIIe siècle for January–March, 2011 (vol. 63, no. 1). Nine articles and a list of dates are presented: Olivier Chaline and Nicolas Richard,“Les deux royaumes en Bohême” (pp. 3–18); Alessandro Catalano,“Vos ecclesiastici sempre [sic] diversum (occlamandi [sic] desiderio) ab aliis vultis. Le rôle de l’ordre des prélats à la diète de Bohême après 1627” (pp. 19–30); Jiř í Havlík,“L’archevêque de Prague Johann Friedrich von Waldstein à la diète de Bohême 1678–1694” (pp. 31–40); Nicolas Richard,“La réforme du clergé paroissial dans l’archidiocèse de Prague au XVIIe siècle— Entre temporel et spirituel, le cas d’Adam Sustius (1628)”(pp. 41–57); Hedvika Kuchařová,“La clôture brutale du séminaire archiépiscopal de Prague en 1641 et l’abbé de Strahov Kaš par Questenberg: la fin de l’unité des catholiques en Bohême?” (pp. 59–72); Petr Matǎ, “Noblesse et chapitres dans les pays de la couronne de Bohême au XVIIe siècle” (pp. 73–95); Pavla Stuchlá, “Curés et seigneurie” (pp. 97–115); Marie Ryantová, “La recatholicisation de la seigneurie de la famille Lobkowicz à Vysoký Chlumec en Bohême centrale après la Montagne blanche” (pp. 117–33); Ivana Čornejová, “Le clergé et la NOTES AND COMMENTS 629 définition du patriotisme tchèque baroque” (pp. 135–44); and Olivier Chaline, “Chronologie” (pp. 145–48). Personals Philip Gleason, professor emeritus of history at the University of Notre Dame, received an honorary degree on April 13 from the University of Dayton where he received his bachelor’s degree in education in 1951. Thomas F. X. Noble, professor and chair of the History Department of the University of Notre Dame, is the recipient of the 2011 Otto Gründler prize from the International Congress of Medieval Studies for his book Images, Iconoclasm, and the Carolingians (Philadelphia, 2009), reviewed ante, 96 (2010), 769–70. The Reverend Marvin R. O’Connell, professor emeritus of history at the University of Notre Dame, was honored there on May 5 by the Dies Academicus “Telling Stories That Matter.” The one-day conference featured five colleagues who assessed his many scholarly contributions to the study of history. Brad Gregory reviewed O’Connell’s books on Thomas Stapleton, Blaise Pascal, and the Counter-Reformation (1559–1610); Katherine Tillman Sloan discussed his work on the Oxford Movement;Thomas Kselman focused on his work on the Catholic modernist crisis; Philip Gleason analyzed his work regarding John Ireland, Edward Sorin, and the Archdiocese of St. Paul (1840–1962); and Ronald Weber examined his novel McElroy (New York, 1980). Monsignor Francis J. Weber, archivist for the Archdiocese of Los Angeles, retired on July 1, 2011, after serving in that position for nearly fifty years. Archbishop Jose H. Gomez named Weber archivist emeritus and authorized him to remain in residence at San Fernando Mission in Mission Hills. Obituaries Edwin Scott Gaustad (1923–2011) Had Edwin Scott Gaustad, who died March 25, 2011, produced nothing other than the New Historical Atlas of Religion in America, as he did with Philip L. Barlow (New York, 2000), he would be remembered with gratitude by generations of historians of religion. However, he did also produce a stream of scholarly and sometimes popular works on an extraordinary variety of subjects. Some of these are regarded as landmarks in their fields. Dr. Gaustad, the eighty-seven-year-old University of California–Riverside professor, had been one of the most familiar and engaged figures at meetings 630 NOTES AND COMMENTS of historians of American religion until prolonged illness led him to withdraw “from the circuit,” as he called it.With his wife,Virginia, regularly at his side in academic sessions and convivial settings until illness kept her home in Riverside, Dr. Gaustad was the kind of imaginative craftsman, lecturer, critic, and conference participant who embodied faithfulness in ways that inspired students, colleagues, and a wider public and helped him serve as mentor to many younger colleagues. Some historians serve their craft by picking a specialty and devoting decades to research and detailed writing on which others lean. Other scholars range so widely and are so productive that they sometimes inspire suspicion and criticism.“How can one scholar be anything but superficial if he or she teaches, lectures, writes, and publishes on so many topics?” Dr. Gaustad was too modest to be self-referential and to answer such a question, but the question itself needs revising, in his case: no review of his works, to my knowledge, accused him of being superficial. He loved archives and drew on original sources to create narratives and provide syntheses that endure. Iowa-born Dr. Gaustad spent his early years in Houston and served in the military during World War II. He attended Baylor University for his BA degree and then studied under Edmund Morgan at Brown University, where he received his PhD in 1951. After 1965 he taught at University of California– Riverside until he retired in 1989. He welcomed citizen roles, including serving as expert witness on cases involving issues of separation of church and state. For example, he testified in a noted case in Alabama courts concerning the legality of a monument featuring the Ten Commandments on the state courthouse lawn. He was not a conventional scholar-activist, but his writings provided perspectives that helped legal scholars and religious leaders alike represent causes in the civic order. The work that brought him to the attention of his peers more than a halfcentury ago was The Great Awakening in New England (New York, 1957). Before it made its mark, the story of conversions and revivals in colonial America had usually been seen as a set of episodes that enlivened the Protestant churches but had little larger relevance. Dr. Gaustad provided a larger context, making a major contribution on which later historians drew as they dealt with regions far beyond New England. They came to follow his arguments that, indeed, the Great Awakening was an event that colored religions beyond Protestantism and the larger culture itself. Many of these later scholars tracked Dr. Gaustad’s own subsequent work to see how people in that culture, often having to deal with religious liberty, helped the emergent United States, as James Madison put it, to relate religion to “civil authorities.” That sphere of legal and historical work later came to be called “the separation of church and state,” picking up on a term of Thomas Jefferson, to whom Dr. Gaustad also devoted book-length attention in Sworn on the Altar of God: A Religious Biography of Thomas Jefferson (Grand Rapids, MI, 1996). NOTES AND COMMENTS 631 Along the way he wrote on Roger Williams (Roger Williams, New York, 2005), a radical dissenter often regarded as a critic who helped distance churches from religious authorities and thus contributed to their vitality and the nation’s health. Dr. Gaustad’s Faith of Our Fathers: Religion and the New Nation (San Francisco, 1987) was a collation of mini-biographies that dealt with how the national founders related to the civil order. The book was timed for the bicentennial commemoration of the U.S. Constitution.This was a time in which the positions and contributions of these founders were much explored and referred to in contemporary political battles. Since most of the work of these founders led them to have opposed traditional established church-state relations, they came to be classified as dissenters. Because of his authority in this area, it was an easy choice for me to select him to write a synoptic work in a series I was editing. His was, simply, Dissent in American Religion (Chicago, 1973). Dr. Gaustad the teacher also provided corollaries to his specialized work in the form of texts on religion in America that became standard in classrooms of both public and religiously-based colleges and universities.The first of these was A Religious History of America (New York, 1966), which later merited a major revision (with Leigh Schmidt) and gained new life in the classrooms after 2002. Among his reference works, the already-mentioned New Historical Atlas of Religion in America, which deserves the adjective “classic,” stands out in many reviews and scholarly references.The original 1962 work was enlarged in 1976 and rendered gigantic in 2001. Dr. Gaustad and coauthor Barlow gathered and presented information not easily accessible elsewhere as they followed the trails of religious pioneers and their descendants into every part of the nation and through the stories of many denominations. Changes in forms of publication in the new century, especially because of digital opportunities and what they mean for revision, make it difficult to conceive of all the ways Dr. Gaustad’s “classic” atlas work will be put to use, but there is no doubt that it will serve for a long time to come and will remain a reference through the years to come for those who explore the history of American religion various geographical contexts from the fifteenth century to 2002. What deserves more than a postscript in this journal is the career-long respect Dr. Gaustad won from Roman Catholics, who played such significant roles in his stories of geography, religious liberty, and dissent.When he began to publish, Catholicism in America was often seen as foreign or even hostile territory among Protestant historians. Since Baptist-Catholic conflicts were most tense, one might have expected Dr. Gaustad, with his interests in and knowledge of Baptists, to share their tenseness. Instead, generous in print as he was in person, he was a congenial friend to people of many faiths and of no faith, a model to all who serve in his field of study. When he joined the ACHA in 1977, it was still a remarkable departure, since not many non- 632 NOTES AND COMMENTS Catholic historians were members then.Thanks to the intellectual-ecumenical initiative of Dr. Gaustad, such affiliations became commonplace. We might think of Dr. Gaustad, the map-maker and atlas-writer, as someone who helped advance traffic from one scholarly camp to the other. University of Chicago (Emeritus) MARTIN E. MARTY Doyce Blackman Nunis (1924–2011) Doyce B. Nunis, 86, recipient of the Benemerenti Medal from Pope Paul VI and the Knighthood of St. Gregory from Pope John Paul II, died on January 29 after abdominal surgery. Dr. Nunis, born in Cedartown, Georgia, on May 30, 1924, established the Oral History Program at UCLA and later spent the majority of his professional career as professor at the University of Southern California.After his conversion to the faith in the 1950s, he became active in promoting the history of the Catholic Church in California. He served as president for the Friends of the Santa Barbara Mission Archives since 1972, was founding president for the Friends of the Archival Center for the Archdiocese of Los Angeles, and was a member of the American Catholic Historical Association since April 1973. A spokesman for the Serra Bicentennial Commission, he was known in the local community for his support of efforts to promote the telling of local church history. A Guggenheim fellow in 1963 and recipient of numerous citations from various places, Dr. Nunis received the Benemerenti Medal from Pope John Paul II in February 1984 in “recognition of his importance in terms of California history and the history of the Catholic Church in California.” In addition to his scores of historical articles in learned journals, several of them about the California missions, Dr. Nunis served as editor of the prestigious Southern California Quarterly for four decades and was the author of more than forty books on the American West. Archdiocesan Archival Center Los Angeles FRANCIS J.WEBER John J. O’Brien, C.P. (1941–2010) John J. O’Brien, a Passionist priest, died at the University of Connecticut Medical Center on October 15, 2010, after a brief illness. He was sixty-nine years old. Eldest son of the late John O’Brien and Kathleen Castiner O’Brien, Father O’Brien graduated from Cathedral High School in Brooklyn, NY, in 1959.After earning an associate’s degree at Cathedral College, he entered the Passionist community in 1961. After earning a master’s degree from St. NOTES AND COMMENTS 633 Michael’s Seminary in Union City, NJ, he professed vows as a Passionist in 1962 and was ordained to the priesthood by Bishop Edgerton Clark in 1969. In 1977, Father O’Brien earned a second master’s degree in liturgical studies from St. John’s University in Collegeville, MN. Father O’Brien engaged in retreat ministry at the Passionist retreat centers in North Palm Beach, FL, and West Hartford, CT, from 1970 to 1978. After serving as a member of the itinerant preaching band, he was named pastor of St. Gabriel’s Parish in Brighton, MA, in 1980. He served as formation director for Passionist students at the prenovitiate and theologate levels from 1983 to 1990. For most of the past twenty years, Father O’Brien ministered in Massachusetts at Calvary Passionist Retreat Center in Shrewsbury, St. Malachy’s Parish in Burlington, Sacred Heart Parish in Lexington, and at Anna Maria College in Worcester and Blessed John XXIII National Seminary in Weston as a professor of theology. He earned his doctorate in theology from the Weston Jesuit School of Theology in 2002. Whether writing, preaching, teaching, researching, or engaged in conversation, his passion was to instill knowledge and excitement for lived religion. He relished people, his fellow Passionists and family. In particular, he enjoyed books and visits to the archives staff at The Catholic University of America. There he studied the papers of Catholic labor activist Monsignor George Higgins, which led to the publication of George G. Higgins and the Quest for Worker Justice (Lanham, MD, 2005). He authored a number of publications in theology, including articles on liturgy for scholarly journals and entries in the New Dictionary of Sacramental Worship, the New Dictionary of Catholic Spirituality, and the Collegeville Pastoral Dictionary of Biblical Theology. He also was an active member of a number of professional societies, including the North American Academy of Liturgy, the American Catholic Historical Association (from 1999 to 2010), Pax Christi, and the International Merton Society. Passionist Historical Archives Union City, NJ ROBERT CARBONNEAU, C.P. James Matthew Powell (1930–2011) James Matthew Powell died on January 27, 2011, from injuries sustained in an automobile accident. Born in Cincinnati, Ohio, on June 9, 1930, he received his AB in 1953 and MA in 1955 from Xavier University. He began to study medieval history at the University of Cincinnati in 1955 but moved to Indiana University, Bloomington in 1957, where he received his PhD in 1959 under the guidance of Arthur Hogue. His dissertation examined the economic policies of the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II and was published as the monograph Medieval Monarchy and Trade: The Economic Policy of Frederick II 634 NOTES AND COMMENTS in the Kingdom of Sicily (Spoleto, 1962). This study began his long interest in all aspects of medieval Italian history. Later he published an English translation of Frederick II’s Liber Augustalis (Syracuse, NY, 1971) and continued throughout his career to write about the “Stupor mundi’s” world with a variety of essays on diverse topics from Frederick’s knowledge of Greek to his environmental policies. He began his teaching career at Kent State University in 1959, transferred to the University of Illinois in 1961, and became an assistant professor of medieval history at Syracuse University in 1965. He was promoted to associate professor in 1967 and full professor in 1972. He taught in Florence on Syracuse’s Semester Abroad Program during 1970–71, where he also was director of the program. He was acting chair of the History Department in 1972. He became an emeritus at Syracuse when he retired in 1997. Prof. Powell held a number of positions in national and international associations. Most recently, he was the president of the American Catholic Historical Association in 2007, having joined the association in 1954 and become a life member. Before then, he had been general secretary of the Society for the Study of the Crusades and the Latin East, 1989–95. In 1998 he became a Corresponding Fellow of the Royal Historical Society. He was the president of the Society for Italian Historical Studies from 1993–95. He spent the academic year 1989–90 as a member of the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton and spring 1970 as a research fellow at the Pontifical Institute for Mediaeval Studies in Toronto. His interests and horizons expanded as his career progressed. He began to study the crusading movement and published a prize-winning book, Anatomy of a Crusade, 1213–1221 (Philadelphia, 1986) that was awarded the ACHA’s John Gilmary Shea Prize in 1987. His collected essays on the crusades appeared as The Crusades, the Kingdom of Sicily, and the Mediterranean (Burlington,VT, 2007). Prof. Powell delved into the history of the Church during the 1980s and published a number of studies devoted to Pope Innocent III and Pope Honorius III and translated the most important medieval history of Pope Innocent III’s pontificate, The Deeds of Pope Innocent III (Washington, DC, 2004). His study of Albertanus of Brescia’s life and sermons, Albertanus of Brescia: The Pursuit of Happiness in the Early Thirteenth Century (Philadelphia, 1992), gained many admirers, especially in Brescia, where he was invited to lecture frequently. Prof. Powell was a bookman with a lifelong love of books and libraries. In 1977 he was a co-principal recipient of a grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities to catalogue the library of Leopold von Ranke, the great nineteenth-century German historian, which had come to Syracuse University in 1888 after Ranke’s death.With this grant the “Father of Scientific History’s” NOTES AND COMMENTS 635 library was properly catalogued under his direction, and Ranke’s manuscripts were finally analyzed, described, and published by Edward Muir (then of Syracuse University, now Northwestern). Prof. Powell did much to publicize the rich resources of the Ranke library.With grants from various foundations, he hosted an international conference devoted to Ranke at Syracuse University in 1986. He edited the proceedings of the conference with Georg G. Iggers and published the essays in Leopold von Ranke and the Shaping of the Historical Discipline (Syracuse, NY, 1989). Prof. Powell rendered homage to Ranke, but he also was devoted to the education of young medievalists. In the early 1970s he gathered a group of eminent medievalists together to produce a superb introduction to the field for graduate students, Medieval Studies:An Introduction (Syracuse, NY, 1976; rev. ed., 1992). More than 5000 copies have been printed. His passion for books extended to the Syracuse University Library. During his thirty years at the university, his constant tending to the collection made it very respectable for serious work in the history of the Middle Ages. His colleagues included not only those at Syracuse University but also those in the various fields that he cultivated. He was a gregarious man who helped other scholars whenever he could. He was always ready for a chat, whether it was with a colleague, a student, or someone on the street. I experienced his gregariousness for the first time when I was an undergraduate at the University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee. He was a visiting professor in 1963, and I took his course in Renaissance history. After the midterm exam I went to see him about his comments (mine was not a brilliant piece of work). He disarmed my truculence with a smile and assuaged my disappointment with a copy of his monograph. It sits on my shelf today in the section devoted to Italian history and now to him. Prof. Powell is survived by six children, seven grandchildren, and one great-grandchild; Prof. Powell’s wife, Judy, died in 1992. Requiescat in pace. The Catholic University of America KENNETH PENNINGTON PERIODICAL LITERATURE ________ General and Miscellaneous Les Maccabées, modèles des guerriers chrétiens, des origines au XIIe siècle. Sylvain Gouguenheim. Cahiers de civilisation médiévale, 54 (Jan.–Mar., 2011), 3–19. Les Fêtes des saints papes dans les livres liturgiques jusqu’à S. Pie V. Philippe Beitia. Ephemerides Liturgicae, CXXIV (Oct.–Dec., 2010), 385–448. La mémoire des morts à la cathédrale Notre-Dame de Tournai du XIe au XXIe siècle). Jacques Pycke. Revue d’histoire de l’Église de France, 96 (July– Dec., 2010), 289–317. The Woman Clothed in the Sun: Pacifism and Apocalyptic Discourse among Russian Spiritual Christian Molokan-Jumpers. J. Eugene Clay. Church History, 80 (Mar., 2011), 109–38. Changing World, Changing Church: Stephen Bayne and “Mutual Responsibility and Interdependence”. Jesse Zink. Anglican Theological Review, 93 (Spring, 2011), 243–62. Conventual Franciscans and the Common Life (II). The Early Phase of Its Implementation (1894–1907). Timothy Kulbicki, OFMConv. Miscellanea Francescana, 110 (III–IV, 2010), 439–67. De l’érudition ecclésiastique à la recherche universitaire. La Revue d’histoire de l’Église de France a cent ans. Bernard Barbiche. Revue d’histoire de l’Église de France, 96 (July–Dec., 2010), 245–61. Gli Ottant’anni dell’Istituto Storico dei Cappuccini (1930–2110). Gabriele Ingegneri. Collectanea Franciscana, 80 (3–4, 2010), 417–36. Documenti per la storia della Biblioteca del Capitolo Metropolitano di Milano. Fausto Ruggeri. Aevum, LXXXIV (Sept.–Dec., 2010), 839–88. Ancient L’interprétation d’Isaïe 6,3 et son usage liturgique dans le judaïsme et le christianisme anciens. Agnès Bastit-Kalinowska, José Costa. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 105 (July–Dec., 2010), 577–630. Apología y profecía: los cristianos orientales frente a la crisis del gobierno de Marco Aurelio. Mariano Spléndido. Estudios Eclesiásticos, 86 (Jan.–Mar., 2011), 57–80. 636 PERIODICAL LITERATURE 637 William Tabbernee and Montanism. Timothy D. Barnes. Cristianesimo nella Storia, XXXI (3, 2010), 945–56. The Beginnings of Christian Universal History: From Tatian to Julius Africanus. Martin Wallraff. Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum, 14, (3, 2011), 540–55. Der frühchristliche Märtyrer und der stoische Weise. Eine topologische Untersuchung. Jörg Trelenberg. Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum, 14, (2, 2010), 328–55. Marcellinus the Priest and Peter the Exorcist? The Ecclesiastical Orders of Two Martyrs in the Roman Canon. Daniel Van Slyke. Ephemerides Liturgicae, CXXIV (Oct.–Dec., 2010), 449–62. Le dossier des saints Nazaire, Celse, Gervias et Protais. Édition de la Passion BHL 6043 (=3516). Cécile Lanéry. Analecta Bollandiana, 128 (Dec., 2010), 241–80. The Martyrdom of Theonilla in Syriac. Adam McCollum. Analecta Bollandiana, 128 (Dec., 2010), 312–28. Die sirmische Legende des heiligen Demetrius von Thessalonike. Eine lateinische Passionsfassung aus dem mittelalterlichen Ungarn (BHL 2127). Peter Tóth. Analecta Bollandiana, 128 (Dec., 2010), 348–92. L’influenza della patristica sulla politica legislativa de nuptiis degli imperatori romani dei secoli IV e V. Gian Luigi Falchi. Augustinianum, L (Dec., 2010), 351–407. What Names did the Anti-nicenes use for Catholics and Arians? John Moorhead. Augustinianum, L (Dec., 2010), 423–41. Überlegungen zum Adressaten von Eusebs Historia ecclesiastica. Marie Verdoner. Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum, 14, (2, 2010), 362–78. Christian Initiation in Fourth-Century Jerusalem and Recent Developments in the Study of the Sources. Maxwell E. Johnson. Ecclesia Orans, XXVI (1–3, 2009), 143–61. Manichaean Christians in Augustine’s Life and Work. Johannes van Oort. Church History & Religious Culture, 90 (Dec., 2010), 505–46. Ad christianam fidem pigrius movebatur: (Conf. VII.xx(25)) Alypius’ more reluctant move to the Christian faith (compared to Augustine) – Part 2. Between conversion and baptism. Geert Van Reyn. Augustiniana, 60 (3–4, 2010), 193–234. Possessions and Asceticism: Melania the Younger and her slow way to Jerusalem. Roberto Alciati and Mariachiara Giorda. Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum, 14, (2, 2010), 425–44. Alium sub meo nomine:Augustine between His Own Self-Fashioning and His Later Reception. Karla Pollmann. Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum, 14, (2, 2010), 409–24. 638 PERIODICAL LITERATURE Die Taufe der Juden auf Kreta. (Sokr. 7, 38). Monika Schuol. Historia, 60 (2, 2011), 219–54. Liberatus de Carthage ou l’historiographie comme service diaconal. Philippe Blaudeau. Augustinianum, L (Dec., 2010), 543–65. Gregorio Magno giudice. Antonio Padoa-Schioppa. Studi Medievali, LI (Dec., 2010), 581–610. Medieval Eat Roots and Leaves [Asceticism in the Middle Ages.] Andrew Jotischky. History Today, 61 (Apr., 2011), 19–24. About the Bishop:The Episcopal Entourage and the Economy of Government in Post-Roman Gaul. Jamie Kreiner. Speculum, 86 (Apr., 2011), 321–60. Una nuova datazione del De vera et falsa poenitentia. Alessandra Costanzo. Cristianesimo nella Storia, XXXI (3, 2010), 809–40. La litanie majeure et les processions de la messe. Répertoire de chant à Rome et en Gaule dans la deuxième partie du 8e siècle. Jacques-Marie Guilmard. Ecclesia Orans, XXVI (1–3, 2009), 59–120. The Importance of Reading and the Nature of the Soul: Zurich, Zentralbibliothek C64 and Christian Formation in Carolingian Europe. Owen M. Phelan. Viator, 42 (1, 2011), 1–23. Storie di cronache e reliquie: la nascita del patriarcato di Grado nelle prime cronache veneziane. Emanuela Colombi. Cristianesimo nella Storia, XXXI (3, 2010), 761–807. Religious Symbols on Early Christian Scandinavian Coins (ca. 995–1050): From Imitation to Adaptation. Ildar Garipzanov. Viator, 42 (1, 2011), 35–53. L’Église de France et l’autorité de Pierre (Xe–XIIe siècle). Rolf Grosse. Revue d’histoire de l’Église de France, 96 (July–Dec., 2010), 263–76. The cult of images in light of pictorial graffiti at Doué-la-Fontaine. Marcia Kupfer. Early Medieval Europe, 19 (May, 2011), 125–52. Realities of Reformist Leadership in Early Eleventh-Century Flanders:The Case of Leduin, Abbot of Saint-Vaast. Steven Vanderputten and Brigitte Meijns. Traditio, 65 (2010), 47–75. Changing perspectives on 1054. J. R. Ryder. Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies, 35 (1, 2011), 20–37. 1054 revisited: response to Ryder. Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies, 35 (1, 2011), 38–44. Boys Will Be Boys: The Physiology of Childhood and the Apocryphal Christ Child in the Later Middle Ages. Mary Dzon. Viator, 42 (1, 2011), 179–225. PERIODICAL LITERATURE 639 Friendship, Intimacy and Corporate Networking in the Twelfth Century: the Politics of Friendship in the Letters of Peter the Venerable. Julian Haseldine. English Historical Review, CXXVI (Apr., 2011), 251–80. En consistoire avec le pape Innocent II. La relation d’Ulger, évêque d’Angers (début 1136). Dietrich Lohrmann. Revue d’histoire de l’Église de France, 96 (July–Dec., 2010), 277–88. Cross Kissing: Keeping One’s Word in Twelfth-Century Rus’.Yulia Mikhhailova and David K. Prestel. Slavic Review, 70 (Spring, 2011), 1–22. Christian Views of Muslims in Syria before 1300 AD: Some remarks on Christian-Muslim-relations. Jobst Reller. Ostkirchliche Studien, 59 (1, 2010), 55–69. Le tympan roman de «la prophétie d’Apollon» (Liège, musée Grand Curtius). Antiquité et christianisme. Isabelle Tassignon and Benoît Van Den Bossche. Cahiers de civilisation médiévale, 54 (Jan.– Mar., 2011), 49–71. Lo spazio monastico nella Toscana occidentale in età precomunale. Marco Stoffella. Archivio Storico Italiano, CLXVIII (4, 2010), 631–78. Zur Vogelpredigt des Franz von Assisi—ihre Herkunft und ihre Verwandlungen. Paul Bösch. Wissenschaft und Weisheit, 73 (2, 2010), 163–94. An Early Manuscript of the Admonitions of St Francis of Assisi. Michael Robson and Patrick Zutshi. Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 62 (Apr., 2011), 217–54. Raoul Manselli e la questione francescana. Felice Accrocca. Collectanea Franciscana, 80 (3–4, 2010), 505–47. Raoul Manselli e la storia dei vinti.A proposito del saggio Spirituali e beghini in Provenza. Marco Bartoli. Collectanea Franciscana, 80 (3–4, 2010), 549–62. Catholic Theology in the Thirteenth Century and the Origins of Secularism. Rik Van Nieuwenhove. Irish Theological Quarterly, 75 (Nov., 2010), 339–54. La terre lorraine, les puissants et les hommes: la plus ancienne charte française du scriptorium épiscopal de Toul (1237). Martin–D. Glessgen. Bibliothèque de l’École des Chartes, 168 (Jan.–June, 2010), 25–46. Autonomía y poder de las monjas en el régimen de conventualidad: ¿una ruptura evangélica? (Santa Clara de Córdoba, 1268–1495). María del Mar Graña. Miscellanea Francescana, 110 (III–IV, 2010), 468–508. Die soziologische Grundlegung der spiritualen Armutstheorie bei Petrus Johannis Olivi OMin (1247/1248–1298). Johannes Schlageter, OFM. Wissenschaft und Weisheit, 73 (2, 2010), 215–36. The Epistle of Merlin on the Popes: A New Source on the Late Medieval Notion of the Angel Pope. Katelyn Mesler. Traditio, 65 (2010), 231–87. 640 PERIODICAL LITERATURE The Destruction d’Acre and Its Epistolary Prologue (BnF fr. 24430). Nancy Vine Durling. Viator, 42 (1, 2011), 139–78. Guido Terreni, Marsilius of Padua and William of Ockham on Institutional Infallibility. Martin Ossikovski. Recherches de Théologie et Philosophie médiévales, LXXVII (2, 2010), 299–311. Sermoni francescani del manoscritto Pavia, Biblioteca Universitaria,Aldini 47. Aleksander Horowski, O.F.M. Cap. Archivum Franciscanum Historicum, 103 (July–Dec., 2010), 359–422. 24 Päckchen mit Heiltum: Reliquientranslationen aus dem Elsass nach Bern 1343.Wolfgang Schmid. Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 130 (2010), 59–86. Weak Obedience, Undisciplined Friars, and Failed Reforms in the Medieval Order of Preachers. Michael Vargas. Viator, 42 (1, 2011), 283–307. A Layman’s Life of St.Augustine in Late Medieval Italy: Patronage and Polemic. Alison Frazier. Traditio, 65 (2010), 231–87. Michaelhouse: Hervey de Stanton’s Cambridge Foundation. Andreas Loewe. Church History & Religious Culture, 90 (Dec., 2010), 579–608. The attack on Bishop George Lauder of Argyll in the Auchinleck Chronicle. Iain G. MacDonald. Innes Review, 61 (Autumn, 2010), 111–36. Le cortège des mages. Espace, temps et dévotion dans la peinture italienne du XVe siècle. Laurent Bolard. Revue d’histoire et de philosophie religieuses, 91 (Jan.–Mar., 2011), 3–20. Per i bibliotecari e i custodi della Biblioteca Vaticana (sec. XV–XVI). Christine Maria Grafinger. Aevum, LXXXIV (Sept.–Dec., 2010), 711–31. La “Legenda” volgare di santa Chiara da Montefalco: tradizione manocritta e appunti linguistici. Antonella Dejure. Archivum Franciscanum Historicum, 103 (July–Dec., 2010), 423–70. Sixteenth Century Velut oraculum a deo profectum. Erasmus von Rotterdam über das ökumenische Konzil. Hermann-Josef Sieben, S.J. Theologie und Philosophie, 86 (1, 2011), 38–72. «Il faut prêcher la Loi même aux gens pieux.» Martin Luther et le troisième usage de la Loi. Matthieu Arnold. Bulletin de la Société de l’Histoire du Protestantisme Français, 157 (Jan., Feb., Mar., 2011), 9–25. Le choix de religion. Le rôle de l’autorité politique dans les disputes religieuses des années 1520. Fabrice Flückiger. Schweizerische Zeitschrift für Geschichte, 60 (3, 2010), 277–301. Cartas originales de Carlos V al Papa Clemente VII (Segunda Parte). Carlos Alonso Vañes. La Ciudad de Dios, CCXXIV (Jan.–Apr., 2011), 155–89. PERIODICAL LITERATURE 641 Katherine of Aragon. Patrick Williams. History Review, 69 (Mar., 2011), 39–41. Between king and pope: Thomas Wolsey and the Knight mission. Jessica Sharkey. Historical Research, LXXXIV (May, 2011), 236–48. Ulrich Guering, la Sorbonne et l’enseignement de la Bible à Paris. James K. Farge. Revue d’histoire de l’Église de France, 96 (July–Dec., 2010), 319–28. Richard Pate, the Royal Supremacy, and Reformation Diplomacy. Tracey A. Sowerby. Historical Journal, 54 (June, 2011), 265–85. Ignace de Loyola et Martin Luther: vie spirituelle et théologie. René Lafontaine, S.J. Nouvelle Revue Théologique, 133 (Jan.–Mar., 2011), 45–64. O baptismo e a Fé dos cristãos japoneses (séc. XVI–XVII). João Paulo Oliveira e Costa. Cristianesimo nella Storia, XXXI (3, 2010), 841–50. Un contributo per la ricostruzione della storia familiare di San Gaetano: le ultime volontà di Battista Thiene. Andrea Vanni. Regnum Dei, LXV (Jan.–Dec., 2009), 17–36. Die Begründung historischer Bildung aus dem Geist des Christlichen Humanismus der Societas Iesu. Heinz Sproll. Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu, LXXIX (July–Dec., 2010), 345–80. Nothing But the Truth? Hermeneutics and Morality in the Doctrines of Equivocation and Mental Reservation in Early Modern Europe. Stefania Tutino. Renaissance Quarterly, 64 (Spring, 2011), 115–55. Da inquisitori a pontefici. Il Sant’Ufficio romano e la svolta del 1552. Massimo Firpo. Rivista Storica Italiana, CXXII (3, 2010), 911–50. The Courtauld Gallery’s Mystic Marriage of St. Catherine: A Link between Navarrete and Schiavone. Zahira Véliz. Master Drawings, XLIX (Spring, 2011), 33–49. The incorporation of Ruusbroec’s Spiritual Espousals into the SixteenthCentury Arnhem Mystical Sermons. A Comparative Textual Analysis. Ineke Cornet. Church History & Religious Culture, 90 (Dec., 2010), 547–78. Dominican-Jesuit Rivalry and the Politics of Catholic Renewal in Poland, 1564–1648. P.T. Stolarski. Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 62 (Apr., 2011), 255–72. The Formative Years of the Archdiocese of Manila 1565–1850 (Part One). Lucio Gutierrez, O.P. Philippiniana Sacra, XLVI (May–Aug., 2011), 453–80. San Carlo, il Cardinal Sirleto ed i Teatini. Notizie storiche. Pio Paschini. Regnum Dei, LXV (Jan.–Dec., 2009), 3–16. A Scottish Jesuit from Antwerp: Hippolytus Curle. Innes Review, 61 (Autumn, 2010), 137–49. 642 PERIODICAL LITERATURE La foi et le rang: l’argumentation religieuse dans les traités pour la préséance du roi de France de François Pithou et d’Eustache de Refuge (XVIe–XVIIe siècles). Ignasi Fernández Terricabras. Revue d’histoire de l’Église de France, 96 (July–Dec., 2010), 415–28. Connaître les évêques de France au temps de la ligue catholique: sur un inédit de 1591. Joseph Bergin. Revue d’histoire de l’Église de France, 96 (July–Dec., 2010), 349–72. Il protestantesimo drammatizzato. Il Dialogo politico contro luterani, calvinisti ed altri eretici di Tommaso Campanella. Michele Vittori. Gregorianum, 92 (1, 2011), 57–66. «Être catholique» et «Être Français» dans certains texts de la fin du XVIe siècle. Mikhaïl V. Dmitriev. Revue d’histoire de l’Église de France, 96 (July–Dec., 2010), 329–47. Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries Construction et enjeux du savoir ethnographique sur la Chine dans l’œuvre de Matteo Ricci S.J. Matthieu Bernhardt. Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu, LXXIX (July–Dec., 2010), 321–44. La réforme catholique vue d’en bas: le cas des trinitaires de Provence. Barbara B. Diefendorf. Revue d’histoire de l’Église de France, 96 (July–Dec., 2010), 373–91. Livre et observance chez les clarisses urbanistes de Lorraine à l’époque moderne. Fabienne Henryot. Archivum Franciscanum Historicum, 103 (July–Dec., 2010), 471–91. Avalokiteśvara’s Manifestation as the Virgin Mary: The Jesuit Adaptation and the Visual Conflation in Japanese Catholicism after 1614. Junhyoung Michael Shin. Church History, 80 (Mar., 2011), 1–39. Preaching to Princes: John Burgess and George Hakewill in the Royal Pulpit. Emma Rhatigan. Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 62 (Apr., 2011), 273–96. Prime ricerche sui Fasti Sacri di Sforza Pallavicino. Silvia Apollonio. Aevum, LXXXIV (Sept.–Dec., 2010), 767–93. Is There a Case for Archbishop Laud? Richard Wilkinson. History Review, 69 (Mar., 2011), 18–23. Documentación inédita sobre las misiones de los Teatinos en Georgia. Carlos Alonso, O.S.A. Regnum Dei, LXV (Jan.–Dec., 2009), 37–61. Pacifique de Provins Cap et Raymond Breton O.P. Deux approches de l’évangélisation des Indiens des Petites Antilles au XVIIe siècle. Éric Roulet. Collectanea Franciscana, 80 (3–4, 2010), 605–22. Vital Statistics: Episcopal Ordination and Ordinands in England, 1646–60. Kenneth Fincham and Stephen Taylor. English Historical Review, CXXVI (Apr., 2011), 319–44. PERIODICAL LITERATURE 643 I Panegirici per il Beato Gaetano Thiene e per il Beato Andrea Avellino tenuti dal Magnifico Anton Giulio Brignole Sale in S. Siro di Genova. Gian Luigi Bruzzone. Regnum Dei, LXV (Jan.–Dec., 2009), 63–118. Culture de guerre et violence au convent: le transfert du monastêre de La Celle (1658–1660). Claire Dolan. Revue d’histoire de l’Église de France, 96 (July–Dec., 2010), 393–414. Christliche Nächstenliebe oder ökonomisches Kalkül? Probleme der Aufnahme von Salzburger Exulanten im Herzogtum Württemberg. Eberhard Fritz. Blätter für württembergische Kirchengeschichte, 110 (2010), 241–63. The establishment of a statutory militia in Ireland, 1692–1716: legislative processes and Protestant mentalities. Neal Garnham. Historical Research, LXXXIV (May, 2011), 266–87. Jean Gerson (1363–1429) and the Formation of German Protestant Identity after the 17th Century Thirty Years War.Yelena Mazour-Matusevich. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 105 (July–Dec., 2010), 632–51. Foxes, Firebrands, and Forgery: Robert Ware’s Pollution of Reformation History. Diarmaid MacCulloch. Historical Journal, 54 (June, 2011), 307–46. Gothic History and Catholic Enlightenment in the Works of Charles Dodd (1672–1743). Gabriel Glickman. Historical Journal, 54 (June, 2011), 347–69. Andrea Pozzo S.J. e la sua eredità artistica. Antonio Colli da discepolo a collaboratore. Cristiana Bigari. Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu, LXXIX (July–Dec., 2010), 381–405. L’Alsace après les jésuites. Religion, politique et culture au milieu du XVIIIe siècle. Simona Negruzzo. Revue d’histoire de l’Église de France, 96 (July–Dec., 2010), 429–45. A gentlemanly pastime: antiquarianism, adult education and the clergy in England, c. 1750–1960. S. J. Speight. History of Education, 40 (Mar., 2011), 143–55. A Ciência Litúrgica como disciplina universitária. Manuel de Azevedo S.J. (1713–1796) e as primeiras cátedras de ciência litúrgica. Carlos Cabecinhas. Didaskalia, XL (2, 2010), 113–33. El Conflicto Clerical y el Nacimiento del Primer Nacionalismo Filipino. Roberto Blanco Andrés. Philippiniana Sacra, XLVI (May–Aug., 2011), 347–80. A Visual Documentation on Fil-Hispanic Churches. Part III:Tumauini, Isabela. Regalado Trota Jose. Philippiniana Sacra, XLVI (May–Aug., 2011), 383–418. 644 PERIODICAL LITERATURE Subject to authority: Bishop Alexander Macdonell and his Scottish religious superiors, 1788–1804. Teresa Gourlay. Innes Review, 61 (Autumn, 2010), 150–68. Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Organización y gobierno del monasterio de Santa Clara la Real de Murcia en el difícil tránsito a la contemporaneidad (1786–1878). Juan B. Vilar. Carthaginensia, XXVI (July–Dec., 2010), 369–96. Los Estados Pontificios desde la Revolución Francesa a los Pactos de Letrán (1789–1922).Vicente Puchol Sancho. Miscelánea Comillas, 69 (Jan.–June, 2011), 207–27. The Catholic Church, Ireland and the British empire, 1800–1921. Oliver P. Rafferty. Historical Research, LXXXIV (May, 2011), 288–309. Der Säkularklerus der Diözese Mainz 1802–1914. Rekrutierung und Lebenskultur. Martina Rommel. Römische Quartalschrift, 105 (3–4, 2010), 208–40. El P. Joan Gallifa i Arqués, C.R. (1775–1809), joven sacerdote teatino catalán, víctima de la ocupación napoleónica y símbolo popular de la liberación de Barcelona. Jordi Cassà i Vallès C.R. Regnum Dei, LXV (Jan.–Dec., 2009), 119–248, 8 plates. „Beförderungsmittel religiöser Gefühle und sittlicher Gesinnungen“ Ignaz Heinrich von Wessenberg (1774–1860) und die Kirchenmusik. Christoph Schmider. Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 130 (2010), 5–24. Aus dem privaten Alltag eines badischen Dorfpfarrers im Krisenjahr 1815. Hans-Josef Wollasch. Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 130 (2010), 87–98. Thomas and Mary Poynton—New Zealand’s First Catholic Laity. Nicholas Reid. Australasian Catholic Record, 88 (Jan., 2011), 18–29. Los últimos jerónimos del Escorial: El inédito Libro de Diputas (1833–1836). Gustavo Sánchez. La Ciudad de Dios, CCXXIV (Jan.–Apr., 2011), 191–229. Le martyrologe exotique et le discours évangélique. Construire la figure d’un bon missionnaire à partir des missionnaires-martyrs français de Corée. EunYoung Kim. Revue d’histoire de l’Église de France, 96 (July–Dec., 2010), 447–65. Gender and Social Estate as National Identity: The Wives and Daughters of Orthodox Clergymen as Civilizing Agents in Imperial Russia. Laurie Manchester. Journal of Modern History, 83 (Mar., 2011), 48–77. Upholding Protestantism:The Fear of Tractarianism in the Anglican Church in Early Colonial Queensland. Howard Le Couteur. Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 62 (Apr., 2011), 297–317. PERIODICAL LITERATURE 645 Il p. M. Salvatore Calì da Catania. Ministro generale dei Frati Minori Conventuali (1801–1864). Francesco Costa, OFMConv. Miscellanea Francescana, 110 (III–IV, 2010), 398–438. Die Soziallehre der katholischen Kirche zur menschlichen Arbeit heute im Rückblick auf Wessenbergs Vorstellung von Fortschritt. Ursula Speckamp. Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 130 (2010), 25–42. Darwin’s Straw God Argument. Jonathan Wells. Journal of Interdisciplinary Studies, 22 (1–2, 2010), 67–88. ‘The old battle is to be fought again’: Reginald Stuart Poole, Edward William Lane, and the Mid-Nineteenth-Century Genesis-Geology Debate. Jan Martin Ivo Klaver. Church History & Religious Culture, 90 (Dec., 2010), 633–49. Protestant Responses to Darwinism in Denmark, 1859–1914. Hans Henrik Hjermitslev. Journal of the History of Ideas, 72 (Apr., 2011), 279–303. Newman on Councils and their Aftermaths. Ian Ker. Euntes Docete, LXIII (3, 2010), 95–115. L’union entre Dieu et la patrie. L’histoire de l’aumônerie militaire catholique (1870–1913). Kôbô Seigan. Revue d’histoire de l’Église de France, 96 (July–Dec., 2010), 467–88. Qui est mon prochain? La construction du lien social dans les activités des Hospitalités de Lourdes. Junko Terado. Revue d’histoire de l’Église de France, 96 (July–Dec., 2010), 489–505. Neither a Secular nor Confessional Age: The Bonn Reunion Conferences of 1874 and 1875. Thomas Albert Howard. Journal of the Historical Society, 11 (Mar., 2011), 59–84. James Britten, the Catholic Truth Society, and the Defense of Convent Life in Late Victorian England. Rene Kollar. Australasian Catholic Record, 88 (Jan., 2011), 30–42. John Gray, André Raffalovich and Father Allan MacDonald of Eriskay. Alasdair Roberts. Innes Review, 61 (Autumn, 2010), 207–31. Ordensapologetik als Movens positivistischer Erkenntnis. Joseph Braun S.J. und die Barockforschung. Sibylle Appuhn-Radke. Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu, LXXIX (July–Dec., 2010), 299–320. Eduardo Sanz y Escartín: el Reformismo de un católico conservador. Carlos Campo Sánchez. Miscelánea Comillas, 69 (Jan.–June, 2011), 177–205. Émile Van Hencxthoven, un jésuite entre Congo et Congolais…Conflits de conscience et d’intérêts autour du supérieur de la mission du Kwango dans l’État indépendant du Congo (1893–1908). Anne-Sophie Gijs. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 105 (July–Dec., 2010), 652–87. 646 PERIODICAL LITERATURE Seit einhundert Jahren auf dem Weg. Zur Entstehungsgeschichte des Mädchenschutzverbandes in der Erzdiözese Freiburg. Christoph Schmider. Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 130 (2010), 99–132. Socio-political Aspects of the Mannix Episcopate 1913–1931, Part I. Race Mathews. Australasian Catholic Record, 88 (Jan., 2011), 3–17. Church of England Army Chaplains in the First World War: Goodbye to ‘Goodbye to All That’. Michael Snape. Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 62 (Apr., 2011), 318–45. Brennpunkt der Geschichte der evangelischen Seminare im 20. Jahrhundert. Siegfried Hermle. Blätter für württembergische Kirchengeschichte, 110 (2010), 273–304. Programm und Rezeption der Liturgischen Bewegung im Spiegel der Liturgischen Zeitschrift. Annika Bender. Archiv für Liturgiewissenschaft, 51 (3, 2009), 311–33. Matthew Beovich, Eighth Bishop of Adelaide and the First Australian Born Occupant of the See. Robert Rice. Australasian Catholic Record, 88 (Jan., 2011), 43–61. Le début du renouveau conciliaire en France dans le milieu franciscain (1943–1979). Giuseppe Buffon. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 105 (July–Dec., 2010), 689–731. A Crown for Rákosi:The Vogeler Case, the Holy Crown of St Stephen, and the (Inter)national Legitimacy of the Hungarian Communist Regime, 1945–1978. Martin Mevius. Slavonic and East European Review, 89 (Jan., 2011), 76–107. Una «guerra fredda» nel cuore dell’Italia centrista. La Bologna del cardinale Lercaro e del Pci che governa la città (1952–1956). Giuseppe Battelli. Cristianesimo nella Storia, XXXI (3, 2010), 851–904. Igreja de Santo António de Moscavide: história de um caminho não percorrido. João Alves da Cunha. Didaskalia, XL (2, 2010), 167–92. L’insegnamento fiorentino di Pino Alberigo. I preamboli di un’opera storiografica di inconsueto spessore. Giovanni Miccoli. Cristianesimo nella Storia, XXXI (3, 2010), 905–25. Giovanni XXIII e la canonizzazione di Gregorio Barbarigo (nel cinquantesimo anniversario). Pierluigi Giovannucci. Studia Patavina, LVII (Sept.–Dec., 2010), 823–41. Die Aufhebung der konfessionellen Ausnahmeartikel 1973.Vom «meterhohen Schutt konfessionellen Haders».Alan Canonica. Schweizerische Zeitschrift für Geschichte, 59 (4, 2009), 423–40. PERIODICAL LITERATURE 647 American and Canadian Drunkards, Fornicators, and a Great Hen Squabble: Censure Practices and the Gendering of Puritanism. Monica D. Fitzgerald. Church History, 80 (Mar., 2011), 40–75. “Flight on the Wings of Vanity”: Maryland Quakers’ Struggle for Identity, 1715–1760. Miles Coverdale. Maryland Historical Magazine, 105 (Fall, 2010), 197–222. “Bad Men and Angels from Hell”: The Discourse of Universalism in Early National Philadelphia. Janet Moore Lindman. Journal of the Early Republic, 31 (Summer, 2011), 259–82. John Carroll and the Origins of an American Catholic Church, 1783–1815. Catherine O’Donnell. William and Mary Quarterly, LXVIII (Jan., 2011), 101–26. Children of Refuge: Irish Immigrant Families and Catholic Orphanages in New Orleans, a Case Study of Survival Strategy. Laura D. Kelley. Louisiana History, LII (Winter, 2011), 64–79. F. C. D. Wyneken (1810–1876). Gerhard Bode. Concordia Historical Institute Quarterly, 83 (Fall, 2010), 128–41. Mighty Upheaval on the Minnesota Frontier: Violence, War, and Death in Dakota and Missionary Christianity. Jennifer Graber. Church History, 80 (Mar., 2011), 76–108. A Scandal in Baltimore: The Trials of the Reverend Lorenzo Dow Huston, 1872–1873. Peter H. Curtis. Maryland Historical Magazine, 105 (Fall, 2010), 223–38. Vom Wilden Westen zur Postmoderne. 125 Jahre Jesuitenmissionen in South Dakota/USA. Karl Markus Kreis. Stimmen der Zeit, 229 (Apr., 2011), 250–60. Preaching in the “Open Air”: the Ministries of Early Pentecostal Women Preachers in Oklahoma. Kristen D. Welch. Chronicles of Oklahoma, LXXXVIII (Fall, 2010), 316–33. Friends of the Osages: John Joseph Mathew’s Wah’Kon-Tah and Osage-Quaker Cross-Cultural Collaboration. Michael Snyder. Chronicles of Oklahoma, LXXXVIII (Winter, 2010–2011), 438–61. The History of St. John’s College. Laura Marrs. Concordia Historical Institute Quarterly, 83 (Winter, 2010/2011), 191–202. Faith in Fostering: Catholic Adoption and Boarding-Out in Depression-Era New York. Dianne Creagh. American Catholic Studies, 122 (Spring, 2011), 1–32. The Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod during the Great Depression. Matthew L. Becker. Lutheran Quarterly, XXV (Spring, 2011), 52–83. 648 PERIODICAL LITERATURE The Change in the Conception of Sin among Catholics in the United States, 1955–1975. Maria C. Morrow. American Catholic Studies, 122 (Spring, 2011), 55–76. Beyond Imagination:“Mutual Responsibility and Interdependence in the Body of Christ” (1963) and the Reinvention of Canadian Anglicanism. William J. Danaher. Anglican Theological Review, 93 (Spring, 2011), 219–41. Latin American «El párroco de la Congregación de N.S. de los Dolores: cuestiones eclesiásticas». Roberto Jaramillo Escutia. Efemérides Mexicana, 84 (Sept.–Dec., 2010), 345–87. El Obispo de Tlaxcala-Puebla y sus principios de orden ecclesial durante la guerra insurgente. Jesús Joel Peña Espinosa. Efemérides Mexicana, 84 (Sept.–Dec., 2010), 388–420. La Virgen de Guadalupe en la iconografía nacional decimonónica.Tomás Pérez Vejo. Efemérides Mexicana, 84 (Sept.–Dec., 2010), 421–39. El P. Matías de Monteagudo y su participación en la consumación de la independencia mexicana. Juan Carlos Casas García. Efemérides Mexicana, 84 (Sept.–Dec., 2010), 440–59. Relámpago en el cielo encapotado. El Congreso Eucharístico Nacional de 1924. Manuel Olimón Nolasco. Efemérides Mexicana, 84 (Sept.–Dec., 2010), 460–78. OTHER BOOKS RECEIVED ________ Adams, Vincanne, Mona Schrempf, and Sienna R. Craig (Eds.). Medicine between Science and Religion: Explorations on Tibetan Grounds. [Epistemologies of Healing,Vol. 10.] (New York: Berghahn Books. 2011. Pp. xiv, 372. $90.00.) Alvarez,Tomás, O.C.D. St. Teresa of Avila: 100 Themes on Her Life and Work. Translated by Kieran Kavanaugh, O.C.D. (Washington, DC: ICS Publications, Institute of Carmelite Studies. 2011. Pp. viii, 452. $18.95 paperback.) The original Spanish edition was published in 2007 under the title 100 Fichas sobre Teresa de Jesús para Aprender y Enseñar by Monte Carmelo. Brown, Christopher Boyd (Ed.). Luther’s Works, Vol. 58: Sermons V. (St. Louis: Concordia Publishing House. 2010. Pp. xxx, 490. $49.99.) This volume contains selected sermons from 1539 to 1546. Burns, Kathryn. Into the Archive: Writing and Power in Colonial Peru. (Durham: Duke University Press. 2010. Pp. xvi, 248. $79.95 hardcover; $22.95 paperback.) Carstens, Christopher, and Douglas Martis. Mystical Body, Mystical Voice: Encountering Christ in the Words of the Mass. (Chicago: Liturgy Training Publications,Archdiocese of Chicago. 2011. Pp. x, 262. $16.95 paperback.) Cherico, Rebecca Vitz. Atheist to Catholic: Stories of Conversion. (Cincinnati: Servant Books, an imprint of St. Anthony Messenger Press. 2011. Pp. xii, 116. $13.99 paperback.) Clifford, Catherine E. (Ed.). For the Communion of the Churches: The Contribution of the Groupe des Dombes. (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing. 2010. Pp. viii, 224. $30.00 paperback.) Following the editor’s introduction, six theological statements produced by the Groupe des Dombes from 1971 to 1991 are presented in English translation for the first time. Colvert, Gavin T. (Ed.). The Renewal of Civilization: Essays in Honor of Jacques Maritain. (Washington, DC: American Maritain Association. 2010. Distrib. by The Catholic University of America Press. Pp. xxx, 292. $24.95 paperback.) Congar,Yves, O.P. True and False Reform in the Church. Translated and with an introduction by Paul Philibert, O.P. (Collegeville, MI: Liturgical Press. 2011. Pp. xvi, 378. $39.95 paperback.) A translation of the revised edition (1968) of Vraie et fausse réforme dans l’Église, originally published in 1950. 649 650 OTHER BOOKS RECEIVED Desai,Amit, and Evan Killick (Eds.). The Ways of Friendship: Anthropological Perspectives. (New York: Berghahn Books. 2010. Pp. vii, 214. $60.00.) DiMucci, Dion, with Mike Aquilina. Dion the Wanderer Talks Truth: Stories, Humor & Music. (Cincinnati: Servant Books, an imprint of St. Anthony Messenger Press. 2011. Pp. xiv, 146. $16.99 paperback.) Duquin, Lorene Hanley. Recovering Faith: Stories of Catholics Who Came Home. (Huntington, IN: Our Sunday Visitor. 2011. Pp. 208. $14.95 paperback.) Escrivá de Balaguer, Josemaría. Santo Rosario. Critico-historical edition by Pedro Rodríguez, and Constantino Ánchel and Javier Sesé (Eds.). [Instituto Histórico San Josemaría Escrivá de Balaguer—Roma, Obras completas, Serie 1: Obras publicadas,Volumen 2.] (Madrid: Ediciones Rialp, S.A. 2010. Pp. xxxix, 372.) There are twelve facsimiles and photographs. Friesenhahn, Jacob H. The Trinity and Theodicy:The Trinitarian Theology of von Balthasar and the Problem of Evil. [Ashgate New Critical Thinking in Religion,Theology and Biblical Studies Series.] (Burlington,VT: Ashgate Publishing. 2011. Pp. xi, 198. $89.95.) Ghezzi, Bert. Living the Sacraments: Grace into Action. (Cincinnati: Servant Books, an imprint of St.Anthony Messenger Press. 2011. Pp. x, 166. $14.99 paperback.) Gitlitz, David M. The Lost Minyan. (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. 2010. Pp. xvi, 316. $29.95.) Ten fictional accounts of conversos or marranos from the fifteenth to the seventeenth century based on eyewitness accounts, contemporary chronicles, and the records of Inquisition trials in the archives of Spain and Mexico. Glancy, Jennifer A. Slavery as Moral Problem: In the Early Church and Today. [Facets Series.] (Minneapolis: Fortress Press. 2011. Pp. v, 114. $9.99 paperback.) Guarendi, Ray. Marriage: Small Steps, Big Rewards. (Cincinnati: Servant Books, an imprint of St.Anthony Messenger Press. 2011. Pp. xii, 147. $14.99 paperback.) Kaiser, Thomas E., and Dale K. Van Kley (Eds.). From Deficit to Deluge: The Origins of the French Revolution. (Stanford: Stanford University Press. 2011. Pp. xii, 346. $65.00 clothbound; $25.95 paperback.) Dale K.Van Kley has contributed an essay on “The Religious Origins of the French Revolution, 1560–1791” (pp. 104–38). Kodera, Sergius. Disreputable Bodies: Magic, Medicine, and Gender in Renaissance Natural Philosophy. [Essays and Studies, 23.] (Toronto: Centre for Reformation and Renaissance Studies. 2010. Pp. 320. $28.00 paperback.) OTHER BOOKS RECEIVED 651 Lindemann, Albert S., and Richard S. Levy (Eds.). Antisemitism: A History. (New York: Oxford University Press. 2010. Pp. xii, 288. $95.00 clothbound; $31.95 paperback.) Maurer, Susan A. The Spirit of Enthusiasm: A History of the Catholic Charismatic Renewal, 1967–2000. (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, an imprint of Rowman & Littlefield. 2010. Pp. vi, 90. $18.99 paperback.) McGrane, Janice, S.S.J. Saints for Healing: Stories of Courage and Hope. (Cincinnati: St. Anthony Messenger Press. 2011. Pp. xvi, 142. $13.99 paperback.) Mora, Anthony. Border Dilemmas: Racial and National Uncertainties in New Mexico, 1848–1912. (Durham: Duke University Press. 2011. Pp. xii, 380. $89.95 clothbound; $24.95 paperback.) Chapter 3 is titled “‘Enemigos de la Iglesia Católica y por consiguiente de los ciudadanos Mexicanos’: Race, Nation, and the Meaning of Sacred Place” (pp. 103–34.) Oehrl, Sigmund. Vierbeinerdarstellungen auf schwedischen Runensteinen: Studien zur nordgermanischen Tier- und Fesselungsikonografie. [Ergänzungsbände zum Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde, Band 72.] (Berlin and New York: Walter de Gruyter. 2011. Pp. xii, 372. $170.00.) There are many black-and-white illustrations. Olson, Duane. Issues in Contemporary Christian Thought: A Fortress Introduction. (Minneapolis: Fortress Press. 2011. Pp. xiv, 296. $25.00 paperback.) Puglisi, James F. (Ed.). How Can the Petrine Ministry Be a Service to the Unity of the Universal Church? (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing. 2010. Pp. x, 370. $40.00 paperback.) Among the twenty papers in this collection are “The Petrine Ministry in the Early Patristic Tradition” by Roland Minnerath (pp. 34–48); “Protestant Reaction to the PostReformation Development of Papal Authority” by Günther Gassmann (pp. 81–97); “Historical Development of Forms of Authority and Jurisdiction: The Papal Ministry—an Ecumenical Approach” by Hermann J. Pottmeyer (pp. 98–107);“Did Vatican I Intend to Deny Tradition?”, also by Pottmeyer (pp. 108–24); and “Vatican I and the Development of Doctrine:A Lutheran Perspective” by Michael Root (pp. 124–44). Various authors. Meet the Saints. (Cincinnati: St. Anthony Messenger Press. 2011. Pp. xvi, 112. $12.99 paperback.) Vernon, Richard (Ed.). Locke on Toleration. Translation of A Letter Concerning Toleration by Michael Silverthorne. [Cambridge Texts in the History of Philosophy.] (New York: Cambridge University Press. 2010. Pp. xl, 180. $19.99 paperback.) Walters, Kerry. Revolutionary Deists: Early America’s Rational Infidels. (Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books. 2011. Pp. 279. $20.00 paperback.) 652 OTHER BOOKS RECEIVED Wells, Kevin. Burst:A Story of God’s Grace When Life Falls Apart. (Cincinnati: Servant Books, an imprint of St. Anthony Messenger Press. 2011. Pp. xii, 146. $14.99 paperback.) William of Auvergne. Selected Spiritual Writings.Why God Became Man; On Grace; On Faith. Translated with an introduction and notes by Roland J. Teske. [Mediaeval Sources in Translation, 50.] (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies. 2011. Pp. vii, 128. $15.95 paperback.) Wintz, Jack, O.F.M. Father Jack’s Favorite Prayers. (Cincinnati: St. Anthony Messenger Press. 2011. Pp. xiv, 114. $12.99 paperback.) Zynda, Damian. Archbishop Oscar Romero: A Disciple Who Revealed the Glory of God. (Scranton: University of Scranton Press. Distrib. by the University of Chicago Press. 2010. Pp. x, 238. $18.00 paperback.) The author is a member of the faculty of Creighton University in the program of Christian spirituality.