Caroline Walker Bynum
Professor emerita of medieval European history,
Institute for Advanced Study,
and University Professor emerita, Columbia University
2012

The Catholic Historical
Review
VOL. XCVIII

JULY, 2012

No. 3

WHY PARADOX?
THE CONTRADICTIONS OF MY LIFE AS A SCHOLAR
BY

CAROLINE WALKER BYNUM*

Distinguished historian Caroline Walker Bynum discusses influences on her work in medieval European history as teacher and
scholar and draws conclusions about methods of writing history.
Keywords: historical method; women’s history; history of the body;
materiality; identity; medieval Europe
When I entered the Harvard Graduate School in fall 1962 to study
history, the department secretary asked me immediately what field I
really intended to pursue. “You put on your application medieval or
early-modern history,” she said.“You must decide so we can assign you
an adviser.” Profoundly unsure, I thought for a few minutes and then
chose the Middle Ages. I have not been sorry for the choice. But that
choice is not the point of what I recount here. The point is rather that
my confusion about where to locate my interests either chronologically or disciplinarily was nothing new. I had tried four different
undergraduate majors before settling on history and had done so
more because it gave a great deal of latitude than because I thought
it—or any other major—was what I really wanted. Yet, had I been
asked in 1962 what sort of history I wanted to write rather than what
period I wanted to study, I could have replied without hesitation.1
*Dr. Bynum is professor emerita of medieval European history at the Institute for
Advanced Study in Princeton and University Professor emerita at Columbia University,
email: cwbynum@ias.edu.
1
For an exploration of the forces from my childhood, especially the role of both religion and region, that shaped my need to situate events in their historical context, see

433

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WHY PARADOX? THE CONTRADICTIONS OF MY LIFE AS A SCHOLAR

Perhaps I could have articulated only awkwardly the complexity of
what I thought doing history was, and I am certain that I looked
pretty much unsuccessfully for a model of this approach during my
graduate student days. But I was never unsure of what sort of questions I wanted to explore. It was not just that I wanted to study religion in its historical context, although that might have served as a
short answer had the department secretary asked me what sort of
topics I wished to pursue. It was rather that I had a deep conviction
that cultures have basic assumptions about issues I could think of
only as ontological and cosmological; that these assumptions are in
part conditioned by the structures of the society; and that studying
religious practice as well as religious theorizing was a way of ferreting out these assumptions, which (even with my 1960s optimism and
naïveté) I never assumed to be internally consistent. So I began graduate study with a profound uncertainty about how I fitted into the
structure of the Harvard curriculum and indeed, given a rather ragged
undergraduate preparation at the University of Michigan, an inadequate grounding to do any very sophisticated research. Yet I already
possessed a tough sense of what I thought was really worth doing. In
other words, a contradiction between disciplinary insecurity and selfconfidence in my own curiosity.
It seems to me that this initial contradiction mirrored what came
to be a fully acknowledged contradiction in my vision of history itself:
the contradiction between an effort to find the basic structures of
thought, the deep assumptions characteristic of the particular period
of a culture, and yet a commitment to a variety of perspectives—that
is, to the recognition that within any period there are radically different voices that cannot be reconciled or reduced to each other. And as
I never, I think, managed to reconcile the oppositions of disciplinary
and chronological diffuseness, on the one hand, and what one might
call clarity of methodological commitment, on the other, so I did not
reconcile the contradictory desiderata that underlay my scholarly
approach. I did, however, come to reject profoundly the idea that the
reconciliation of opposites, synthesis following upon dialectical oppo-

“Curriculum Vitae:An Authorial Aside,” Common Knowledge,9, no. 1 (2003), 1–12; published in a slightly different version as “My Life and Works,” in Women Medievalists in
the Academy, ed. Jane Chance (Madison,WI, 2005), pp. 995–1006. The present essay is
a complement to the earlier one. Remarks about my efforts to teach graduate students,
which are also autobiographical, can be found in “Teaching Scholarship,” Perspectives
on History, December 2009, 14–16.

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435

sition, mono-causal answers crafted after considering alternatives, was
possible or desirable.This rejection came to be rooted not only in personal stance and in the historical method to which I was instinctively
drawn but also in a sense of what life is like. What is the opposite of
opposites, I have often asked myself during my growth as a scholar.
And the opposite to opposition is not answer but paradox—that
simultaneous (not serial) affirmation of the totally irreconcilable,
incompatible, opposed.When Eamon Duffy reviewed my most recent
book in the New York Review of Books last summer, he commented
quite rightly that paradox had become a familiar theme of my work—
almost a mantra.2 It has. But that is so because I feel as if I can never
get away from students, colleagues, and the general public asking: But
what’s the real reason? What does it all come down to? How could
medieval people have held those funny, incompatible beliefs and
done such silly, incompatible things? To which the only answer is: So
do we. Because life is like that.
As I emphasized in my presidential address to the American
Historical Association in 1997, quoting a wall slogan from the Paris
student revolution of 1968 that had long been tacked on the bulletin
board in my office: “Toute vue des choses qui n’est pas étrange est
fausse.” (Every view of things that is not strange [i.e., bizarre or foreign] is false.)3 Only when we really see the oddness of the past—and
of our own present as well—do we begin to ferret out the anxieties,
structures, and fundamentally incompatible needs that shape lives.
And, as the slogan says, it is not “toute chose” that is “étrange” but
“toute vue des choses.” It is not so much that the bits and pieces of
the past we encounter are bizarre (although they are) as that the view
we must take of them (for taking a view is not optional) must preserve their foreignness. We must stub our toes over bits of the past
that strew our path where we least expect them and accept that these
bits will be as incompatible yet simultaneous as life and death.Writing
history is like performing ritual. As the Dutch anthropologist J. C.
Heesterman says about sacrifice:“Sacrifice deals with the riddle of life
2

Eamon Duffy, “Sacred Bones and Blood,” New York Review of Books, August 18,
2011, 66.
3
Caroline Walker Bynum,“Wonder,” American Historical Review, 102 (1997), 1–26;
rpt. in Bynum, Metamorphosis and Identity (New York, 2001), pp. 37–75. For the
slogan, see Stephen Spender, The Year of the Young Rebels (New York, 1969), p. 42. For
other methodological remarks, see Caroline Walker Bynum, “In Praise of Fragments:
History in the Comic Mode,”in Fragmentation and Redemption: Essays on Gender
and the Human Body in Medieval Religion (New York, 1991), pp. 11–26.

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WHY PARADOX? THE CONTRADICTIONS OF MY LIFE AS A SCHOLAR

and death, which are ultimately linked and at the same time each
other’s absolute denial.The riddle cannot be resolved, it can only be
reenacted.”4 Writing about the culture of the past is a little like such
reenactment: striving to contain in a single sentence or paragraph the
simultaneous yet contradictory glory and horror of the world, without
muting the incompatibility and utter strangeness of either.
With this as introduction, then, I tell the story of my journey
toward becoming a historian, emphasizing contradictions as well as
continuities. But my final point will be not contradiction but paradox—the opposite of opposites.
I did not find my voice in graduate school, and my dissertation was
only marginally successful. History was mostly institutional history at
Harvard in those days, at least when it was not flirting with the new
fields of cliometrics and quantification. All of us were excited by
those odd index cards with holes along the sides that were to be cut
out so one could put a knitting needle through them and shake out
one’s data according to various themes one coded in—an early paper
form of the search engine.We graduate students tried to count many
uncountable things. But by and large, we were taught conventional
philology by professors who were studying institutional developments. My mentors, Giles Constable and Charles Taylor, were doing
research on monastic and secular taxes respectively. They taught me
a care for the genre of documents and their immediate context, and a
need to consider the historiography of every topic; for this I have
always been grateful. If they had been asked (as professors were not
in those days), “what is your methodology?,” they might well have
answered what David Stone, a Member at the Institute for Advanced
Study, answered a few years ago to the same question:“My method is
knowing what you’re talking about.” As I remember it, all my professors tended to begin their lectures, and their published articles, with
a survey of the relevant literature in many languages going back well
into the late-nineteenth century. And I have continued to impose such
a sense of required expertise on my own students, who often think
anything published before 1990 is out of date. Hence I am inclined to
say, to the dismay of students: yes, this topic on the tactility of altar furnishings, for example, is a wonderful one, but you really need to read
Joseph Braun on “der Altar”(1924), or Eduard Dumoutet on “le désir de
4

J. C. Heesterman, The Broken World of Sacrifice:An Essay in Ancient Indian Ritual
(Chicago, 1993), p. 2.

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437

voir l’hostie” (1926), or Reiner Haussherr on “der tote Christus” (1963)
before you take another step.5 My teachers had a sturdy integrity that
cut no corners in research; there was never a sense that one should
publish for careerist reasons, or that one should publish in haste at all.
Extreme care to take the past in its own terms was the norm, perhaps
buttressed by a confidence that came from security in a Harvard setting that knew what “we” assumed and therefore should avoid projecting back. Fortunately, several of the good habits of our mentors
stuck with my scholarly generation—habits of caution, historiographical attentiveness, and scrupulous fairness to scholars who came
before. It was from my teachers at Harvard that I learned that the footnote is neither a place to parade one’s learning nor an exercise in oneupsmanship, but an opportunity to say “thank you” for what one has
learned from the literature of the past, both primary and secondary.
Nonetheless, for all the support I found in my mentors’ nuanced
determination to put the past in its own context, buttressed by their
keen historiographical habit, I did not find in graduate school the way
of doing history that I was looking for. I had caught a glimpse of it as
a sophomore in a history-of-science course I had taken with John
Murdoch while at Radcliffe (before I transferred in my junior year to
the University of Michigan); I caught another glimpse during my
second year of graduate school when I studied briefly with Hannah
Gray, who visited for a semester to replace Myron Gilmore who had
taken a leave of absence to direct I Tatti. But the only place I encountered it fully was when I discovered M. D. Chenu’s La théologie au
douzième siècle (1957).6 Father Chenu’s sense of the Gospel at work
in the world seems perhaps a bit naive today, and perhaps also a little
sad, given what has happened to the vision of the Second Vatican
Council he embodied. But I was not a Catholic and was relatively
immune to the ideological currents in the Roman Catholic Church
that led to some of his emphases. For me, to read Chenu’s collection
of essays was to encounter a historian doing in print what I had
always known I wanted to do—ferret out the basic assumptions that
5

Joseph Braun, Der christliche Altar in seiner geschichtlichen Entwicklung, 2 vols.
(Munich, 1924); Edouard Dumoutet, Le désir de voir l’hostie: les origines de la dévotion au Saint-Sacrement(Paris, 1926); Reiner Haussherr, Der tote Christus am Kreuz:
zur Ikonographie des Gerokreuzes (Bonn, 1963).
6
Marie-Dominique Chenu, La théologie au douzième siècle, [Études de philosophie
médiévale 45], (Paris, 1957); partially translated into English by Jerome Taylor and
Lester K. Little, Nature, Man and Society in the Twelfth Century: Essays on New
Theological Perspectives in the Latin West (Chicago, 1968).

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WHY PARADOX? THE CONTRADICTIONS OF MY LIFE AS A SCHOLAR

drive religious thought and practice while understanding such
assumptions to be almost infinitely complex, responsive to fundamental characteristics of social structure, and derived from other cultures (Chenu’s attention to Arab influence has sometimes been forgotten) as well as indigenous.
I do not remember that I talked to anyone much about Chenu,
although I was excited enough about the essays to translate some of
them into English for my undergraduate tutees in History and
Literature, developing a healthy respect for the liquid and elegant
(almost untranslatable) style in which the arguments were presented.
But then I had a chance to meet Chenu himself. In 1967, while a graduate student, I decided to attend the meeting of the Fourth
International Congress of Medieval Philosophy in Montreal. Most of the
major figures in the field were there, and the place was awash in clerical collars. I hung out with a group of Francophone students from
Quebec, and given the limitations of my spoken French, I mostly listened. On the last day of the conference, as we students took our accustomed place in the far corner of the cafeteria, we looked up to see
Chenu bypassing the head table where the other worthies were sitting.
“May I join you?” he asked.“I’m tired of sitting with the old folks. I want
to find out what the young think about the world.” Then he questioned
us not only about how we perceived trends in medieval scholarship but
also about aggiornamento and the Church,about sixties radicalism and
war. And he listened. When we looked up, the cafeteria was empty.
Everyone else had gone on to the afternoon sessions, while we,
engrossed in our discussion, had not heard the room emptying.
Despite my best efforts, my dissertation did not turn out to be very
Chenuian. And I lucked into an assistant professorship at Harvard
more on the strength of my performance in the oral examinations, I
suspect, than owing to any excellence of research. I submitted my
thesis on the day students occupied University Hall to protest ROTC
on campus, and my first teaching as a full-time faculty member was
done in 1969–70, with the whiff of tear gas wafting in from Harvard
Square and massive student strikes during Cambodia spring. I was
young; thus I had in many ways more sympathy with the students
than with the department faculty. Yet increasingly I felt at home in
neither group. The student leadership was male, and indeed the crucial, close-to-the-bone issue was a male issue; women did not have to
decide whether to give up their citizenship or their integrity if they
opposed the war in Vietnam. The faculty was male, too. In spring
1970, there were approximately 670 members of the faculty of arts

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439

and sciences; only ten of them were women, and all the women were
in the assistant professor rank. (The Zemurray-Stone chair, endowed
for a woman, was vacant at the time.)7 I had barely noticed the gender
imbalance when I was a graduate student; I was too busy exploring
Widener Library and the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, teaching bright
and articulate Harvard and Radcliffe tutees, and debating anthropological theory and, yes, Marxism with graduate student peers (who
were all men—something I barely noticed, so excited was I by the
play of ideas I’d had little of at Michigan or in my large Atlanta high
school). Once I became an assistant professor, I noticed that I had
almost no female colleagues. So did my friend Janet Martin in Classics.
After making a thorough study of the Harvard situation, using the statistical techniques 1960s students employed so enthusiastically, Janet
and I spent the night in Boylston Hall cranking a mimeo machine,
turning out the first, informal report on the status of women and
requesting that the dean establish a committee to look into why the
numbers were so skewed. In response, Michael Walzer and I were
asked to cochair a committee that produced in spring 1971 the
“Report of the Committee on the Status of Women in the Faculty of
Arts and Sciences.” It was a radical document, none of whose recommendations (for parental leave, a halt to the tenure clock for juniorfaculty women who gave birth, better procedures for mentoring
women graduate students and conducting searches, and so forth)
were adopted by the Harvard faculty, but it became a model that circulated widely and influenced changes in procedures and atmosphere at several other major universities.
I encountered a good deal of personal animosity during these
years. I received hate mail, some of it pornographic. Much of the hostility was quite overt. Such things were permissible in those days.Two
examples will suffice. The wife of a faculty member in the English
department accosted me in the little parking lot behind the faculty
club, saying,“You have no right to a job here.You are taking the bread
out of the mouth of some young man who has a wife and children to
support. I was always content to be Mrs. ______; why can’t you be
content to be a wife?” A male member of my department sought me
out while I was looking up a book in the Widener Library card catalog to tell me, “I suppose you think you are going to get tenure for
yourself by this sort of activity; I warn you, you aren’t.” The second
7
Report of the Committee on the Status of Women in the Faculty of Arts and
Sciences (Cambridge, MA,April 1971),Table I, p. 73.

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WHY PARADOX? THE CONTRADICTIONS OF MY LIFE AS A SCHOLAR

attack hurt more than the first because in my innocence, I had never
assumed that my activity would do me anything other than harm. Nor
had I ever assumed that tenure was a possibility. I had simply discovered that I had to act.
This is not the place to describe in any further detail the Harvard
politics of those years. But they cannot be simply passed over without
gloss. For that period in my life as a scholar was as deeply characterized by contradiction as the periods before or since. No matter how
engaged I was in holding hearings for the Committee on the Status of
Women or in counseling female graduate students, I was also teaching
and writing medieval history and in doing so was resisting some of
the academic feminism of the 1970s. It was not until the later 1970s,
when I wrote the article “Jesus as Mother,” that I found something like
a Chenuian voice and began to feel satisfied with my scholarly stance.
But the lessons of my Harvard graduate school mentors—lessons of
attention to context and genre, and avoidance of presentism—were
never in the early 1970s forgotten. I could no more have undertaken
to “update” Julian of Norwich, changing her tough-minded exegesis of
the parable of the servant and her feminine language for the Trinity
into the cozy new-age spirituality espoused by some activists, than I
could have ignored the cruelty of some of the academic discrimination and condescension around me.8 To do either would have seemed
to violate the basic integrity of other human beings. In order to
explain this, I need to examine the development of my scholarship
from another direction.
There was a contradiction in the way my scholarly interests grew
that characterizes the work of most scholars. At the moment topics
are undertaken, their genesis often seems accidental, even arbitrary,
impelled by the moment.Yet when one looks back, there are usually
deep connections between what one studied last and what one takes
up next. Certainly there have always been threads in my work that
carried me forward from one subject to the next, yet timely and
almost fortuitous impulses as well have led to my questions.
Following both the fortuitous and the continuous will take me back
to the deeper contradictions I felt in the 1970s and early 1980s as I
8
Julian of Norwich, A Book of Showings to the Anchoress Julian of Norwich, ed.
Edmund Colledge and James Walsh, [Studies and Texts 35], 2 parts (Toronto, 1978). For
my own sense of Julian, see Caroline Walker Bynum, Wonderful Blood: Theology and
Practice in Late Medieval Northern Germany and Beyond (Philadelphia, 2007), pp.
204–08.

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441

moved from studying religious men (“religious” in the technical
French sense of “those in orders”) to studying religious women.
My dissertation, later published as Docere Verbo et Exemplo
(1979), grew out of a desire to look at the ways in which a sense of
obligation to community and neighbor shaped the vocations of men
in the twelfth century who chose to join orders of monks or regular
canons. It was shaped both by the presence in much literature of spiritual advice of the little tag “to teach by word and example”and by my
intuition that responsibility for one’s impact on one’s companions
and the broader community would be felt in different ways depending on the extent to which the order in question was withdrawn from
the world or committed, at least in part, to clerical work within it. I
had originally intended to include the polemical literature of the
period—and it would have been a better study and one with more
consequence if I had done so—but I was persuaded to take a narrower focus in order to deal more thoroughly with the material.That
was probably sage advice to give an apprentice scholar, especially one
who needed to work on paleography, codicology, and even Latin. In
any case, the most valuable aspect of the dissertation for me was
probably the pursuit of the manuscript work necessary to study
Stephen of Paris’s unedited and extremely long commentary and—a
very different sort of challenge—my plunge into the works of St.
Bernard of Clairvaux to situate within his spirituality the little treatise
“The Steps of Humility,” which I treated as a commentary on the
Benedictine Rule. Perhaps the most valuable aspect for other scholars
was the appendix in which I located and characterized all extant
sources of two types written by the two religious groups in question:
commentaries on the rules of the two orders and works of advice and
instruction for novices. Nonetheless, I did not feel then—and do not
feel today—that the study succeeded. I made the argument that the
clerical vocation of the regular canons shaped their spirituality to
include in more direct ways responsibility for neighbor, but I did not
fully articulate the nuance of the rather different monastic commitment to some version of the same responsibility; and I vacillated in
rather confused prose between the distinctiveness of each treatise I
studied and an argument concerning the different sense of identity of
the two vocations, which I probably overstated.9 In other words, I
9
Caroline Walker Bynum, Docere Verbo et Exemplo (Missoula, MT, 1979). Bynum,
“Wonder,” is much more successful at ferreting out the contradictory assumptions of
different groups, or one might say “discourse communities.”

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WHY PARADOX? THE CONTRADICTIONS OF MY LIFE AS A SCHOLAR

failed to find a balance between two impulses: to recognize distinctive and incompatible voices and to dig out the basic, not fully conscious or articulate-able, assumptions of groups or religious milieux.
Yet it was in reading the Cistercians St. Ælred of Rievaulx and the
sometimes disparaged St. Bernard of Clairvaux that I came upon the
language that led to the essay “Jesus as Mother,” where I finally found
a way—if not of reconciling then at least of simultaneously asserting—the distinctiveness of a voice and the assumptions of a group.
I wrote the article “Jesus as Mother” during the summer I was in
transition between Harvard, where I had moved from the History
Department to the Divinity School in 1972, and the University of
Washington, where I began to teach in fall 1976. I would doubtless
not have written it without the stimulus of the politics of the Divinity
School, which were angry and presentist and which, in ways too complex to discuss here, I opposed as much as supported. But it was also
a response to my sense, from reading the advice Cistercians gave to
their novices and from being myself a teacher at a time of enormous
challenge to the pedagogical role, that the responsibility to advise and
instruct others is a weighty and even dangerous one. Nor—enjoined
by my own teachers to begin always with a survey of existing scholarship—would I have written it without the guidance of the 1949
essay by André Cabassut, which should have been groundbreaking
but had gone almost unnoticed at the time of publication.10
It was undoubtedly the title (later used, at the publisher’s insistence, for the volume of essays I published with the University of
California Press in 1982) that drew attention, but the article itself was
not a contribution to the 1970s pressure to update and feminize liturgical language nor was it, to the surprise of some readers, about
women.The argument of “Jesus as Mother,” put simply, is that twelfthcentury monks who occupied positions of authority used feminine,
often maternal, imagery for both God and self to express newly complicated notions of what it means to lead, and that their roles were
newly complicated exactly because of broad social and economic as
well as religious changes that resulted in an increased sense of the
importance of individual choice in religious vocation. The essay was
actually an early example of what would later be called “men’s history”—that is, the study of male attitudes, not as the norm but as spe10
André Cabassut,“Une dévotion médiévale peu connue: la devotion à Jesus Notre
Mére,” Mélanges Marcel Viller, Revue d’ascétique et de mystique, 25 (1949), 234–45.

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cific to only half (at most) of the human race. It was also, I felt, my first
successful attempt to ferret out unspoken assumptions and anxieties
behind texts without violating individual voices. Some of the argument spilled over into my essay “Did the Twelfth Century Discover
the Individual?,” which maintained, against a good deal of 1960s scholarly debate about when“individuality” emerged, that increased awareness of individual choice and self-assertion is inevitably accompanied
and even impelled by a greater self-awareness of group identity. In
other words, to define self is to define not-self. Some of the argument
of “Jesus as Mother” also led to the little essay on the nuns of Helfta,
which was the final article in the 1982 collection; that essay led, after
many years of further work, to Holy Feast and Holy Fast.
The study Holy Feast and Holy Fast, my most influential book,
arose almost seamlessly from “Jesus as Mother.” Having explored the
pressures and opportunities that led certain groups of religious men
to use explicitly gendered images for themselves and for the divine, I
was curious about whether religious women did so. And I discovered,
again to put it a bit simply, that what seemed distinctive about
woman-authored texts and male accounts of women was not awareness of gender or complex and self-conscious use of gendered language, but food images and food practices. Although misunderstood
by some critics as “essentializing” (this was a nasty charge in the
1990s) or as a glorification of female masochism, it was in fact neither.
The argument that women’s texts were characterized by specific
metaphors and their lives by specific behaviors was not the imposition of modern assumptions about “woman.” It was empirical, based
on a careful comparison of female-authored texts about the divine,
female-authored texts about women, and male-authored texts about
women, with texts about men by religious men, such as St. Francis of
Assisi or Heinrich Suso, who appeared to be closest in their spirituality to that of women.11 I could not, after all, explore all male-authored
texts from three centuries, but I thought (and still think) that this was
an ingenious solution to the question of how to choose material for
comparison: that is, to choose the material that appears on the face of
it most likely to prove your provisional conclusions wrong.
Moreover, the book was not an apology, or an excuse, for female
self-punishing. As I stated explicitly in my epilogue, no one today
11
Caroline Walker Bynum, Holy Feast and Holy Fast: The Religious Significance of
Food to Medieval Women (Berkeley, 1987), pp. 94–112.

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WHY PARADOX? THE CONTRADICTIONS OF MY LIFE AS A SCHOLAR

would hold out the behavior and piety I described as a model for his
or her own daughter. My point was rather to see what women at a particular moment in the past made of the cultural material they had at
their disposal (and I argued that they made of it a kind of agency and
a kind of truth), not to urge their choices or their sensibility on the
present, or to use modern medicalized models to explain it.
In writing Holy Feast and Holy Fast, I was not only responding to
my own essay of the mid-1970s on male language; I was also inserting myself into number of traditions concerning women’s history,
some going back to the early years of the twentieth century, some
considerably more recent. As far as the religious content of women’s
experience was concerned, there had long been a tendency to psychological reductionism, especially when treating the sort of visionary and ascetic phenomena about which historians had the largest
amount of evidence, both through women’s own writing and
through accounts about them by confessors, hagiographers, and
inquisitors. For example, William James’s Varieties of Religious
Experience (1902), for all its phenomenological awareness and its
antireductionism, became reductive when it treated women’s religiosity. James took the visionary texts written by and about medieval
women as cases of psychopathology:
A[n] . . . example . . . of theopathic saintliness is that of St. Gertrude, a
Benedictine nun of the thirteenth century, whose “Revelations” . . . consist
mainly of proofs of Christ’s partiality for her undeserving person.
Assurances of his love, intimacies, and caresses and compliments of the
most absurd and puerile sort, addressed by Christ to Gertrude as an individual, form the tissue of this paltry-minded recital. In reading such a narrative, we realize the gap between the thirteenth and the twentieth century, and we feel that saintliness of character may yield almost . . . worthless
fruits if it be associated with such inferior intellectual sympathies. . . . A
God indifferent to everything but adulation, and full of partiality for his
individual favorites, lacks an essential element of largeness; and even the
best professional sainthood of former centuries, pent in as it is to such a
conception, seems to us curiously shallow and unedifying.12

“Theopathic,” “paltry-minded,” “intellectually inferior,” “shallow and
unedifying”—not only is this a condescending dismissal not accorded
to other forms of religiosity with which James disagrees, it is also a
12
William James, The Varieties of Religious Experience: A Study in Human Nature
(1902; New York, 1961), p. 275.

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445

fundamental misinterpretation of what he calls Gertrude’s “Revelations,” which is a multiauthored text whose basic message is the
importance of community (not personal reassurance).13
But even where women’s practices such as fasting or prayer to the
baby Jesus were not taken as pathological and or potentially heterodox, scholars often reduced them to mechanisms of psychological
compensation, as if celibate women prayed to a baby God because
they did not have babies of their own or fasted because they hated
their bodies. In the early years of the twentieth century, the only place
where texts authored by women were regularly studied without
reductionism and condescension was by philologists, who did notice
that some of our earliest examples of European vernacular languages
occurred in woman-authored texts. It seems that it was acceptable to
study the adverb in the Flemish poet Hadewijch but not very interesting to consider seriously the ideas those adverbs expressed.
Where women’s religiosity was taken seriously in early-twentiethcentury scholarship was in the long tradition of treating it as compensatory in a socioeconomic sense. If we look, for example, at the
discussion of the so-called Frauenfrage (the “woman problem”) in
German scholarship, we find that it was taken up enthusiastically by
American medievalists, who were attracted to the notion that the
increase of religious opportunities for women in the twelfth to fourteenth centuries was the result of changing dowry structures and the
marriage market. According to such interpretation, the informal religious groupings known as beguinages that were in fact the first real
women’s movement in Western history were understood as places
created to park unmarriageable or “surplus” women. Not only did this
deny what we today call female agency, treating women’s groups and
structures as mere reactions to what men did, it also tended to interpret as economic arrangements the great outburst of female literary
and religious creativity that was a major factor in changing the religious attitudes of both women and men. Herbert Grundmann, who
resisted this and, in the 1930s, attributed to women both agency and
creativity, was virtually unknown in the United States until the 1960s
and not translated into English until 1995.14 (Grundmann’s reputation
13
For this interpretation, see Anna Harrison,“I Am Wholly Your Own: Liturgical Piety
and Community among the Nuns of Helfta,” Church History, 78 (2009), 549–83.
14
Herbert Grundmann, Religiöse Bewegungen im Mittelalter; Untersuchungen
über die geschichtlichen Zusammenhänge zwischen der Ketzerei, den Bettelorden

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WHY PARADOX? THE CONTRADICTIONS OF MY LIFE AS A SCHOLAR

has, quite rightly, suffered recently, especially in Germany, as his Nazi
connections and postwar efforts to hide them have become known.)
I was not the first American medievalist to discover Grundmann—
whose impact on me was at least as great as Chenu’s had been more
than a decade earlier—but I discovered and used his paradigm at a
time when another model of women’s history, broadly speaking, was
reigning in American historical scholarship. This was, of course, the
exuberant and highly politicized feminist history of the 1970s.
Although I was, as I have explained, a committed feminist in my
efforts to open up the misogynist academy I had known at Harvard,
the women’s history popular in the 1970s and early 1980s was, for
me, a complicated and in some ways problematic context.
It is hard, in the second decade of the twenty-first century, when
work on women’s texts and women’s lives is so multifaceted and
sophisticated, to remember how politicized—and in some ways,
crude—it was in the 1970s. Much of it was engaged in counting
women and in giving grades to historical periods. This sort of history
was very preoccupied with the so-called “status of women,” which
was thought to go up and down in history, but to be always suppressed by what was called “the patriarchy.” It was a curious
approach—one that has been questioned by most later feminist historians. For how can half the human race have “a” status? It is true that
we do today have indices of maternal health, women’s literacy,
women’s wages relative to men’s, and so forth, that can be used to
construct a worldwide comparison of women’s statuses across cultures in a socioeconomic sense. But there were—and are—problems
with using this approach for the Middle Ages in general and for the
topic of medieval religion in particular.
First, medievalists lack statistical evidence for many of these categories. For all the recent progress in medieval archaeology and
demography, we still have only very fragmentary information about
such basic matters as life expectancies, age at marriage, infant mortality, and so forth. And even what we thought we knew about the

und der religiösen Frauenbewegung im 12. und 13. Jahrhundert und über die
geschichtlichen Grundlagen der deutschen Mystik (1935; rpt. Darmstadt, 1977); trans.
Steven Rowan, Religious Movements in the Middle Ages:The Historical Links between
Heresy, the Mendicant Orders, and the Women’s Religious Movement in the Twelfth
and Thirteenth Century, with the Historical Foundations of German Mysticism,
introd. Robert Lerner (Notre Dame, 1995).

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447

changing structure of the medieval family from clan to lineage has
recently been questioned by much good research. Second, as feminists such as Denise Riley have pointed out,“woman” is clearly an unnuanced category.15 Not only does it ignore class; it also puts various
sorts of incommensurate cultural phenomena on a spectrum as if they
are parallel. For example, if there are more women troubadours than
before, but peasant women and men are still starving, does “the status
of women” go up or down? Is the opportunity to enter a convent, or
the experience of being forced into one, oppression or liberation in a
period when the dangers of arranged and abusive marriages and of
death in childbirth were high? Third, much of the women’s history of
the 1970s was so busy casting blame for the absence of women in certain categories that it did not notice where the women were. To point
out this blind spot in 1970s and 1980s feminism is not to deny that it
saw important beginnings of the search for hidden women and new
efforts to find and read their texts. It did. But there was also much
assuming that women’s voices were not there and much seeking of
answers for the presumed absence that was driven more by theory
than by research.16
Two further assumptions framed the model of women’s history
that prevailed when I began to do the research for Holy Feast and
Holy Fast. From the 1970s, indeed well into the 1990s, some interpreters suggested that women’s writing was not women’s writing at
all. Under the influence of certain forms of French feminism, it was
sometimes taken as a kind of false consciousness, a ventriloquism;
women, not just when viewed by men but even when themselves
writing, were interpreted to be merely conveying male stereotypes of
the female. Second, a great deal of the feminist scholarship of the
1970s—and this was particularly true in the area of women and religion—assumed that women need female symbols. That is, that the
goddess and the mother as religious figures appeal to women,
whereas gods of war, for example, appeal to men. It was a kind of
divine role-model argument, and it is difficult today to remember how
prevalent it was and how inappropriate for the study of the Middle
15
Denise Riley, “Am I that name?” Feminism and the Category of “Women”in
History (Minneapolis, 1988).
16
Two recent works that counter this trend and have discovered significant new
information about women’s artistic and literary activity are Jeffrey F. Hamburger, Nuns
as Artists: The Visual Culture of a Medieval Convent (Berkeley, 1997) and Alison I.
Beach, Women as Scribes: Book Production and Monastic Reform in Twelfth-Century
Bavaria (New York, 2004).

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WHY PARADOX? THE CONTRADICTIONS OF MY LIFE AS A SCHOLAR

Ages. For example, Marina Warner’s Alone of All Her Sex, a brilliant
cultural study that has had a liberating influence on many contemporary Catholic women who feel burdened by their tradition with unrealistic and contradictory expectations of being simultaneously virgin
and mother, has been less helpful as a guide to medieval Christianity.17
I see little evidence that medieval women or men took the virgin so
literally as a symbol.The linkage of gender and gendered symbol in a
one-to-one relationship drew scholars in the 1970s and early 1980s
toward judging medieval writers with contemporary standards—just
the sort of thing William James did to such unfortunate effect, albeit
with a very different agenda.
Holy Feast and Holy Fast went against the grain of such scholarship. Unconcerned with ascertaining or judging the status of women,
unconvinced that people necessarily express gendered assumptions
in language that is explicitly about gender, but far from denying the
force of gendered values or of patriarchy in the medieval church, I
saw texts by and about women not as ventriloquism but as creative,
even courageous, self-expression. Such interpretation located places
where the male scribe or confessor who did the recording resisted
what he was being told and let the historian see his resistance, or
where (to take another example) he wrote down the woman’s vernacular utterances exactly because they were not in Latin and could
not be rendered in it. It also located points where the women, in their
own writing, explicitly or implicitly criticized and rejected norms or
turned them in new directions.
There was another deep vein of twentieth-century scholarship
against which Holy Feast and Holy Fast stood. This was the assumption, found in scholarship about religion emanating from Catholic,
Protestant, and secular circles, that medieval Christianity was dualistic.18 Valuing the soul and heavenly rewards, promoting virginity,
celibacy, fasting, and asceticism, the religion of the Middle Ages was
understood to purvey a message of body-hating that was especially
damaging to women, who tended to be equated with Eve, uncleanness, and sexual temptation. Although rejecting the cosmological
dualism of the Manichees and Albigensians, which supposedly
17
Marina Warner, Alone of All Her Sex: The Myth and the Cult of the Virgin Mary
(New York, 1976).
18
For an example, see Jacques Le Goff,“Body and Ideology in the Medieval West” and
“The Repudiation of Pleasure,” in The Medieval Imagination, trans. Arthur Goldhammer (Chicago, 1988), pp. 83–85, 93–103.

BY CAROLINE WALKER BYNUM

449

assumed evil to be a force in the universe equal to good, Christianity,
especially in its medieval version, was understood to theorize the
human person as a soul trapped in a body, from which it sought
release by often extreme forms of self-mortification such as flagellation and self-starvation. Hence the female behavior I studied in Holy
Feast and Holy Fast was to be interpreted either as the abnormal psychological response of women whose culture led them to extravagant
gestures toward bodily control and self-denial or as a religious pathology induced by a fear of sex often laid at the door of St. Paul. In arguing that women’s food practices (such as charitable distribution and
food miracles) gave them control of what was often the only family
resource they could control and that their self-discipline (even in
some of its most extravagant forms) was a kind of change rung on the
body to induce the pleasure of encounter with God, Holy Feast and
Holy Fast ran up against a deep secular distrust of religion and an
equally deep distrust in modern religious thinking of any form of
renunciation.Yet behind the bizarre behaviors I studied in Holy Feast
and Holy Fast (and I always had that wall slogan on my bulletin board
reminding me of the need to keep my vision of things “strange”), I
found a counter-intuitive and paradoxical affirmation of person as
psychosomatic unity. It was that sense of person that some of the
essays in Fragmentation and Redemption (1991) began to explore.
And that is what The Resurrection of the Body (1995) is about. It is
an argument against understanding the anthropology (that is, the
theory of person) of medieval Christianity as body/soul dualism.19
The Resurrection of the Body did not, however, arise seamlessly
from Holy Feast and Holy Fast. It was impelled, most specifically, by
a suggestion from my old friend, the Renaissance historian Donald J.
Wilcox, who was dying of AIDS in 1990. He had wanted to work on
the topic himself. It was also facilitated by two almost simultaneous
events. In July 1986, just before accepting a position at Columbia
University, I was awarded a MacArthur fellowship—the grant, known
in the press although not by the foundation, as the “genius award.”
Like many MacArthur fellows before me, I plunged into what can only

19

This is not to deny that there are elements of practical dualism in medieval
Christianity, or that a sense of spirit striving against flesh can be religiously useful. On
this, see Peter Brown,“A Tale of Two Bishops and a Brilliant Saint,” New York Review of
Books, March 8, 2012, 29. Striving with and striving against the flesh are often, of
course, indistinguishable in religious practice, and the importance of both in medieval
Christianity is evidence of the fact that body was understood to be crucial to person.

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WHY PARADOX? THE CONTRADICTIONS OF MY LIFE AS A SCHOLAR

be called MacArthur guilt. Why me? Since I didn’t deserve it, what
should I do to earn it retroactively? Shouldn’t I retool? Become something more relevant? Go to Africa and cure dengue fever? Found a
shelter for the homeless? Tackle a comparative topic and learn six
Indian languages? As many scholars know, there is nothing like a deadline to put an end to narcissism, self-doubt, and unrealistic self-expectations. And, luckily, I was almost simultaneously invited to give the
American Council of Learned Societies (ACLS) Lectures in Religion, an
invitation that committed the recipient to a series of lectures to be
given at a number of universities around the country and published
subsequently by Columbia University Press. Once I accepted the ACLS
invitation—and some sense of self-preservation must have led me to
say “yes”—I could forget all those “why me?/what else should I do?”
questions and get to work to have something ready in time.
The MacArthur fellowship enabled me to take two and a half years
off from teaching, spread out over the next five years; thus I had time,
while preparing the ACLS lectures, to tackle some of the conceptually
very difficult theological reading I had always wanted to tackle
(shades here again of the inspiration of Chenu). The time off from
teaching was crucial in another sense, for when I was not in Butler
Library immersing myself in abstruse scholastic discussions of which
bodily particles would return to a perfected but identical body at the
end of time, I was reaping the rather dubious rewards of my lingering
disciplinary multi-location. Because the sort of material I had examined in Holy Feast and Holy Fast and was now turning to in The
Resurrection included poetry, natural philosophical discussion of
what we would call scientific and medical issues, visual images of the
Last Judgment and the General Resurrection, as well as women’s mystical writing, I ended up, despite my determination to say “no” to such
requests, directing or codirecting dissertations in comparative religion, English and comparative literature, and art history as well as history. It was a lot to juggle.The relentless deadlines of lectures to give
at places as diverse as Harvard, the University of California at
Berkeley, and Sarah Lawrence College kept me focused almost in spite
of myself.
Much about writing The Resurrection was fun, as scholarship can
be when one has both time to explore and a deadline to pull one up
from endless wandering in the sources. I did a good deal of reading in
philosophy of mind, arguing that there were parallels between
scholastic inquiry and the questions that contemporary scholars such

BY CAROLINE WALKER BYNUM

451

as Bernard Williams, Derek Parfit, Richard Swinburne, and Robert
Nozick were asking about personal identity and survival. The issues
explored by university theologians in quodlibetal questions and commentaries on the resurrection of the body—questions about such
bizarre matters as, for example, to which individual an eaten embryo
would return when the last trumpet sounded—were, I argued, questions about ontology:What is essential to the nature of the body and
hence of the person as psychosomatic entity? What must survive for
an individual to have the same identity over time?20 I also watched a
number of episodes of Star Trek and other TV and film sci-fi productions, convinced by my daughter that the popular culture of the 1990s
was obsessed with issues of identity in the sense of continuity
through time as well as with the more polemically debated sense of
identity as group self-identification—that is, identity as what might
survive a brain transplant operation as well as identity as, for example,
Hispanic or lesbian or middle-aged.
But it was not all fun. Not only was struggling with the philosophical texts hard work, there was always the loneliness attendant upon
the determination to let individual voices be individual and to let the
past be different. The philosophers I talked to insisted that I did not
understand the medieval issues if I did not translate them into issues
of modern epistemology or logic; the literary critics I talked to were,
in the 1990s, not interested in religious texts; feminists were still dubious about whether one could ever hear a woman’s voice. Despite the
Apostles’ Creed and the three core beliefs of rabbinic Judaism,
Christians and Jews alike insisted that their traditions did not hold the
resurrection of the body but only the immortality of the soul. The
avoidance of the fact of death reflected in the euphemisms that afflict
our language when we substitute “passed away” or “passed” for “died”
made my readers and hearers uncomfortable with my subject matter.
Audiences might giggle or be appalled at discussions of eaten
embryos, but it was very much more difficult to share the soaring
beauty of, for example, Mechtild of Magdeburg’s description of the
crystalline body in heaven or the deep seriousness of medieval exegesis of I Corinthians 15:“In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at
the last trumpet; for the trumpet shall sound and the dead shall rise
20

For the relevance both of current philosophy of mind and of popular culture, see
Bynum,“Material Continuity, Personal Survival and the Resurrection of the Body: A
Scholastic Discussion in Its Medieval and Modern Contexts,” in Fragmentation and
Redemption, pp. 239–97.

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WHY PARADOX? THE CONTRADICTIONS OF MY LIFE AS A SCHOLAR

again incorruptible; and we shall be changed.” Although “the body”
and “identity” were popular topics in the 1990s, they very often did
not mean what I meant in my study of the resurrection. For all my
careful explanation that the asceticism of medieval religious practice
was not based in a sense of body as trap so much as a sense of body
as necessary component of person, and despite the almost innumerable passages I cited in which identitas meant “numerical identity” or
enduring as the same entity, I had trouble making much headway
against the textbooks and even specialized studies that still today
impose modern sensibilities back onto medieval texts.21
It was twelve years after The Resurrection of the Body that my
next big book, Wonderful Blood (2007), appeared. Of all my writings,
it has the most ostensibly fortuitous genesis, originating as it did in a
moment in 1999 when Paul Freedman of Yale called me up and said,
“We’re going to have a conference on ‘Blood, Sweat, and Tears.’ We’ve
got someone doing ‘sweat’ and someone doing ‘tears’; can you do
‘blood’?”Having done some work for Holy Feast and Holy Fast on the
literalism of medieval Eucharistic devotion, I thought I might be able
to put together something fairly quickly on “blood.” That conference
invitation led to almost ten years of research on blood cult in northern Germany.
Centered on cult sites in the states of Brandenburg and
Mecklenburg close to Berlin, Wonderful Blood entailed a sort of local
history that I had never done before—something I would not have
tackled had I not had the opportunity of two resident fellowships in
Germany during the early years of the research—one in spring 2000
at the Warburg Haus in Hamburg and another in fall 2002 at the
American Academy in Berlin at Wannsee. My interest in the German
Middle Ages had been piqued earlier, however, during the many trips
I took to Germany with my husband, Guenther Roth, whom I married
in 1983. My passionate love of Berlin began in 1994–95 when I spent
a year at the Wissenschaftskolleg in Berlin, but the affinity I felt for
that guilty yet tortured city had roots, I think, in the guilt I felt in my
own history as an American Southerner—something too complicated
to write about here.22 In any case, finding the little town of Wilsnack,
21
For remarks on our recent impoverished understanding of “identity,” see
Marilynne Robinson,When I Was a Child I Read Books (New York, 2012), pp. 26–27.
22
See Bynum,“Curriculum Vitae,” pp. 7–8, and Caroline Walker Bynum,“The Presence
of Objects: Medieval Anti-Judaism in Modern Germany,” Common Knowledge, 10, no. 1
(2004), 1–32.

BY CAROLINE WALKER BYNUM

453

site of an almost forgotten fifteenth-century pilgrimage, in my guidebook, I visited it on the last day of my stay in Germany in 1995,
although I made that initial trip more because it was a railway stop en
route to the lovely cathedral of Havelberg, see of the twelfth-century
bishop Anselm whose treatises I had studied long before in Docere
Verbo et Exemplo, than because of its intrinsic fascination.Ten years
later, the cult at Wilsnack—which provided manna for the full range
of my research interests, from abstruse scholastic debates and extravagant miracle claims to the details of local power politics—served as
the opening chapter of my study of fifteenth-century blood piety.
Wonderful Blood is a far darker book than Holy Feast and Holy
Fast or Resurrection. Whereas they are a sort of defense against the
reduction of Christianity to politics or pathology, Wonderful Blood
focused on the increasing centrality in late-medieval Christianity of an
ideology of sacrifice in all its horrific consequences. Not only did the
fifteenth-century cult of relics of Christ’s blood and of what German
historians call Dauerwunder (transformed Eucharistic hosts or chalices that endure as such) become excuses, and incentives, for antisemitic persecution and pogroms and for harsher definitions of heresy
turned against flagellants, Hussites, and Waldensians, but the killing at
the heart of the Eucharistic offering—the sacrifice of God to God by
God in the Crucifixion—took its toll as well on the logic of Scholastic
theologians and the hearts of pious laity.
At the center of Wonderful Blood was the conundrum that became
the theme of Christian Materiality (2011), a set of lectures first given
in Jerusalem in May 2007 that appeared from Zone Books last year
after much reworking. Together, the books move beyond the topic of
“the body” explored in Holy Feast and Holy Fast and Resurrection to
explore the paradox of matter itself. Both books consider miraculous
matter, albeit in different contexts—that is, graven or painted images
that come to life, weeping or oozing; blood relics of Christ or the
saints that liquefy; Eucharistic wafers that appear as bloody meat and
chalices that fill with viscous red fluid. In part, the books make a specific argument about historical periodization and causation.They suggest that the increasing emphasis in fourteenth- and fifteenth-century
theology on the power of God as explanation, like the new stress in
spirituality on interior response cut free from any necessity to conform that response to outer gesture or speech, is one pole of a view
of the world whose other pole is an increasing sense that the sacral is
manifested and conveyed in matter. The fear and rejection of images

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WHY PARADOX? THE CONTRADICTIONS OF MY LIFE AS A SCHOLAR

that culminated in Protestant iconoclasm were in part reactions to
renewed instances of their animation.The increased emphasis on interiority was not merely a reformist response to an old-style religion of
mechanical and “superstitious”spirituality but rather an uneasy complement and counter to a new enthusiasm for matter that disclosed
the divine.The need to account for miracle led natural philosophers
such as Nicole Oresme to an understanding of the rules imbedded in
matter that limited as well as explained its anomalous behaviors. Nor
did the voices of philosophers, pilgrims, and reformers, or of the Jews
and heretics they persecuted, fall into a single pattern. Persecution of
out groups and definition of ideas and practices as “other” increased
as contradiction sharpened within Christian communities between
inner and outer forms of devotion.
Wonderful Blood and Christian Materiality locate one of the
causes of the reformations of the sixteenth century, both Protestant
and Catholic, in the increasing pressure exerted by miracles of material transformation—miracles that bodied forth the paradox that
matter is created by God to manifest his glory and yet utterly different from him in his eternity, omnipresence, intangibility, and utter
incomprehensibly. In their suggestion about causation and periodization, the books argue not for a perduring paradox but for the pressure
exerted in a particular historical period by an increasing awareness at
every level of society of the contradiction between the material and
the divine and yet the contradiction to that contradiction: the manifestation of the divine in matter, which is by definition totally “other”
from it.
The basic argument of Wonderful Blood, as of Christian
Materiality, is not, however, about periodization but about conceptions of matter in Western Christianity in the later Middle Ages and
hence about paradox itself.What I try to explain—and here language
almost fails me—is that fourteenth- and fifteenth-century devotion in
the West not only assumed the opposition of an eternally unknowable
God and an essentially animate and labile matter he created. It also
assumed that miraculous matter itself asserted that God. Ever-living
blood erupted on ever-decaying bread, painted wood, and bone. In so
doing, it asserted the presence of life in death, eternity in change.
Transformation miracles were moments when matter contradicted
itself. But it could do so only in material ways. Hence, if matter transcended its own ordinary changeability by denying decay and death,
it could do so only by another change. Such change could, however,

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last only a moment before it itself decayed. Bleeding hosts, glowing
relics, and weeping statues inevitably faded. Other miracles were then
necessary. But the repeated eruption of miraculous stuff was threatening to ecclesiastical authorities who wished to control pilgrimage,
to philosophers and theologians theorizing the natural world, and to
the Christian devout who wished their cult objects to endure. The
paradox of matter, which in Christian theology and practice must and
cannot be divine, parallels the paradox of the body, which must and
cannot be the locus of salvation.
I am not sure what comes next for me. At the moment, I am
immersed in two kinds of comparative reading—both some theoretical reading about materiality as art historians understand it and an
exploration of Hindu cults, stimulated by a five-week visit to India in
autumn 2009, that suggests to me that the ostensible parallels of
Western and Indian images fade once one knows more about specific
practices. I expect that whatever does come next will be propelled
both by fortuitous suggestion and by the continuities of my longstanding concerns. I also suspect that I shall be, as I usually am,
tongue-tied in my first efforts to grasp and articulate radical contradictions as contradictions.
I am not sorry that I chose medieval history when I was asked to
specify my field back in 1962, although I seem to have crept up
recently at least to the brink of the early-modern period I also considered studying. But I am not confident that I have managed to find
the Chenuian voice to which I aspired as a graduate student or a
young professor. It would be arrogant to think so. I am convinced,
however, that the balance I sought between recognizing incompatible
perspectives and digging out the underlying assumptions of a religious tradition in a specific historical period is both impossible and
necessary. We have to write serially, crafting one sentence after
another, piling up note card after note card, reconciling opposing bits
of evidence; yet that is not how life happens. Life is much more like
the realization we have, just after we manage to shape a lovely interpretation in our prose, that if we look at things another way, we have
gotten them quite hideously wrong. Nonetheless, there is comfort, I
think, in realizing that, as historians and as human beings, we must live
in paradox and that paradox—the simultaneous assertion of contradictions—is the opposite of opposites. For paradox is not a method;
it is life.

“GOD REIGNING THROUGH YOU,
REIGNS WITH YOU”:
THE CHARENTON CONTROVERSY AND THE
DEVELOPMENT OF
ROYAL AUTHORITY IN EARLY BOURBON FRANCE
BY

JASON SAGER*

During the years of 1617–20, a little-known polemical debate raged
between the Protestant ministers, led by Pierre du Moulin, in the
town of Charenton, just outside of Paris, and the Jesuit Jean
Arnoux, confessor to Louis XIII. Marked by the crisis of Henry IV’s
assassination in 1610 and the revolt of the princes against the
regency government of Marie de’ Medici, the first decades of the seventeenth century witnessed an intense debate over the nature of
royal authority. The author argues that the Charenton Controversy,
influenced by the ideological clashes that occurred during the
Estates-General, demonstrates that the ambiguous notions of royal
authority were beginning to take concrete form.
Keywords: Arnoux, Jean; du Moulin, Pierre; Estates-General 1614;
Huguenots; Louis XIII
With the assassination of Henri IV in 1610 at the hand of JeanFrançois Ravaillac, the project of restoring the prestige of the monarchy and placating French society was thrown into doubt. There was
no question that in the aftermath of 1610 France entered a period of
political uncertainty.1 However, the disputed succession that Henri
had feared, with the attendant civil wars, never materialized.2 Despite
the very real constraints on the exercise of royal authority following
Henri’s ascension in 1589, the smooth succession of his son as Louis
*Dr. Sager is contract academic staff in the Department of History at Wilfred Laurier
University in Waterloo, Canada, email: jsager@wlu.ca. Unless otherwise noted, translations in this article are by the author.
1
Mark Greengrass, France in the Age of Henri IV, 2nd ed. (London, 1995), p. 257.
2
Vincent J. Pitts, Henri IV of France: His Reign and Age (Baltimore, 2009), p. 329.

456

BY JASON SAGER

457

XIII is indicative of the relative success of the crown’s efforts to pacify
French society.3 The discourse of the new conception of royal
authority that began with Henri’s conversion at St. Denis in 1593 was
still an ongoing concern at the Estates-General of 1614.4
Ostensibly called to pronounce Louis XIII’s majority, the EstatesGeneral of 1614 took place during a period of political crisis.5 With
Henri II de Bourbon, prince of Condé, out of the country, Marie de’
Medici moved rapidly to take control of the regency.This move combined with the filling of regency offices with the queen mother’s
favorites led to a break between the government and much of the
nobility, led by Condé.6 The propaganda campaign that followed the
princes’ revolt against the queen mother’s administration demonstrates how far the theory of royal absolutism had developed and permeated the political elites since Henri IV. Although the concepts of
political authority and sovereignty were “ambiguous notions in earlyseventeenth-century France,” the rhetoric emanating from the pamphlet wars leading up to the Estates-General reveal that these ambiguous notions were beginning to take concrete form.7 Indeed, the
discourse of royal authority became even more acute during the years
1614–17. The suppression of the First Article of the Third Estate
notwithstanding, the Estates-General addressed the crisis of 1614 by
affirming the sovereignty of the crown.8
3
James B. Collins, Fiscal Limits of Absolutism: Direct Taxation in Early
Seventeenth-Century France (Berkeley, 1988); Collins, The State in Early Modern
France (New York, 1995); Pitts, Henri IV, p. xi.
4
Michael Wolfe, The Conversion of Henri IV: Politics, Power, and Religious Belief in
Early-Modern France (Cambridge, MA, 1993), p. 190.
5
J. Michael Hayden, France and the Estates General of 1614 (London, 1974), p. 2.
6
Mack P. Holt, The French Wars of Religion (New York, 1995), p. 176; Orest Ranum,
“Money, Dignity, and Self-Esteem in the Relations between Judges and Great Nobles of
the Parlement of Paris during the Fronde,” in Society and Institutions in Early Modern
France, ed. Mack P. Holt (Athens, GA, 1991), pp. 117–31.
7
Jeffrey Sawyer, Printed Poison: Pamphlet Propaganda, Faction Politics, and the
Public Sphere in Early Seventeenth-Century France (Berkeley, 1990), p. 108.
8
The First Article of the Third Estate, or the so-called “Lost Article,” was submitted on
December 15, 1614, by the Third Estate. It presented in the strongest language possible a
defense of the inviolate sovereignty of the king in his realm. Members of the First Estate,
including Cardinal du Perron, along with the backing of Pope Paul V, sought to suppress
this article, since it would in effect put the Church completely under the authority of the
crown. By early spring 1615, the First Estate, with the support of Marie de’ Medici’s
regency, had successfully suppressed the First Article.When the cahier was presented in
March 1615, a blank sheet of parchment was included to indicate where the text of the
First Article should have been as a gesture of protest. See Hayden, pp. 131–48.

458

THE CHARENTON CONTROVERSY

The reluctance of the queen mother’s government to embrace the
claims of royal sovereignty proposed in the Third Estate and the First
Estate’s successful campaign to suppress the First Article was part of
the continuing debate over the nature of monarchial authority in the
aftermath of the religious wars. Even after Henri IV’s efforts at centralizing the state, the boundaries of Bourbon royal authority were
still fluid. The confessional polemics between Louis XIII’s confessor
and the Protestant ministers at Charenton were one aspect of the continuing debate over the defining the boundaries of royal authority in
favor of increasing royal sovereignty.
By the first decades of the seventeenth century, religious polemics
such as the ones in the opening months of the Estates-General of 1614
rejected framing religious opponents in a rhetoric of dehumanizing
otherness.9 We see during Louis XIII’s minority an acceptance in
Catholic preaching that the Protestant threat could not be exterminated by the sword but rather by the word through conversion. The
Protestants for their part mirrored this rhetoric. Recognizing their
precarious position in France, they took great pains to profess their
loyalty to the crown and, in the face of Catholic proselytizing efforts,
to remind the crown of its responsibility in maintaining the articles of
the Edict of Nantes. The Charenton controversy represents a microcosm of the debate over the nature of French kingship and the
changes in the religious controversies of the seventeenth century.
In 1617, the well-known Jesuit Jean Arnoux replaced the long-serving Pierre Coton as confessor to the young Louis XIII.10 Shortly after
his appointment, the king requested that Arnoux preach a sermon at
Fontainebleau.11 In it, Arnoux attacked the privileges granted to the
Protestants by the Edict of Nantes.The centerpiece of the sermon was
the Jesuit’s appeal to Louis to curtail Protestant liberties.The sermon
was well received, and Arnoux was advised to publish it as a part of
polemical attack on the Protestant community at Charenton. His
Confession de la Foi appeared later that year. Citing the zeal of Louis
XIII for the spiritual well-being of his subjects and reunion of the
Protestants again with the Catholic Church,Arnoux set for himself the
9
Natalie Zemon Davis, Society and Culture in Early Modern France (Stanford,
1975), pp. 152–88.
10
Robert Bireley, The Jesuits and the Thirty Years War: Kings, Courts and
Confessors (New York, 2003), p. 17.
11
Bireley, Jesuits and the Thirty Years War, p. 45.

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459

task of proving in a systematic manner that the Protestant doctrine
found no support within the biblical text:12
All their Church . . . is founded on a void that the pretended religion has
neither resource, nor support on the words of God. In short that within
the State of their religion, there is nothing at all to affirm it by the Holy
Scripture.13

The Catholic controversialist Honnorat de Meynsier (1570–1638)
continued this idea. Operating under the patronage of Cardinal JeanFrançois-Paul de Gondi de Retz, Meynsier authored several pamphlets
against the Charenton ministers.14 In his Confession du Sieur du
Moulin (1618), dedicated to de Retz, Meynsier argued that the
Protestant translation from the Greek to the French was highly inaccurate, thus invalidating the entire foundation of Protestant doctrine.15 In response to these accusations, the Protestant ministers, led
by Pierre du Moulin, published the Défense de la Confession de la Foi
in Charenton in 1617.The more comprehensive Bouclier de la Foi followed (Geneva, 1625).The Protestant response elicited in turn a sharp
reaction from the Catholic ecclesiastical hierarchy both within and
without the court of Louis XIII; the ensuing controversy would
include some of the best-placed ecclesiastical figures of the Gallican
Church, including the young Armand-Jean du Plessis, bishop of Luçon
and the future Cardinal Richelieu.
Much of what Arnoux wrote in his Confession was not particularly innovative.The Confession treads a well-worn path in equating
Protestant heresy with political schism. But the importance of
Arnoux’s sermon lies in the way in which he engaged with the
Protestant population in the Paris environs. Arnoux’s sermon,
although full of traditional anti-Huguenot sentiment, reflects a sensitivity to the changing religious and political realities of early-seven12

Jean Arnoux, Confession de la Foi (Paris, 1617), p. 22.
“Tout leur Église . . . est fondée sur le vuide: que la religion pretendu n’a aucune
resource, ni appui dans la paroles de Dieu: bref que dedans l’État de leur profession, il
n’y a du tout rien d’affermi par l’Écriture sainte.”Arnoux, Confession, p. 23.
14
These titles include La Confession du Sieur du Moulin, ministre de Charenton,
contra la doctrine des ministres pretendus reformées (Paris, 1618); La Doctrine de
l’Antichrist (Paris, 1625); Les Plaintes du Sieur du Moulin (Paris, 1618); Les Preuvres
demandées par le Sieur du Moulin, ministre de Charenton touchant le fondement,
sainctété et fermeté de l’Eglise Catholique (Paris, 1618); and Les Reproches du Sieur
du Moulin, ministre de Charenton, contre le P. Arnoulx (Paris, 1619).
15
Meynier, Confession du Sieur du Moulin (Paris, 1618), n.p.
13

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THE CHARENTON CONTROVERSY

teenth-century France.16 Arnoux’s sermon resembles a scholastic
disputatio in which he, through a systematic point-by-point exposition, attempts to dismantle the Huguenot doctrinal framework. Du
Moulin’s response also falls into this category.The disputatio became
more important in the seventeenth century as a way of resolving
confessional strife without recourse to physical violence.17
Encouraged by the king, these disputes became part of the larger
campaign to re-Catholicize France’s Huguenots.18 They also form an
important component within the discourse of royal authority in early
Bourbon France. As in other confessional debates such as the one
between Cardinal Jacques Davy du Perron and Philippe DuplessisMornay at the Conference at Fontainebleau in 1600, the Charenton
Controversy placed the king squarely in the role of arbiter of religious disputes. But unlike the Conference at Fontainebleau, the
Charenton Controversy did not take place in the physical presence
of the king. Rather, by appealing to the wisdom of the monarch
through their dedicatory epistles and prefaces, both sides of the confessional divide created a symbolic court presided over by the
monarchial presence. Because the legitimacy of the symbolic presence of the monarch rested on a mutual understanding of the
omnipresent judicial function of the king, he did not need to be present to adjudicate over issues of religion.
However, the Jesuit walked a fine line when participating in these
confessional polemics—one that du Moulin was able to exploit. Even
after the Jesuits’ return to France under Henri IV, other factions at
court viewed them (especially those who served as royal confessors)
with considerable hostility, distrusting their influence over the king.19
The reintroduction of the Jesuits did not mean that the king had
entirely forgiven them, but seeing an opportunity to tame the Jesuits,
he did not fail to take it. Especially after 1614, the Jesuits, as well as
other orders, were acutely aware that their survival in France
16

Susan Rosa, “Seventeenth-Century Catholic Polemic and the Rise of Cultural
Rationalism: An Example from the Empire,” Journal of the History of Ideas, 57 (1996),
87–107, here 88–89.
17
Michael Wolfe, “Exegesis as Public Performance: Controversialist Debate and
Politics at the Conference of Fontainebleau (1600),” in Politics and Religion in Early
Bourbon France, ed.Alison Forrestal and Eric Nelson (New York, 2009), pp. 65–85, here
pp. 65–66.
18
Eric Nelson, Jesuits and the Monarchy: Catholic Reform and Political Authority
in France (1590–1615) (Burlington,VT, 2005), p. 116.
19
Armstrong, Politics of Piety, p. 90.

BY JASON SAGER

461

depended on their absolute loyalty to the crown.The employment of
Jesuits almost exclusively as confessors ensured the good behavior of
the members of the Society of Jesus.20 Thus, in his polemic with the
Charenton leadership, Arnoux was keen to avoid “rabble rousing sermons against the Huguenots.” 21 The published attacks that emanated
from both Catholic and Protestant controversialists lacked the incendiary language that had been the hallmark of religious polemics in the
sixteenth century. Instead of destroying the body of heretics, seventeenth-century Catholic religious rhetoric attacked the confessional
identity of the Protestants.This rhetoric focused on the conversion—
not the physical destruction—of the heretics.
In response, the Charenton ministers published a remonstrance in
1617 titled Défense de la Confession des Eglises Reformées. Sold at
Charenton, the Défense was initially submitted to Louis as a move to
denounce the “injustice” of Arnoux’s accusations against Protestant
doctrine.The ministers were keenly aware of the need to profess that
their continual loyalty to the crown was not incompatible with nonCatholic beliefs.22
To combat the position taken by the Charenton ministers,
Richelieu, while still bishop of Luçon, wrote Principaux Points de la
Foi (Poitiers, 1617). However, the controversy would not end there.
Du Moulin would expand on the initial arguments made in the
Défense with the publication of the Bouclier de la Foi (Geneva,
1618–19). The Bouclier was one of the clearest expositions of
Protestantism since John Calvin’s Institutes of the Christian Religion
(1536). Jean-Jaubert Barrault, bishop of Arles, published his own
Bouclier de la Foi in response to du Moulin’s Bouclier. Jacques
Marcel, a member of the Congrégation de la Doctrine Chréstien, published Triomphe de la Foi Catholique (Lyon, 1621).The rapid appearance of these religious polemics, often running into several hundred
pages and several editions, confirms that the distrust between the religious parties had not lessened, but it was now being diverted into
more constructive channels, eschewing popular expressions of religious violence.23
20
Joseph Bergin, Church, State, and Religious Change in France, 1580–1730 (New
Haven, 2009), p. 113.
21
Bireley, Jesuits and the Thirty Years War, p. 45.
22
Du Moulin, Défense, p. 12.
23
Du Moulin’s Bouclier still had a healthy publishing life into the 1630s, well after
the initial controversy began.

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THE CHARENTON CONTROVERSY

Prior to his controversy with Arnoux, du Moulin had already spent
much of his early career attacking the claims of papal authority.These
early criticisms were dedicated to King James I. Two of the more
important tracts, translated into English, were A Defense of the
Catholicke Faith (London, 1610), and The Jesuites’ Shifts and
Evasions (London, 1624). Defense was published first to counteract
the accusations of the Dominican preacher Nicholas Coeffeteau
(1574–1623), who had written many books favoring papal claims of
authority over temporal princes.24 Many of the arguments that
appeared later in the Défense de la Confession de la Foi and the
Bouclier de la Foi were developed and first issued in A Defense of the
Catholicke Faith.
Throughout his polemic du Moulin distanced himself from the
monarchomachist theories of the Protestant writers of the 1570s and
1580s.Where kingship was elective, as in the case of the Holy Roman
Empire, the electors had a responsibility to ensure the candidate was
not “an Infidel or an Idolater.” But according to hereditary kingship, as
was the case in France, the “King . . . is a lawful inheritor and to whom,
over and above . . . his subjects have taken the Oath of Allegiance. . . .”25
As du Moulin explains, no subject is permitted to break this oath of
allegiance; rejecting the language of resistance and deposition of
tyrants popularized by François Hotman, Philippe Duplessis-Mornay,
and Theodore Beza, he echoes Calvin’s position as formulated in the
Institutes that all subjects owe allegiance and obedience to the sovereign magistrate.26
Throughout the dedicatory epistle to the Defense, du Moulin
acknowledges the precariousness of Protestant existence and lists a
series of grievances to this effect. The Protestant faction is hated for
its claim to possess the true means of salvation, the doctrine of grace,
and the rejection of the real presence.Yet despite all this, du Moulin
positions the Protestant faction as truly loyal to the crown.27 Du
Moulin continues to remind Louis XIII that it was the Protestants who
had protected his father Henri IV “durant ses afflictions” (“during his
afflictions”) and, by so doing, had demonstrated that it was they, not
24

Most important, Pro Sacra Monarchia Ecclesia Catholicae et Romae (Paris, 1623).
Du Moulin, Defense of the Catholicke Religion, pp. 68–69.
26
John Calvin, The Institutes of the Christian Religion (Peabody, MA, 2008), XX:24;
see Pitts, Henri IV, p. 64.
27
Pierre du Moulin, Défense de la Confession des Eglises Reformées (Charenton,
1617), pp. 3–4.
25

BY JASON SAGER

463

the Catholics who had the interests of the kingdom at heart.
Furthermore, the Protestants had shown themselves to be loyal subjects in opposing Spanish involvement in the affairs of the kingdom.28
It is within this context of protestations of loyalty to the crown that
the Charenton ministers first attack the privileges of the papacy. In
addressing the threat to France posed by Spain, du Moulin positions
his criticism of papal claims of temporal power on “the question that
has been asked, if the Pope can depose our Kings, and if it is within
the power of the Pope to dispose of your crown.”29
Furthermore, du Moulin argued that not only had the pope illegitimately claimed the power to depose of duly anointed monarchs but
also the Catholic Church had become nothing more than a front for
the temporal ambitions of the see of Rome:
Already he has in his power a third of your land and has removed from
your obedience a fifth of your subjects, meaning the Ecclesiastics, who say
they are not your subjects, and who are not accountable before your justice, and have even for their temporal lord and sovereign outside the
Kingdom.30

On the other hand, the French Protestants, along with a sizable portion of the Catholic population, had always maintained the dignity
and rights of the crown, which du Moulin suggests are held by the
monarch as God’s lieutenant:
A thing that we as well as many of your Roman Catholic subjects would
never suffer, knowing that we owe our lives and our means to the defense
of the dignity of your crown: Above all to the defense of the right God
gives you, and which is founded on his word.31

These ideas are developed to their full extent in du Moulin’s
Bouclier de la Foi, where du Moulin again picks up the theme of the
28

Du Moulin, Défense, p. 6.
“La question a été agité si le Pape peur déposer nos Rois, et s’il est en la puissance
des Papes de disposer de vôtre Couronne.” Du Moulin, Défense, p. 6.
30
“Déjà il a en sa puissance le tier de vôtre terre, et à soubstrait de vôtre obeïssance
le quint de vos subjects, à savoir les Ecclésiastiques, qui se disent n’être point vos subjects, et qui ne sont pas justiciables devant vôtre justice, et ont, même pour leur temporel, un autre souveraine hors du Royaume.” Du Moulin, Défense, p. 7.
31
“Chose que nous comme aussi plusieurs Catholiques Romains de vos subjects, ne
souffrirons jamais, sachans que nous devons nos vies et nos moyens, à la défense de la
dignité de vôtre Couronne: Sur tout à la défense d’un droit que Dieu vous donne, et qui
est fondé en sa parole.” Du Moulin, Défense, p. 7.
29

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THE CHARENTON CONTROVERSY

abuses of papal authority and its encroachment on the privileges of
the temporal estate. Three chapters are dedicated to the issue of
papal and royal authority. The first chapter concerns itself with the
power of the pope over the crown and lives of the kings. The second
chapter discusses how these papal claims are contrary to the word of
God, and the third chapter examines whether the power of the kings
exists through divine right. Du Moulin first sets the context for his
argument against papal claims to be temporal lords. Throughout the
discourse, he displays a highly developed sensitivity to the historical
record. Beginning with the papal claim to have the authority to
depose emperors and kings, du Moulin lists all the various examples
of when popes arrogated this power to themselves, beginning with
the Investiture Contest between Pope Gregory VII and King Henry
IV.32 Under the pontificate of Innocent III, the Fourth Lateran Council
“gave the Popes power to absolve subjects from the fidelity sworn to
their Lord, and to give his lands to other Catholic lords.”33 Citing the
Council of Lyons in 1245 when Pope Innocent IV deposed the Holy
Roman Emperor Frederick II, du Moulin describes the full implications arising from such claims:
And since Gregory VII until Albert of Bavaria who was completely
deprived of the dignity of the Empire, for the period of 260 years, they not
only removed, excommunicated, and deposed Emperors, but maintained
this by force, thus are brought about bloody wars, more than an hundred
battles, and cities without number taken and sacked.34

Turning to more contemporary events, du Moulin includes Pius V’s
deposition of Elizabeth I and the subsequent Irish rebellion; Henri III’s
assassination by Jacques Clement was the direct result of Pope Sixtus
V’s excommunication of the king:“With equal injustice Henri III our
King, being deposed and excommunicated by Sixtus V, was shortly
thereafter killed by Jacques Clement.”35 Pope Gregory XIV had
32

Du Moulin, Bouclier de la Foi, p. 774.
“donne au Pape puissance d’absoudre les subjects de la fidelité jurée à leur
Seigneur, et de donner ses terres à d’autres Seigneurs Catholiques.” Du Moulin, Bouclier
de la Foi, p. 775.
34
“Et depuis Gregoire VII jusques à Louis de Baviere auquel est entierement
descheue la dignité de l’Empire, par l’espace de 260 ans, on ne void qu’Empereurs
excommuniez et deposez, mais qui se maintiennent par force, dont sont advenues
infinies guerres sanglantes, plus de cent batailles, et villes sans nombre prises et
saccagees.” Du Moulin, Bouclier de la Foi, p. 775.
35
“Avec pareille injustice Henri III nôtre Roi, ayant été deposé par Sixte Vet excommunié, fut peu après tué par Jacques Clement.” Du Moulin, Bouclier de la Foi, p. 776.
33

BY JASON SAGER

465

declared Henri of Navarre incapable of claiming the French throne in
1592, which had, in du Moulin’s opinion, prolonged the violence of
the religious wars. In his comprehensive historical review of papal
claims of secular authority du Moulin did not limit himself to only
Protestant magistrates who ran afoul of the vicar of Christ. Du Moulin
brought to bear a laundry list of Catholic sovereigns who had been
excommunicated for opposing papal policies.36
The pontiff also had challenged the authority of orthodox magistrates. This betrayed the moral and intellectual bankruptcy of papal
claims of authority.The exercise of these claims betrayed the agenda
of the papacy.37 The naked pursuit of wealth and power was not the
only resulting evil that arose from papal claims of authority. The
excessive use of excommunication provided the necessary defense
for the abominable crime of regicide:
From the excommunications and depredations of Kings are born enterprises against their lives.This fulmination thrown against Elizabeth, Queen
of England was followed by many conspiracies against her life. From the
deposition of Henri III by Sixtus V followed the parricide committed by
Jacques Clement, for which the Pope is said to have rendered to God
thanks.38

After all this, du Moulin cites numerous examples of where the
papacy had been at the mercy of the magistrate.The purpose of cataloguing these events is to first demonstrate that the theory of papal
authority within the space of the state was a novelty initiated by overweening pontiffs and second, to illustrate that ultimately the pontiffs—and by extension, any ecclesiastical authority—are subject to
the magistrate.39 By calling on the historical record of papal abuses,
du Moulin continued to operate within the framework of a public disputatio. Du Moulin’s historicism, influenced by Catholic Gallicanism,
sought to put an objective face on the past.40 In so doing, du Moulin
36

Du Moulin, Bouclier de la Foi, pp. 788–89.
Du Moulin, Bouclier de la Foi, pp. 776–77.
38
“De ces excommunications et degradations de Rois naissent les entreprises contre
leur vie. La fulmination jettée contre la Reine d’Angleterre Elisabeth a été suivie de
plusieurs conspirations contre sa vie. De la déposition de Henri III par Sixte V s’est
ensuivis le parricide commis par Jaques Clement, pour lequel le susdit Pape rendit
graces . . .” Du Moulin, Bouclier de la Foi, pp. 778–79.
39
Du Moulin, Bouclier de la Foi, p. 777.
40
J. H. M. Salmon,“Clovis and Constantine:The Uses of History in Sixteenth-Century
Gallicanism,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 41 (1990), 584–605, here 584.
37

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THE CHARENTON CONTROVERSY

emphasizes the loyalty of the Huguenot party, in contrast to the
machinations of the Catholic leadership in France who were portrayed as agents of papal authority.After all, it had been du Perron who
argued, as part of his efforts to suppress the Lost Article of the Third
Estate, that the papacy had the right to absolve subjects from their
oaths in the case of a heretical king.41
Throughout the Bouclier du Moulin reinforced the subject’s obedience to his earthly lord. He noted that throughout Israelite history,
many of the kings had been idolaters, and yet none of the prophets
had pronounced that their subjects were free from their obligation,
nor possessed the right to kill their duly appointed king. Even Nero
could not be justly deposed by his subjects, despite the fact that he
was a less than ideal emperor:
Nero was a monster in nature, the shame of the human race, and the first
emperor who began to persecute the Church. Nevertheless, the Apostle
Saint Paul, Romans 13, speaking of the Power which then was in state, said
that it was ordained of God, and that whoever resisted him, resisted the
ordinances of God.42

Indeed,“it is also beyond all absurdity to imagine that S. Peter and the
Bishops of Rome after him had the power to depose the Emperor
Nero, or Domitian.”43 Jesus Christ himself had commanded that people
were to render unto Caesar those things that belonged to Caesar, who
for the Jews represented a pagan emperor, and yet the popes claimed
that they were authorized to incite rebellion among Christian princes.
To further drive his point home, du Moulin cites early church history.
After the persecutions, such a sizable number of Christians had populated much of the military and political structures of the Roman
Empire under the reign of Julian the Apostate that if the Christian elements in the Empire had decided to revolt, there was a serious likeli41
This, of course, ignored the fact that du Perron also carefully warned the deputies
at the Estates-General that in no case were subjects to take up arms against their
monarch.
42
“Neron étoit un monstre en nature, l’opprobre du genre humain, et le premier
Empereur qui a commencé à persecuter l’Église. Ce néanmoins l’Apostre Saint Paul,
Rom 13 parlant de la puissance qui alors étoit en état, dit qu’elle estoit ordonnée de
Dieu, et que quiconque lui resistoit, resistoit à l’ordonnance de Dieu.” Du Moulin,
Bouclier de la Foi, p. 786.
43
“Ceci aussi passe toute absurdité de s’imaginer que S. Pierre et les Évêques de
Rome après lui ayent eu puissance de déposer l’Empereur Neron, ou Domitian.” Du
Moulin, Bouclier de la Foi, p. 789.

BY JASON SAGER

467

hood that Julian would have been defeated.Yet “The Bishop of Rome
did not advise deposing [the Emperor] of the Empire.”44 Du Moulin,
referring back to the conversion of Clovis, argues that Clovis’s crowning by the pope had not reduced the power of the king of the Franks:
It is less believable that if a pagan Prince converted to the Christian faith,
as did Clovis King of France, he must become less King than he was as a
Pagan, and that his conversion to the faith must mean the diminution of
his power. That’s nevertheless the opinion of the Pope and Jesuits.45

The Protestants, on the other hand,“had never spoken of deposing
our Kings, and do not believe that any man in the world could depose
the King, or release his subjects from their oaths of fealty.”46
Distancing himself from the arguments of the earlier monarchomachs, du Moulin again advanced an image of monarchy that was
not beholden to papal interests.
Even more threatening to the authority of the crown was the Jesuit
presence in France. According to du Moulin, the Jesuits were a threat
because the superior general of the order was in the employ of the
Spanish King, and the Jesuits had been condemned by the Parlements
throughout France as “enemies of the State, and to the lives of kings.”47
Even more damning was the fact that the Jesuits taught that the pope
had power over the monarch and, harkening back to the contention
of Gregory VII and Innocent III that the pope could depose and install
the monarch at will, used the confessional to incite rebellion against
the crown.
The emphasis on the sovereignty of the crown reflected more than
just a cynical effort to maintain the good will of the king, upon which
Protestant survival depended.The polemical exchange also reflected
the new political realities of early Bourbon France, and it is within its
44
“l’Évêque de Rome ne s’advisa point de la déposer de l’Empire.” Du Moulin,
Bouclier de la Foi, p. 790.
45
“N’est non plus croyable que si un Prince Payen se converti à la foi Chrestien,
comme fit Clovis Roi de France, il doive être moins Roi qu’il n’estoit lors qu’il étoit
encore Payen, et que sa conversion à la foi doive tourner à la diminution de sa puissance. C’est la néanmoins l’opinion du Pape et des Jesuites.” Du Moulin, Bouclier de la
Foi, pp. 791–92.
46
“jamais parlé de déposer nos Rois, et ne croyons point qu’aucun homme au
monde puisse déposer le Roi, ou dispenser ses subjects du serment de fidelité.” Du
Moulin, Bouclier de la Foi, p. 793.
47
“ennemies de l’Etat, et de la vie des Rois.” Du Moulin, Défense, p. 7.

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THE CHARENTON CONTROVERSY

political context that the controversy worked in the favor of the
crown. Each side took great pains to demonstrate their loyalty to royal
authority as a mark of true devotion. On the surface, this is hardly surprising, especially coming from the Protestant camp, given that the
Protestants needed the support of the king to maintain their limited
privileges. However, further examination of what would seem to be
perfunctory declarations of loyalty reveals that the French Protestant
leadership, like the Jesuits, understood their survival depended on the
good will of the king.The first aspect of this is seen in the description
of the nature of kingship itself. In du Moulin’s writing, the republican
strains that were common in Protestant writings are replaced with a
discourse that favored strong monarchical authority.
The second aspect of this evolution is seen as du Moulin pitted the
claims of papal authority against the French crown.This encompassed
more than just the rhetoric portraying the pope as the anti-Christ and
responsible for the decayed state of Christianity in general, although
this kind of language is not far from du Moulin’s discussion. In this
regard, du Moulin tapped into a long tradition of medieval political
theorists opposing papal claims over the secular estate.48
Du Moulin’s accusations also were influenced by the parlementaire tradition in French political thought, which maintained that the
king was “a sovereign power in Church and State.”49 The question
over the nature of the relationship between the monarch and the
pope was not confined to Protestant diatribes against the abuses of
papal authority. For example, the parlementaire Antoine Arnould was
an ardent opponent of the Jesuit presence in France. He regarded
them as a fifth column that, as agents of the papal see, was a threat to
“French laws, the French Catholic Church and French institutions in
general,50 claimed the right to depose kings at will. In a letter
addressed to Henri IV, dated in 1603, Arnould warned the king that
the Jesuits supported regicide; after all, according to Arnould, the
Jesuit Jean Guignant had praised Clement’s assassination of Henri III
as heroically removing a modern-day Nero from the throne.51
48
Marsilius of Padua, The Defender of the Peace, ed. and trans. Annabel Brett (New
York, 2005), pp. 134–35; Quentin Skinner, The Foundations of Modern Political
Thought (New York, 1979), I:61–62.
49
Salmon, “Clovis and Constantine,” p. 587; Jotham Parsons, The Church in the
Republic (Washington, DC, 2004), pp. 18–19.
50
Nelson, Jesuits and the Monarchy, p. 36.
51
Antoine Arnould, Discours au Roi Henri IV sur l’Utilité ou les Inconviens de la
Nouvelle Secte ou Espece d’ordre Religieux des Jesuits (Laon, 1603), p. 9.

BY JASON SAGER

469

Although Arnould strongly opposed the Protestant party, he also
was critical of the ultra-orthodoxy of the Sorbonne theologians who
sided with the Jesuits on this issue. Arnould reminded Henri that it
was the king’s right to install bishops and other ecclesiastical offices,
and that the papacy had no authority to free the king’s subjects from
the oath of loyalty.52 These factors complicated the Catholic response
to du Moulin, especially for Richelieu as he attempted to maintain the
supremacy of the pope in spiritual matters while adhering to the view
that within the temporal sphere, the king was sovereign.
For the Protestants, these protestations of loyalty were a practical
concern. Nearly thirty years of Leaguer thought had effectively portrayed adherence to Protestantism as political schism.53 However, as
the Charenton ministers argued effectively, the Protestants were not
alone in formulating the theory of just rebellion.The Protestants were
the first to propose the right to resist “the monarchy in defense of true
religion,” and the Catholic League under Guisard leadership quickly
developed its own monarchomach rhetoric toward the French crown
if it refused to preserve the orthodoxy of the state.54 By the end of the
Wars of Religion, the theory of just rebellion had become highly
developed. The resistance theory developed as the prestige of the
crown deteriorated in the wake of the death of Henri II, under the
minorities of François II and Charles IX, and the inept reign of Henri
III. Catherine de’ Medici, although acting as regent for her two sons
and wielding a great deal of influence over Henri III, also proved to
be a liability to the authority of the crown. As an Italian, she was distrusted as a foreigner. In addition, as the moving force behind the
policy of reconciling the Protestant and Catholic factions in the interests of maintaining the stability of the kingdom, she had angered both
the Catholic nobility and ecclesiastical estate.
The theories of resistance did not go unchallenged.The emergence
of the Politiques under Michel de l’Hopital and Catherine de’ Medici
pursued a policy of religious toleration as the central pillar of a stable
France. The Politiques supported Henri of Navarre’s claim to the
throne, notwithstanding his heterodoxy and apparent lack of com52

Arnould, Discours, p. 3.
Denis Crouzet, Dieu en ses Royaumes: Une Histoire des Guerres de Religion
(Seyssel, 2009), p. 434.
54
Frederic J. Baumgartner, Radical Reactionaries: The Political Thought of the
Catholic League (Geneva, 1975), p. 15; Mario Turchetti, Tyrannie et tyrannicide de
l’Antiquité à nos jours (Paris, 2001), pp. 421–26.
53

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THE CHARENTON CONTROVERSY

mitment after his abjuration. Once on the throne, Henri continued to
seek a pragmatic solution to the religious and political crises of the
era. One such solution is evident in Henri’s religious policies. Henri’s
first appointments to vacant sees came from those in Politique circles
such as Jean Bertaut, who had supported Henri during his bid for the
crown.55 Although not directly nominated by Henri, the future
Cardinal Richelieu benefited from the support given by his father to
Henri after the assassination of Henri III at St. Cloud.56
This policy continued under Louis XIII. The Catholic agents also
took great pains to demonstrate their loyalty to the crown.Appealing
to Louis XIII’s piety and sincere devotion to a conservative
Catholicism,Arnoux, Richelieu, and others maintained the well-established position that any heterodoxy threatened the political body of
France. Richelieu in particular cites the instances when the
Protestants demonstrated their disloyalty to royal authority dating to
the reign of Francois I. Granted, Richelieu maintained that religious
heterodoxy was politically schismatic, yet he did not recommend concrete action to remove this perceived threat to the well-being of the
kingdom. This is not to say that the Protestants did not face institutionalized repression from the state.57 But this repression lacked the
violent undercurrents that had accompanied previous attacks on the
Huguenots. Based on a renewed confidence in converting France’s
Protestants, the lack of incendiary rhetoric suggests that the Catholic
clergy had developed a new representation of the Protestant that
required rejecting the dehumanizing language that had been the hallmark of the sixteenth century.
Richelieu’s contribution to the controversy is fascinating. Written
prior to his elevation to the rank of cardinal, his Principaux Points
de la Foi (1617) reveals a complex image of the man who would one
day become Louis XIII’s most powerful minister. Although the
Principaux Points de la Foi addresses the political implications of
the Charenton ministers’ Calvinism, it is not simply a political document. Rather, it reveals to a great extent how Richelieu perceived his
55
Frederic J. Baumgartner, Change and Continuity in the French Episcopate: The
Bishops and the Wars of Religion. 1547–1610 (Durham, 1986), p. 189.
56
Anthony Levi, Cardinal Richelieu and the Making of France (New York, 2000),
p. 16.
57
See, for example, Raymond Mentzer, Blood & Belief: Family Survival and Confessional Identity among the Provincial Huguenot Nobility (West Lafayette, IN, 1994);
Mentzer, Society and Culture in the Huguenot World, 1559–1685 (New York, 2002).

BY JASON SAGER

471

role as a bishop within the context of seventeenth-century devotion
and Catholic Reform, and the extent to which he had been influenced by the figures of the devotional currents in the early-seventeenth century.58
Not only had Richelieu been influenced by the Ultramontanism of
Arnoux, he also had been highly influenced by du Perron, who was an
ardent opponent of Gallican privileges.59 In 1612, Richelieu preached
a sermon (the text of which has been subsequently lost) while attending the Council of Sens, in which he denounced the “forthright
Gallicanism of Edmond Richer . . . who was aggressively determined
to extend the claims of the French church to autonomy from Rome.”60
Although Richelieu in his early career respected the authority of the
Pope in religious matters,61 the Principaux Points de la Foi demonstrates that he recognized the need to negotiate carefully the political
realities of Bourbon France. Despite his efforts to navigate this territory, the Principaux Points de la Foi demonstrates that Richelieu
favored the Ultramontane position in which the laity—and, by extension, the king—was unqualified to judge in matters of religion.
Turning his attention to du Moulin’s claim that Henri II had promised the Protestants the right to worship, Richelieu sarcastically points
out the uselessness of the Protestants in addressing their grievances
to the late Henri II. They were now just as mistaken in addressing
their complaints to Louis XIII, because it was a “pure fallacy to request
a judgment on religious differences from the King.”62 Furthermore,
based on Beza’s Confessions, Protestants had rejected presenting their
grievances to the king since he was not authorized to adjudicate in
religious matters:
The Prince, says Beza, assists with Synods, not to rule, but to serve, not to
make laws, but to propose those laws which according to the word of God
will be explained by the mouth of the Ministers, to be kept by them and
the people.63
58

Levi, Cardinal Richelieu, p. 4.
Joseph Bergin, The Rise of Richelieu (New Haven, 1991), p. 112.
60
Levi, Cardinal Richelieu, p. 38.
61
Levi, Cardinal Richelieu, p. 110.
62
“Pure fallacie de convier le Roy à cognoistre des differents de la religion.”
Richelieu, Principaux Points de la Foi (Poitiers, 1617), p. 205.
63
“Les Princes, dit Beze, assistent aux Synodes, non pour regner, mais pour servir,
non pour faire des lois, mais pour proposer celles qui selon la parole de Dieu seront
expliquées par la bouche des Ministres, afin d’être gardées par eux et par le peuple. Le
59

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THE CHARENTON CONTROVERSY

Even though this was a dangerous position to maintain, given the hostility to Rome’s interference in France’s affairs, Richelieu stakes the
middle ground by claiming the early Christian kings had willingly
given up their claims to judge on matters of religion.64
Thus when Richelieu wrote the Principaux Points de la Foi in
response to the Charenton ministers’ accusations, he began on safe
ground. He reminded the Charenton ministers that the protested loyalty of the Protestants was not evident under the reigns of François I
and Henri II, as they disobeyed the will of the early Valois kings by not
returning to Catholicism. But even more seriously, Richelieu reminds
the ministers, this disobedience under François I and Henri II became
all-out rebellion under François II and Charles IX, citing the battles of
Dreux, Saint-Denis, Jarnac, and Monconteur.65 Regarding the claim of
protecting Henri IV during “ses afflictions,” Richelieu reminds his
readership that at the time Henri himself was a heretic, and his
Protestant followers had rebelled against Henri III. Now that Henri IV
had adjured Protestantism and had returned to the Catholic fold, his
Protestant subjects opposed him.66
Richelieu asserted,“You claim your predecessors served the great
Henri, but unfortunately for you, it seems that all together they served
him, not as King, but as a promoter of their sect, for their services
anticipated his succession to the Crown.”67 Richelieu continued his
attack on the Protestant claims of loyalty by maintaining that the
praises sung by Protestants only serve “to hide under beautiful appearances the serpent which kills souls.”68

Prince dit Junius, ne cognoist, ni ne peut cognoistre en vertu de sa charge, du sens de
la foi. Nous disons, dit Witakerus, que les differents Ecclésiastiques doivent être videz
par le Ministre en vertu de la Loi. Et en un autre endroit, Je respons que Martin defere
à l’Église le jugements touchant les points de doctrine, et qu’il ne l’attribue point à
l’Empereur: et qui est-ce nie que ce jugements apparienne aux Évêques.” Richelieu,
Principaux Points de la Foi, pp. 205–06.
64
Richelieu, Principaux Points de la Foi, p. 211.
65
Richelieu, Principaux Points de la Foi, pp. 17–18.
66
Richelieu, Principaux Points de la Foi, p. 22.
67
“Par la il paroît que vos predecesseurs ont servi la grand Henry, mais le mal est
pour vous, qu’il paroist tout ensemble qu’ils l’ont servi non comme Roi, mais comme
fauteur de leur secte, puis que leurs services previenent son advenement à la
Couronne.” Richelieu, Points de la Foi, pp. 18–19.
68
“Coucher sous de belles apparances le serpent qui tue les âmes.” Richelieu,
Principaux Points de la Foi, p. 2.

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473

Richelieu then sets out the tone that subtly belies the seemingly
intolerant rhetoric that informs the entire Principaux Points de la
Foi. Unlike Henry VIII who attempted to silence Martin Luther for his
heresies, Louis XIII’s policies toward the Protestants would be more
moderated.69 Richelieu’s Principaux Points reflects this. First, he
desired the conversion of the Protestants, not through violence, but
rather “the passionate desire and hope which I have of your conversion obliges me to treat you gently.”70
Although the subsequent arguments throughout the Principaux
Points de la Foi seem anything but soft, the preceding statement
speaks to Richelieu’s view of the relationship between the Catholic
and Protestant factions. Despite the harshness of the rhetoric,
Richelieu is true to his word. Nowhere does he suggest violence
against the Protestant faction, although his claims to a reasonable
position are strained at times. Richelieu’s passionate desire and hope
for the peaceful conversion of the Calvinist party did not prevent the
bishop of Luçon from uncompromisingly rejecting all of du Moulin’s
claims. Whereas the first fourteen chapters of the Principaux Points
are dedicated to refuting, point by point, the doctrinal position
described in the Charenton ministers’ Défense, the last chapters
(15–19) contain some of Richelieu’s most hostile language employed
against the Protestants. In chapters 15 and 16, Richelieu compares the
Protestants of his day to the heretics who challenged the early
Christian Church. In the fifteenth chapter, the Protestants are compared to the Donatist sect that also had separated from the Church.
Throughout his discussion, Richelieu relies heavily on the Fathers to
support his attack.71 Richelieu buttresses his argument by claiming all
the Fathers argued that the Catholic Church was the church established by Christ when he gave Peter the keys of the Kingdom.72
Chapter 16 continued this theme by arguing that the Protestants
had renewed ancient heresies. The first of these heresies was the
rejection of the salvatory nature of good works. According to
Richelieu, this heresy first appeared under Simon Magus, who was
condemned by Ss. Irene and Theodoret.73 The second heresy renewed
69

Richelieu, Principaux Points de la Foi. p. 3.
“Le desir passioné et l’espérance que j’ai de vôtre conversion m’obligent à vous
traicter plus doucement.” Richelieu, Principaux Points de la Foi, p. 3.
71
Richelieu, Principaux Points de la Foi, p. 219.
72
Richelieu, Principaux Points de la Foi, p. 223.
73
Richelieu, Principaux Points de la Foi, p. 233.
70

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THE CHARENTON CONTROVERSY

by the Protestants was that infants without baptism could be saved—
a view that was originally held by the Pelagians. This heresy had been
successfully combated by St. Augustine.74 The final heresy reintroduced was the position that the true Church was simply a community
of believers. This doctrine first appeared with the Donatists, who
were condemned by Augustine.75 The problems with this were selfevident for Richelieu, as he goes to considerable lengths to prove the
falseness of the Protestant claims and cites a number of Church
Fathers in the process.
Richelieu concludes that the early Christian church had already
condemned the ancient heresies reintroduced by the Protestants,
showing them to be unsustainable based on the biblical text and
patristic writers. As the violence of the civil wars receded after the
promulgation of the Edict of Nantes, the image of the Protestant as
represented in Catholic sermon literature moved away from the rhetoric of violent attacks on the body of the Protestant to a more tolerant discourse, at least within the context of the seventeenth century,
that reflected the emphasis placed by the crown on the pacification
of French society.
This little-studied episode in the confessional polemics of the earlyseventeenth century reveal a number of important insights to the
political and religious realities of France after the Edict of Nantes.
Occurring at the conclusion of the Estates-General in 1617, the
Charenton Controversy took place within the larger context of the
discourse of the shaping of royal authority that had developed
throughout the crisis of Henri IV’s assassination and prolonged conflict between the regency government and the prince of Condé. The
Estates-General did not provide the foundation of an absolutist state,
but there can be little question that the sovereignty of the crown was
the victor of this debate.
The Charenton Controversy demonstrates the extent to which the
prestige of the crown had been restored under the first Bourbons.
Both sides in this confessional polemic regarded the crown as the
natural arbiter in this dispute. Furthermore, Arnoux and du Moulin
understood that their existence within France was dependant on the
good will of the king. Accordingly, they appealed to monarchial
74
75

Richelieu, Principaux Points de la Foi, pp. 236–37.
Richelieu, Principaux Points de la Foi, p. 240.

BY JASON SAGER

475

authority while portraying themselves as good subjects and their
opponents as enemies within the kingdom.
The Charenton Controversy lacked the incendiary rhetoric that
had underpinned earlier confessional conflicts. Instead, a more academic framework replaced the violent language. Taking on the form
of a public disputatio, the proponents sought to cast a rational
defense of their respective claims of truth. More important, by appealing to the symbolic presence of the king through their dedicatory
epistles and prefaces, the authors constructed an image of royal
authority that was becoming increasingly deanchored from its traditional moorings.
In the process, the protagonists in the Charenton controversy provided the basis for strengthened monarchial authority. However, as the
literature of the Charenton controversy reveals, this was not imposed
by the crown. Furthermore, in the venue of a public disputatio, both
sides of the confessional divide willingly subsumed a part of their
autonomy to the authority of the crown as a means of restraining the
popular expressions of religious violence that had been endemic
during the Wars of Religion. Coming on the heels of the EstatesGeneral of 1614, these little-studied religious polemics from the first
decades of Louis XIII’s reign will continue to reveal important insights
into the construction and meaning of kingship in France after the
Edict of Nantes.

REVIEW ARTICLE

STILL MORE LIGHT ON VATICAN COUNCIL II
BY

JARED WICKS, S.J.*
Dialogo e rinnovamento.Verbali e testi del segretariato per l’unità dei cristiani nella preparazione del concilio Vaticano II (1960–1962). Edited by
Mauro Velati. [Istituto per le scienze religiose, Serie: Fonti e strumenti di
ricerca, 5.] (Bologna: Il Mulino. 2011. Pp. 939. €60,00. ISBN 978-8-81513188-1.)
Konzilstagebuch Sebastian Tromp SJ, mit Erlauterungen und Akten aus der
Arbeit der Kommission für Glauben und Sitten, II.Vatikanisches Konzil.
Edited and annotated by Alexandra von Teuffenbach. Vol. II, pts. 1 and 2
(1962–63). (Nordhausen: Verlag Traugott Bautz. 2011. Pp. 1279. €150,00.
ISBN 978-3-883-09625-4.)
The Council Notes of Edward Schillibeeckx 1962–1963. Critically
Annotated Bilingual Edition. Edited by Karim Schelkens. [Instrumenta
Theologica, XXXIV.] (Leuven: Peeters. 2011. Pp. xxx, 77. €28,00. ISBN 9789-042-92453-6.)
Il Concilio Vaticano II. Una storia mai scritta. By Roberto de Mattei (Turin:
Lindau. 2011. Pp. 625. €38,00. ISBN 978-8-871-80894-9.)
This review article continues three earlier presentations of publications of
source-documents and scholarly studies on the Second Vatican Council and its
documents.1 Presented here are (1) an ample documentary record of work in
the Secretariat for Promoting the Unity of Christians during the Council’s
preparation; (2) the second volume (covering October 1962 to September
1963) of the office diary of Sebastian Tromp, secretary of the Council’s
Doctrinal Commission; (3) the diary of Edward Schillebeeckx for the
Council’s Period I of 1962, with added comments during Period II on the ori-

*Father Wicks is scholar-in-residence at the Pontifical College Josephinum in
Columbus, OH, email: jwicks@jcu.edu.
1
Jared Wicks,“New Light on Vatican Council II,” The Catholic Historical Review, 92
(2006), 609–28; Jared Wicks,“More Light on Vatican Council II,” The Catholic Historical
Review, 94 (2008), 75–101; and Jared Wicks,“Further Light on Vatican Council II,” The
Catholic Historical Review, 95 (2009), 546–69.

476

BY JARED WICKS, S.J.

477

entation votes of October 30, 1963; and (4) a one-volume traditionalist and
highly critical account of the whole Council, which treats as well background
during the pontificate of Pius XII and reports on the negative effects of the
Council on the Catholic Church to 1978 under Pope Paul VI.2
The 1960–62 Preparatory Work for the Second Vatican Council by
the Secretariat for Promoting the Unity of Christians
Mauro Velati has given us a most welcome work of documentation on how
the Secretariat for Promoting the Unity of Christians fulfilled its mandate of
bringing the ecumenical cause into the 1960–62 preparation for the Second
Vatican Council.3 Pope John XXIII instituted the secretariat on Pentecost
Sunday, June 5, 1960, by a paragraph of his Motu Proprio, Superni Dei nutu,
in which he formally initiated the direct preparation of the Council.4
Following upon the massive collection by the broad-based canvas of 1959–60
of topical proposals from the Council’s future members, the curial congregations, and pontifical universities and faculties, in June 1960 the pope established the ten preparatory commissions of the Council. These were to submit
schemas in areas such as theology, bishops and the governance of dioceses,
religious life, the liturgy, studies and seminaries, the missions, and the lay apostolate. To the ten commissions, the pope added two “secretariats”—one to
prepare a conciliar treatment of the modern means of communication and
the other to help Christians not in communion with the Apostolic See to
follow the work of the Council and more easily find the way “to attaining that
unity for which Jesus Christ prayed earnestly to the Heavenly Father.” As well,
2
A recent wide-based and informative survey of historical and interpretative work
on the Second Vatican Council is Gilles Routhier, Michael Quisinsky, Philippe J. Roy, and
Ward De Pril, “Recherches et publications récents autour de Vatican II,” Laval
théologique et philosophique, 67 (2011), 321–73. Another such work is Massimo
Faggioli,“Council Vatican II: Bibliographic Overview 2007–2010,” Cristianesimo nella
storia, 32 (2011), 755–91. Both literature reviews note the great interpretive potential
of the work of Christoph Theobald, S.J., of Centre Sevres, Paris, in the first part of his
two-volume theological study, La reception du concile Vatican II. I. Accéder à la source
(Paris, 2009). This 928-page analysis will be followed by a second part, still in preparation, with the subtitle L’Église dans l’histoire et la societé. See, in Routhier et al., pp.
372–73, and in Faggioli, pp. 767–68, 771–73. Theobald also is treated by Faggioli in his
compact work Vatican II: The Battle for Meaning (Mahwah, NJ, 2012), pp. 127–28.
3
Velati’s monograph, Una difficile transizione. Il cattolicesimo tra unionismo ed
ecumenismo (1952–1964) (Bologna, 1996), set forth in its first part the activities,
begun in 1952, of the Conférence catholique pour les questions oecuméniques coordinated by Willebrands. The book then sketched the work of the secretariat from its
founding to the completion and promulgation of the Second Vatican Council Decree on
Ecumenism, Unitatis redintegratio, in November 1964 at the end of the Council’s
Period III.
4
Acta Apostolicae Sedis, 52 (1960), 433–37, instituting the secretariat in no. 9 on
p. 436.

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STILL MORE LIGHT ON VATICAN COUNCIL II

the pope instituted a large Central Preparatory Commission of cardinals and
bishops to review schemas produced by the particular commissions and secretariats to evaluate their adequacy for submission to the whole Council.
The new volume assembled by Velati documents a principal part of the
Unity Secretariat’s first two years of activity, giving (1) the initial draft texts
produced by each of the secretariat’s several subcommissions, (2) the minutes
of meetings in which the secretariat’s members and consultors evaluated each
draft, and (3) the revised texts that the secretariat either circulated among the
preparatory commissions or in certain cases to submitted to the Central
Preparatory Commission for eventual treatment by the whole Council.Velati’s
collection is unique, since we do not have publications documenting, with
texts and minutes of meetings, the genesis of the schemas that the ten preparatory commissions or the other secretariat developed for submission to the
Central Preparatory Commission.5 Now we have just such a record of the
Unity Secretariat, whereas for all the other preparatory bodies the initial and
intermediate draft texts remain in archives, and we can only pick up the iter
of the schemas when they came before the Central Commission to be evaluated in their suitability for distribution to the Council members.6
1. The Unity Secretariat’s Personnel and Subcommissions
The dominant personages in the secretariat’s preparatory work for the
Second Vatican Council were, of course, Cardinal Augustin Bea, the secretariat’s president from its founding until his death in 1968,7 and Monsignor
Johannes Willebrands, the omnipresent secretary who effectively oversaw the
complex operations of this new Vatican institution.8 The detailed minutes of
5
For the Preparatory Theological Commission, the Diarium Secretarii of Sebastian
Tromp, now in a volume edited by Alexandra von Teuffenbach (covered later in this article), gives the minutes of many subcommission and plenary meetings, but does not furnish the draft texts under discussion in the meetings.
6
The texts submitted to the Central Preparatory Commission, the members’ animadversiones, and the members’ votes on the schemas are given in Acta et
Documenta Concilio Oecumenico Vaticano II Apprando, ser. II (Preparatoria), vol. II,
Acta Pontificiae Commissionis Centralis Praeparatoriae, pts. I–IV (Vatican City,
1965–68). A narrative of the Central Commission’s work through its seven, week-long
working sessions, from June 1961 to June 1962, is given in Antonino Indelicato,
Difendere la dottrina o annunciare l’evangelo. Il dibattito nella Commissione centrale preparatoria del Vaticano II (Genoa, 1962).
7
On Bea, see Atti de Simposio Card. Agostino Bea (Roma, 16–19 dicembre 1981
(Rome, 1983); Stjepan Schmidt, Augustin Bea, the Cardinal of Unity (New Rochelle,
NY, 1992); and Jerome-Michael Vereb, “Because He Was a German!” Cardinal Bea and
the Origins of Roman Catholic Engagement in the Ecumenical Movement (Grand
Rapids, MI, 2006).
8
Newly published primary materials from Willebrands include “You Will Be Called
Repairer of the Breach.” The Diary of J. G. M. Willebrands 1958–1961, ed. Theo

BY JARED WICKS, S.J.

479

plenary discussions were taken by the secretariat’s first staff members
(Thomas Stransky, C.S.P., and Jean-François Arrighi) and were composed in
French by the latter for internal circulation. The sixteen voting members of
the secretariat in 1960–62 included bishops such as Lorenz Jaeger
(Paderborn), Joseph Martin (Rouen), John C. Heenan (Liverpool), François
Charrière (Lausanne–Geneva–Fribourg), and Emiel-Jozef De Smedt (Bruges)
and senior scholars such as Joseph R. Höfer (ecclesiastical counselor of the
German embassy in Rome), Michele Maccarrone (church historian, Lateran
University), Gustave Thils (professor of theology, Catholic University of
Louvain), and Charles Boyer, S.J. (faculty member at the Gregorian University
and director of the center Unitas in Rome). Among the twenty consultors
serving the secretariat in 1960–62 were Hermann Volk (Münster); Eduard
Stakemeier (Paderborn); Johannes Feiner (Seminary of Chur, Switzerland);
Christophe-Jean Dumont, O.P. (the center “Istina,” Paris); Jérôme Hamer, O.P.
(Le Saulchoir, Paris); Gregory Baum, O.S.A. (Toronto); Maurice Bévenot, S.J.
(Heythrop College, England); Gustave Weigel, S.J. (Woodstock College,
Woodstock, MD); George Tavard, A.A. (Mount Mercy College, Pittsburgh); and
Edward Hanahoe, S.A. (Graymoor, Garrison, NY).9
Bea initiated the work of the secretariat by a letter of October 3, 1960,
asking the members and consultors to submit proposals of questions and
topics that the new body should consider. Fourteen responses came in, from
which came a first programmatic outline for discussion in the opening plenary meeting of November 14–15.10 The secretariat’s program of work was
quickly concretized by the formation of ten subcommissions for preparing

Salemink, [Instrumenta Theologica, 32], (Leuven, 2009); and Les agendas conciliaires
de Mgr. J. Willebrands, Secrétaire du Secrétariat pour l’unité des chrétiens, ed. Leo
Declerck, [Instrumenta Theologica, 33], (Leuven, 2009). Peeters will soon publish, in the
series Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium, the papers presented at the 2009 scholarly symposia in Utrecht and Rome on Willebrands during the
centenary of his birth.
9
Velati, Dialogo e rinnovamento, pp. 18–25 (initial appointments), pp. 103–10 (full
roster of members and consultors), and especially pp. 55–76 (previous experiences of
the individuals before the preparatory work and their main contributions as they interacted with each other). The distinction between members and consultors played little
part in the assigning and drafting of texts, but came into play late in the process when
only the members voted to approve texts for further circulation. For the secretariat,
some desired appointments went unfilled because of appointments to other preparatory commissions, as seen in the cases of Bishop Léon-Joseph Suenens, who was
appointed to both the Commission on Bishops and the Central Preparatory
Commission, as well as Bishop James Griffiths (auxiliary of New York) and Yves Congar,
who were appointed to the Theological Commission.
10
Velati, Dialogo e rinnovamento, p. 121 (Bea’s letter), pp. 124–51 (the members’
suggestions, of which the most elaborate sketch came from Bishop Pieter Nierman of
Groningen, pp. 144–51), and pp. 122–24 (outline in English, based on the members’ suggestions, for the first plenary).

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STILL MORE LIGHT ON VATICAN COUNCIL II

documents under the lead of a principal relator. The topics were (1) the
ecclesial condition of baptized non-Catholic Christians (relator Bishop Pieter
Nierman of Groningen); (2) the Church’s hierarchical structure and the
source of the powers of its ministers ( Jaeger); (3) individual and community
conversions to the Catholic Church (Höfer); (4) the priesthood of all believers, laypeople in the Church, and religious liberty or tolerance (Charrière); (5)
the Word of God in the Church (Volk); (6) liturgical issues such as the vernacular languages in the Mass and sacraments and Communion under both
forms (Martin); (7) mixed marriages (Jaeger); (8) the octave of prayer of unity
(Dumont); (9) the central ecumenical problem, related to the World Council
of Churches and its concept of unity (Hamer); and (10) questions regarding
the Jews (Baum).11
A further topic was the question of non-Catholic observers attending the
Council, for which Willebrands took responsibility and held a consultative
meeting with members and consultors residing in Rome on December 15,
1960. After a report and further discussion at the February 1961 plenary, the
secretariat submitted a votum favoring the invitation of observers and sketching their roles, which the Central Preparatory Commission approved by a
large majority in November 1961.12
As the work of the subcommissions developed, Subcommission 1 dropped
the term members from its topic and reformulated this as “the ordo of nonCatholic Christians to the Church.” The cumbersome topic of Subcommission
4 was divided in August 1961 into two distinct parts—namely, that of the
priesthood of believers and that of religious liberty—with the latter topic
assigned to a new Subcommission 5 (relator, De Smedt).The newly numbered
Subcommission 6 (formerly 5) reformulated its topic as “the power (virtus)
11

Velati, Dialogo e rinnovamento, pp. 173–74 (giving members and consultors who
volunteered for service on each topic). After the secretariat’s institution in June 1960,
John XXIII had quietly entrusted it on September 18, 1960, with questions regarding
Jews and antisemitism in the Church. For this area, Abbot Leo Rudloff, O.S.B. (Dormition
Abbey, Jerusalem), became a secretariat member, and John Oesterreicher (Institute of
Judeo-Christian Studies, Seton Hall University) joined the group of consultors.
12
Velati, Dialogo e rinnovamento, pp. 176–86 (Willebrands’s exposition of
December, with minutes of the ensuing discussion presided over by Bea) and pp.
301–14 (report and discussion in the secretariat’s February 1961 plenary meeting).
The votum on observers and the Central Preparatory Commission discussion of
November 7, 1961, are given in Acta et Documenta, ser. II, vol. II, pt. I:449–95. See also
Indelicato, Difendere la dottrina o annunciare l’evangelo, pp. 57–67. For a survey on
this topic and the secretariat’s further role in hosting the Council’s non-Catholic
observers, see Velati, Una difficile transizione, pp. 275–318. Thomas Stransky
reviewed this dimension of the Second Vatican Council at the 1998 congress of the
Istituto Paolo VI, published as “Paul VI and the Delegated Observer/Guests to Vatican
Council II,” in Paolo VI e l’ecumenismo, [Pubblicazioni dell’Istituto Paolo VI, 23],
(Brescia and Rome, 2001), pp. 118–58.

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481

of the Word of God and its principal role in the Church.” A new
Subcommission 12 (relator Jaeger) emerged out of the initial Subcommission
9 and began work in August 1961 on a proposal for making the secretariat a
permanent body in the Church’s central government after the Second Vatican
Council.13 At the same time, the secretariat created Subcommission 13, on tradition and Sacred Scripture (relator Feiner), to prepare an ecumenically constructive alternative to directions taken in the Preparatory Theological
Commission’s schema De fontibus revelationis. As Subcommission 3 refocused its original topics on that of Catholic ecumenism, questions arose about
practical aspects of ecumenical activities and relations with separated
churches, which led to the creation of a new Subcommission 14 (relator
Thils) entrusted with outlining an Ecumenical Directory for later development and publication.14 Clearly, the secretariat took on a very full agenda,
including several topics that promised positive effects across the whole span
of the Council’s future work of church renewal.
2. The Secretariat’s Proposals (vota) for the Preparatory
Commissions
Several of the secretariat’s preparatory texts were recommendations that
it sent to other commissions. The April 1961 plenary meeting approved the
report of Subcommission 6, on liturgical reforms especially desirable to dissipate prejudices and objections to Catholic worship among the Orthodox and
Protestants. The report, with vota and recommendations, went to the
Preparatory Commission on Liturgy, with which some members and consultors of Subcommission 6 had already met to exchange views.15 Subcommis13
Velati gives the documentation of this subcommission’s work in Dialogo e rinnovamento, pp. 747–62 and 899–914. Shortly after a first draft was circulated and discussed at the November 1961 plenary, John XXIII told Bea that the topic would not be
on the Council’s agenda but was reserved to the pope. A revised and expanded sketch
came before the March 1962 plenary, at which Bea informed members and consultors
that the pope did want the SPCU to continue after the Council and would gladly receive
this part of the secretariat’s work as a memorandum for future consideration (p. 913).
14
Documentation in Velati, Dialogo e rinnovamento, pp. 793–815. A first outline
came before the November plenary along with annexes for other preparatory commissions on imbuing seminary studies and the preparation of missionaries with ecumenical sensibilities. Discussion during the November 1961 plenary showed a consensus on the need for a directory for bishops and others, but the work was then set aside
until 1965 when it proved useful in composing part I of the secretariat’s Ecumenical
Directory of 1967.
15
Velati, Dialogo e rinnovamento, pp. 409–13 (editor’s survey of this subcommission’s activity), pp. 414–19 (initial draft, composed mainly by Tavard), pp. 420–27
(revised report for the plenary, with sections on an expanded lectionary; homilies on
scripture; more active congregational participation; wider use of the vernacular; watchfulness over devotional practices; permitting lay Communion from the chalice; allowing concelebration; mitigating rules against shared prayer and worship with non-

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STILL MORE LIGHT ON VATICAN COUNCIL II

sion 8 drew up in early 1961 an ample study in view of reforming the existing canonical legislation on mixed marriages.A text discussed at the April plenary was revised so as to conclude with nine proposals (vota) that the August
plenary discussed in detail. Subsequent modifications yielded a text with a
short introduction and ten vota, which the secretariat’s members approved
in November for submission to the Preparatory Commission on the Discipline
of the Sacraments.16
In May 1961 three important products of the secretariat’s work went to
the Preparatory Theological Commission as contributions offered for its
schema De ecclesia.17 The first text came from Subcommission 4, which had
presented to the February plenary several proposals (vota) on the priesthood
of all members of the people of God, the active role that the laity should have
in the Church, and the complementary relation of the former priesthood with
the ministerial priesthood. To this was added a draft of a biblically based conciliar teaching on the royal priesthood of believers, which relator De Smedt
had requested from Lucien Cerfaux of the Faculty of Theology at the Catholic
University of Louvain.18 The April plenary received a developed Latin text on
the priesthood of believers, organized around eighteen principal and three
complementary vota that were stated as what the Second Vatican Council
should teach. The discussion led to the definitive form of the twenty-one proposals for the schema De ecclesia of the Theological Commission on the dignity and duties of the priestly people of all the baptized.19

Catholics; and recognizing, where assured, the Christian baptism of converts), and pp.
431–37 (minutes of the April 18, 1961, discussion, which led to only minor modifications of the report, but in which Bea spoke with conviction on expanding use of vernacular languages and on concelebration as “absolutely desirable,” p. 433).
16
Velati, Dialogo e rinnovamento, pp. 439–57 (April text and minutes of discussion), pp. 613–33 (vota for August, letter of World Council General Secretary Willem
Visser ’t Hooft, discussion), and pp. 695–700 (final text for the Commission on
Sacraments).
17
Tromp, the Theological Commission’s secretary, noted in his office diary that on
May 25, 1961, he received from Willebrands the documents of the secretariat “de
Hierarchia, de laicis, de membris Ecclesiae.” Konzilstagebuch Sebastian Tromp SJ, mit
Erlauterungen und Akten aus der Arbeit der Theologischen Kommission für
Glauben und Sitten II.Vatikanisches Konzil, ed. and annot.Alexandra von Teuffenbach
(Rome, 2006), I, pt. 1:223.
18
Velati, Dialogo e rinnovamento, pp. 234–40 (French text of the report, with vota
as well in Latin, including Cerfaux’s doctrinal sketch in French) and pp. 240–47 (discussion during the Februrary 1961 plenary in which most members and consultors
gave the report their enthusiastic approval).
19
Velati, Dialogo e rinnovamento, pp. 354–69 (revised text for the April plenary,
with most of the vota beginning “Doceatur . . .” or “Doceantur fideles . . .”), pp. 373–78
(minutes of the April discussion on each votum), and pp. 369–72 (definitive text of the
proposed teaching).

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483

The second text for the constitution De ecclesia, a product of the secretariat’s Subcommission 1, benefited from redactional work by Hamer, who
prepared eight theses on the Church, the means of grace or elements constituting the Church, the efficacy of individual means even in separation from
the complete ecclesial organism, the true but imperfect relation to the
Church conferred by elements in separated bodies, and the need to ascertain
the different levels at which the Orthodox and Protestants possess the ecclesial means or elements. The report intentionally avoided the term member.
As a practical conclusion, the report urged respectful use of the terms dissidents or separated brethren, in place of heretics and schismatics. In discussion at the April 1961 plenary, an added ninth thesis noted the variety of biblical images applicable to the Church such as the kingdom of Christ or his
vine, and to belonging as pertaining to his family or people or being a
member of his body or stone of his house.20
In the text prepared by Subcommission 2, the secretariat took on topics
central to the Catholic-Protestant controversy. The result was an ecumenically sensitive treatment, aimed at influencing of the schema De ecclesia, on
the Church in its relation to Christ and its hierarchical structure, especially
the episcopate. Although the contribution exerted no influence on the
Preparatory Theological Commission, it did anticipate major positions of the
future Constitution Lumen gentium. Here the Church is set forth as “mystery,” as people of God on earthly pilgrimage, as united by the Holy Spirit
given by Christ, and as living under the “royal dominium” of Christ over his
Church. For ministerial service the bishops succeed the Apostles, forming a
collegial body united with its head, the Roman pontiff, whose teaching draws
on scripture and tradition under the rule of the consensus in faith of the
whole teaching office.
Subcommission 2 had first offered the secretariat’s February 1961 plenary meeting a treatment, drawn from research by Maccarrone, of the
fourth- and fifth-century titles for the pope and of several positions on the
pope and bishops advanced in the First Vatican Council’s ecclesiological
debate. But the February discussion turned the project in new directions,
especially toward the Church’s intimate connection with Christ, the collegial structure and role of the episcopate, and practical proposals regarding
the Roman Curia in church governance. A quite different proposal came
before the April plenary, with concise conclusions in the form of eleven
ecclesiological proposals (vota), which the members and consultors
20
Velati, Dialogo e rinnovamento, pp. 188–98 (a first-draft text, found unsatisfactory at the February 1961 plenary), pp. 318–28 (Hamer’s French text, after a
March meeting of the subcommission at Le Saulchoir, to which Latin theses were
added), pp. 328–29 (addition of the ninth thesis and clarifying “member”), and pp.
329–35 (minutes of the April 17 discussion, making evident the wide approval of the
text).

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STILL MORE LIGHT ON VATICAN COUNCIL II

refined, restructured, and approved for transmission to the Theological
Commission.21
During July 1961 the Preparatory Theological Commission completed its
schema De fontibus revelationis, which the Central Preparatory Commission
reviewed in early November.22 Bea had offered a lengthy critique in the
Central Commission, and he saw the urgency of putting into circulation an
ecumenically more constructive account of the relation between tradition
and scripture. Thus the secretariat’s Subcommission 13 was created, under
the lead of Feiner. For the plenary meeting of late November 1961, Feiner—
aided by comments from his collaborators Boyer, Bévenot, Stakemeier, and
Tavard—produced a Latin study of the relationship of tradition and scripture,
which provided eight recommendations for conciliar teaching in its conclusion. For example, revelation given by Christ and formulated in the apostolic
age should be called the unicus fons revelationis, whereas tradition, a
dynamic process, and the written scriptures are to be seen as media or viae
of transmission.The central votum, no. 5, urged that the question of the “material sufficiency” of scripture be left open for ongoing discussion among
Catholic theologians. But the plenary also received the minority report of
Boyer, who contended that the Council of Trent had expressed itself in a
manner that excluded the fifth votum.The discussion on November 30, with
fresh input from Boyer, showed that most all agreed with main request, but
the constructive contribution of Bévenot led to a clarifying reformulation of
the central point.23 When this paper went to the Theological Commission, the
21

Velati, Dialogo e rinnovamento, pp. 213–29 (initial text and February discussion,
with influential suggestions of a more pronounced Christological grounding by the
consultor, Don Alberto Bellini of Brescia, and Hamer’s suggestion of treating episcopal
collegiality), pp. 337–41 (new text for the April plenary), pp. 347–50 (discussion, on
April 17, especially Thils’s urging a new order to articulate a basic ecclesiology in vota
1–4), and pp. 342–46 (the final twelve proposals on the Church and the episcopate).
The consultor, Stakemeier, demonstrated how the Council’s Lumen gentium took up
the twelve vota of the secretariat into the Council’s ecclesiology. “Leitmotive der
Kirchenkonstitution in einem votum des Einheitssekretarits vom 20. April 1961,” in
Martyria, Liturgia, Diakonia, Festschrift Bp. Hermann Volk, ed. Otto Semmelroth
(Mainz, 1968), pp. 386–98.
22
Karim Schelkens treats De fontibus in his dissertation for the Catholic University
of Leuven on the schema’s genesis, published as Catholic Theology of Revelation on
the Eve of Vatican II. A Redaction History of the Schema De fontibus revelationis
(1960–1962), [Brill’s Series in Church History, 41], (Leiden, 2010), which informs that
on July 29, 1961, the Vatican printing office returned printed copies of the schema to
Tromp’s commission office (p. 218). The Central Preparatory debate on De fontibus
took place on November 9–10, 1961, as documented in Acta et Documenta, ser. II, vol.
II, pt. I:523–61, and set forth by Indelicato, Difendere la dottrina o annunciare l’evangelo, pp. 77–90.
23
Velati, Dialogo e rinnovamento, pp. 764–80 (the study, with the eight-point concluding votum on p. 780), pp. 781–82 and pp. 788–89 (objections by Boyer), pp. 783–88

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485

schema De fontibus could no longer be altered, since the Central Preparatory
Commission had already reviewed it. But the content gained no little actuality in November 1962, since it expressed the secretariat’s main contention in
the work of the conciliar Mixed Commission (Doctrine/Secretariat), created
by John XXIII to revise De fontibus after the vote in the aula on November
20 and the pope’s removal of the schema from the immediate agenda of the
Second Vatican Council.
3. The Secretariat’s Schemas for the Council
Other texts prepared by the secretariat in 1960–62 were destined for the
Central Preparatory Commission for its approval as schemas for presentation
to the full Council.
Subcommission 4, beyond its work on the priesthood of all the faithful,
worked out a text on religious liberty, for which John XXIII gave permission
in early 1962 for its submission to the Central Commission.24 The documentation given by Velati includes an original “note” by Louis Jannssens of the
Faculty of Theology at the Catholic University of Louvain, presented by De
Smedt in the February 1961 plenary, on tolerance of those who exercise their
natural right to believe differently and on collaboration by Catholics with
non-Catholics on secular projects. To this Weigel added a short Latin statement on the church-state relationship, and Boyer cited Pope Leo XIII to call
in question the proposed denial that the civil state owes worship to God. De
Smedt presented to the April plenary a revised text in Latin, structured
around fifteen vota for conciliar teaching on religious liberty, secular collab-

(minutes of the November 30, 1961, discussion of the report and proposed votum), and
p. 790 (reformulated no. 5, from Bévenot’s urging that the point be to avoid formulations that exclude views held by Catholics in the debate). Umberto Betti published an
extract from the subcommission study, with the eight recommended positions, in La
dottrina del concilio Vaticano II sulla trasmissione della rivelazione (Rome, 1985),
pp. 292–98. In Betti’s documentation, no. 5 was further modified beyond what Velati
offers on p. 790 before this went to the Theological Commission. The Catholics who
held a type of sufficiency of scripture and should not even appear to be censured were
indicated as the Fathers, medieval theologians, Matthias Joseph Scheeben, and many
contemporaries. Their view is that, “post depositum revelationis completum veritates
revelatae omnes—excepta sane quaestione de Canone Scripturae utpote sui generis—
in Sacra Scriptura aliquo saltem modo continentur vel insinuantur, quae quidem simul
per Traditionem conservantur et explicantur” [once the deposit of revelation is complete, all revealed truths, except of course the Canon of Scripture (a question sui
generis), are at least in some way contained or insinuated in Holy Scripture, while they
are at the same time preserved and explained through Tradition] (Betti, p. 298).
24
The long iter leading to the Council’s Dignitatis humanae is set forth by Sylvia
Scatena in La fatica della libertà. L’elaborazione della dichiarazione «Dignatatis
humanae» sulla libertà religiosa del Vaticano II (Bologna, 2003), a work presented in
Wicks,“New Light,” pp. 621–28.

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STILL MORE LIGHT ON VATICAN COUNCIL II

oration with others, and the relation of the Church to civil society. Bea
opened the discussion of the vota with the momentous proposal that De
Smedt should further develop the paper into “a constitution” on this topic,
since it pertains to the competencies of the secretariat, because of its importance for Catholic-Protestant relations. Consequently, at the August 1961 plenary the text had the form of a concise three-chapter schema, which, after discussion and revisions, was approved by the secretariat’s members, with the
exception of the placet iuxta modum voted by Boyer.25 After further stylistic revision, this text came in June 1962 before the Central Preparatory
Commission and clashed with the Theological Commission’s quite different
treatment of tolerance, the church-state relation, and the Church’s right to
preach the Gospel, which made up chapters IX and X of its schema De ecclesia.26 The Theological Commission’s text on the Church was severely criticized by many Council members in December 1962. It was set aside and thus
did not proceed to the step of a formal vote. The secretariat then added its
text on religious liberty to its schema on ecumenism as chapter V, which
began the often troubled iter leading to the Declaration Dignitatis humanae,
promulgated on the Second Vatican Council’s final day, December 7, 1965.27
A second secretariat text sent to the Central Preparatory Commission was
a theological gem of a brief “pastoral decree” on the Word of God in the life
and ministries of the Church. It began as a draft in German by Volk of a “theology of the Word,” which the author had further developed in the light of
comments by the other members of Subcommission 5 (later 6). A French version stimulated a lively discussion at the April 1961 plenary.28 Later in 1961
Bea realized there was no hope that the Theological Commission would welcome this creative account, and so work turned in the direction of a decree
of pastoral applications. By March 1962 a schema was on hand in Latin, which
25
Velati, Dialogo e rinnovamento, pp. 247–61 (the Jannssens-De Smedt “note”), pp.
272–76 (Weigel’s contribution), pp. 379–94 (the April text with fifteen vota and the discussion begun by Bea’s decision given on p. 391), and pp. 591–611 (the August schema,
discussion of it, and Boyer’s statement of his reservation).
26
The two texts are in Acta et Documenta, ser. II, vol. II, pt. IV:657–72 (Theological
Commission) and pp. 676–84 (secretariat). Scatena recounts the clash in the Central
Preparatory Commission between the two options for treating religious freedom in La
fatica della libertà, pp. 36–42, as does Indelicato in Difendere la dottrina o annunciare l’evangelo, pp. 298–307. An attempt to resolve the impasse posed by the clashing
texts, by a type of mixed commission under Cardinal Pietro Ciriaci, did not succeed.
27
The De ecclesia chapters are in Acta Synodalia, I, pt. 4:65–74, whereas the secretariat’s chapter V, on religious liberty, distributed to the Council Fathers on November
18, 1963, is in Acta Synodalia, II, pt. 5:433–41.
28
Velati, Dialogo e rinnovamento, pp. 395–409 (report and minutes). The text
treated the word as both gift of God and ecclesial task, the relation of word and sacrament, the word in pastoral ministry, and consequences to be drawn by the Council
regarding the Church being under the word such as renewing the first part of the Mass,
making scripture more accessible, and urging its more frequent reading by the faithful.

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487

the Central Preparatory Commission discussed on its final day of work, June
20, 1962, but the slightly revised version of July was not published for the
Council Fathers and was not mentioned among the twenty texts officially
listed at the end of the Council’s Period I for future work.29
The secretariat prepared a text for the Council to issue as an exhortation
to prayer for the unity of Christians. An initial focus was on the existing
Octave of Prayer for Unity with its two competing forms—namely, the
Atonement Friars’ prayer for reunion of the separated with the Catholic
Church and the approach of Paul Couturier in which Catholics, together with
Orthodox and Protestants, prayed together for “unity as Christ wishes and by
the means which he desires.”Willebrands insisted at the November 1961 plenary that the issue was not to discuss differences, but to urge such prayer.The
March 1962 plenary approved a short text giving the rationale and a draft text
for conciliar adoption. This was approved at the final session of the Central
Preparatory Commission, but in time was absorbed into the secretariat’s draft
decree on ecumenism.30
Subcommission 10, on relations with Jews, produced for the April 1961 plenary a substantial statement in French by Oesterreicher and Baum, which concluded with four vota for teaching on the Church’s roots in ancient Israel; on
the early church of Jewish and Gentile Christians; on the Jewish people not
being under divine malediction; on reconciliation with the Jews as integral to
Christian hope; and on all forms of racism, especially antisemitism; as sins
against justice, charity, and human fraternity. To these were added three vota
on having a liturgical commemoration of the just of the Old Testament, on
seminary instruction on Israel in the economy of salvation, and on purging
prayers and Christian art of calumnies against the people from which came
Christ according to the flesh. This text—now in Latin, with an added votum
favorable to the State of Israel and new documentary references—was the
object of a lively discussion at the August plenary, at the end of which Bea
urged concentration on doctrine and its consequences, while relegating liturgical and practical points to a later directory. In the November plenary, Bea
called for the preparation for the Central Committee of a brief schema of a
29
Velati, Dialogo e rinnovamento, pp. 676–91 (report, proposal by Bea, and the discussion showing full agreement on having a pastoral decree) and pp. 872–92 (a revised
report not taken up, schema in ten paragraphs, modifications adding nos. 11–13, and
discussion). The schema De Verbo Dei treated by the Central Commission in June 1962
is given in Acta et Documenta, ser. II, vol. II, pt. IV:816–19. In the Council’s Dogmatic
Constitution on Divine Revelation, Dei Verbum, echoes of the secretariat’s pastoral
schema resound in chapter VI, on scripture in the life of the Church.
30
Velati, Dialogo e rinnovamento, pp. 462–78 (February 1961 report, remarks by
Hanahoe, a Latin votum, minutes of discussion), pp. 718–28 (November revised report,
minutes, with Willebrands’s clarification of the aim on p. 727), and pp. 893–98 (text of
March 1962, with brief discussion). The treatment by the Central Preparatory
Commission is found in Acta et Documenta, ser. II, vol. II, pt. IV:813–16.

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STILL MORE LIGHT ON VATICAN COUNCIL II

decree, while sending a votum on Israel and the Church to the Theological
Commission for De ecclesia and a votum on human dignity to the secretariat’s
subcommission on religious liberty. The brief decree of four paragraphs was
drawn up from the earlier text, but when Arab nations protested after a report
that the Foreign Ministry of the State of Israel was sending an “observer” to the
Council, Cardinal Amleto Giovanni Cicognani, Vatican secretary of state and
president of the Central Preparatory Commission, decided against any consideration of the decree De Judaeis in the Central Commission.31
Subcommission 3 suffered at first from an unclear mandate and the geographical dispersion of its members, but Willebrands intervened in July 1961
to steer the work in the direction of a statement on “Catholic ecumenism,”
adding Thils to the group and asking him to draw up texts for the August plenary.32 A clear focus emerged from the August sessions that pointed toward
what would become the secretariat’s main contribution, contained in the
Decree Unitatis redintegratio, at the Council. A central text of the
November plenary was Thils’s concise synthesis in Latin of the doctrinal and
practical orientations inherent in a Catholic conception of ecumenism, which
led to a substantial discussion and constructive additions. The March 1962
plenary treated approvingly a revised text on Catholic ecumenism, from
which came the version for the Central Preparatory Commission.33 This,

31
Velati, Dialogo e rinnovamento, pp. 490–508 (especially pp. 495–504, for the April
text), pp. 633–52 (Latin text of August 1961, with minutes of discussion on each votum),
and pp. 731–37 (especially pp. 736–37, giving the proposed schema of a decree). On this
part of the secretariat’s work, see Thomas Stransky, “The Genesis of Nostra Aetate. An
Insider’s Story,” in Nostra Aetate. Origins, Promulgation, Impact on Jewish-Catholic
Relations, ed. Neville Lamdan and Alberto Melloni (Berlin, 2007), pp. 29–53.
32
The original members were Höfer (relator), Hanahoe, Frans Thijssen (Utrecht),
Francis Davis (Birmingham, England), and James Cunningham (American Paulist based
in Rome). See Velati, Dialogo e rinnovamento, pp. 511–16 (slow beginnings of the
work), pp. 521–22 (Willebrands’s letter), pp. 523–49 (first texts by Thils, for the August
plenary, with minutes of the discussion of his paper, “De oecumenismo catholico.
Suggestiones practicae”), and pp. 555–58 (ten vota by Davis and Thils, already oriented
to a new conciliar schema urging Catholics to enter constructively into ecumenical
activities). Thils had recently published a short basic work, La «théologie
oecuménique»: notion—formes—démarches (Louvain, 1960).
33
Velati, Dialogo e rinnovamento, pp. 663–75 (November synthesis with minutes of
discussion), pp. 826–33 (version for March 1962), pp. 863–69 (discussion of March 8, in
which Willebrands noted the complexity arising from ecumenism also being a chapter
in the Theological Commission’s De ecclesia and the topic of a schema coming from
the Eastern Churches Commission), and pp. 852–62 (definitive text of May 1962, with
ample notes referring to papal encyclicals and the Holy Office Instruction of 1949).
Werner Becker studied the May text in “Das erste Schema des Sekretariats für die
Einheit der Christen: das Pastoraldekret ‘Über den katholischen Oecumenismus’ von
1962,” in Sapienter ordinare. Festgabe f. Erich Kleinaidam, ed. Fritz Hoffmann, Leo
Scheffczyk, and Konrad Feiereis (Leipzig, 1969), pp. 371–91.

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489

then, articulated the secretariat’s basic position in early 1963, in the work
mandated by the Council of composing a single text, along with the
Commission on Catholic Oriental Churches and the Doctrinal Commission,
on the rationale and forms of the Catholic Church’s embrace of ecumenical
collaboration and dialogue with other Christians.34
Sebastian Tromp’s Record of a Year’s Work by the
Doctrinal Commission, 1962–63
A 2001 guidebook to unpublished Second Vatican Council sources
extant in archives around the world refers to the informative mimeographed reports (relationes) by Tromp, secretary of both the Preparatory
Theological Commission and the conciliar Doctrinal Commission. These
texts recorded for the two commissions’ members and periti the main
events, discussion of topics, and decisions made as the commission prepared and revised schemas for the Council.35 Beyond the relationes, the
same guidebook lists for Tromp a more detailed handwritten diary preserved at the Gregorian University.36 That diary, however, covers the work
of the Preparatory Commission only from August 1, 1960, to July 16, 1961.
But in autumn 2000, Alexandra von Teuffenbach discovered in the Vatican
Archive Tromp’s complete set of thirteen hardcover notebooks containing
his record of the two commissions’ work from mid-1960 into 1966. She is
now editing the text of this diary, which preserves a much more ample
record than do Tromp’s circulated relationes.
The first volume of Tromp’s complete Diarium Secretarii was published
in 2006, covering the Preparatory Commission’s work from mid-1960 to
October 11, 1962.37 The edition gave, in part 1 (576 pp.), Tromp’s text in the
original Latin with a facing German translation, accompanied by a detailed
introduction and further annotations, whereas part 2 of the same volume
offered another 400 pages of documentation in the form of minutes of meetings, the circulated relationes, letters, draft schemas, and a helpful overview,
with outlines, of the genesis of the Preparatory Theological Commission’s
nine schemas.
After a pause and change of publisher, the second volume of the Tromp
diary now covers the dramatic Period I (1962) of the Second Vatican Council,
under John XXIII, and then moves through the eventful “intersession” from
December 9, 1962, to September 28, 1963, when Period II was about to open
34

See note 48 for an account of the work of this three-part conciliar commission in
preparing the Council’s 1963 schema De oecumenismo.
35
Il concilio inedito. Fonti del Vaticano II, ed. Massimo Faggioli and Giovanni
Turbanti (Bologna, 2001), pp. 23–24.
36
Faggioli and Turbanti, Il concilio inedito, p. 147.
37
Von Teuffenbach, ed., Konzilstagebuch, I, pts. 1 and 2.

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STILL MORE LIGHT ON VATICAN COUNCIL II

under Paul VI.38 The new volume retains the structure of its two-part predecessor, but surpasses it in size with its 1279 pages.
The conciliar commission on doctrine consisted of twenty-five Council
members, with the first being its appointed president, Cardinal Alfredo
Ottaviani. Fifteen members were elected on October 16, 1962, and nine were
appointed shortly after by John XXIII.39 Significantly, Tromp’s first membership list adds asterisks to only seven names to designate those of the twentyfour members, both elected and appointed, who had served on the preparatory commission of 1960–62.40 Among the new members were Cardinals
Franz König and Paul-Émile Léger; Archbishops Gabriel Garrone, John
Dearden, and Franjo Seper; Bishops André-Marie Charue and Georges
Pelletier; and Marcos McGrath, C.S.C., auxiliary bishop of Panama. Ottaviani,
who was continuing from the preparatory commission, designated Cardinal
Michael Browne, O.P., an appointed member, as vice-president.41 The commission did not select a fixed group of consultors or periti, as the preparatory
commission had done, but left the selection of theological advisers to the
38

The 1962 period is well known from many accounts of the Council, but for the
developments and problems of the first intersession there is only one ample survey—
that of Jan Grootaers, “The Drama Continues between the Acts: The ‘Second
Preparation’ and Its Opponents,” in History of Vatican II, ed. Giuseppe Alberigo and
Joseph Komonchak (Maryknoll, NY, and Leuven, 1997), 2:356–514.
39
The elections were first scheduled for Saturday, October 13, at the Council’s first
working session, but were postponed at the request of Cardinal Presidents Achille
Liénart and Josef Frings to the next Tuesday so as to allow wide consultation among
the members—especially through the national and regional episcopal conferences.
See Mathijs Lamberigts and Alois Greiler, “‘Concilium episcoporum est’. The
Interventions of Liénart and Frings Revisited. October 13, 1962,” Ephemerides
Theologicae Lovanienses, 73 (1997), 54–71; and Leo Declerck and Mathijs Lamberigts,
“Le rôle de l’épiscopat belge dans l’élection des commissions conciliaires en octobre
1962,” in La raison par quatre chemins: en homage à Claude Troisfontaines, ed. Jean
Leclercq, [Bibliothèque philosophique de Louvain, 73], (Dudley, MA, 2007), pp.
279–305.
40
Von Teuffenbach, ed., Konzilstagebuch, II, pt. 1:19, 21–23.Thus, less than one-third
of the conciliar commission’s members could be counted on to identify loyally with the
texts produced by the predecessor commission of 1960–62. A majority of the members
might well look upon the prepared theological schemas with detachment or even a
critical eye.
41
Late in Period II five new members joined the commission (four elected, one
appointed by Paul VI). At the same time the commission elected Charue as second
vice-president and Monsignor Gérard Philips, professor at Louvain, as adjunct secretary to serve along with Tromp.This confirmed the moderately progressive influence
of the Belgians on major documents from the Second Vatican Council. Charue’s diary,
which is especially informative on the Doctrinal Commission, was published as
Carnets conciliaires de l’évêque de Namur A.-M. Charue, ed. Leo Declerck and
Claude Soetens, [Cahiers de la Revue théologique de Louvain, 32], (Louvain-la-Neuve,
2000).

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491

members, especially at moments of their forming subcommissions for work
on particular schemas or chapters of schemas.42
The record preserved in Tromp’s Diarium is not a personal work recording impressions and judgments like the Second Vatican Council diaries of Yves
Congar, O.P., and Henri de Lubac, S.J., as well as the almost daily letters on the
Council by Dom Helder Pessoa Camara.43 Instead, Tromp kept a precise and
complete “office diary,” with daily entries that chronicled the doctrinal commission’s work.This included meetings of the commission’s leadership, with
the decisions they made, the directives given “from above”for the commission
to follow, the drafting work entrusted to subcommissions and individuals, the
rhythm of production of texts, the comments and amendments offered orally
or in writing by commission members before texts moved toward discussion
in the Council aula, and the material that Tromp found relevant for the commission in discourses of the Fathers and texts circulating around the Council.
The present volume records, with documentary appendices, moments in
the Council’s treatment of the schema De fontibus revelationis amid the high
tension of the aula discussion of November 14–21, 1962. Then follows an
ample record of the meetings and texts of the Mixed Commission on revelation, in which Ottaviani and Tromp faced the growing influence of Bea and
his Secretariat for the Promotion of the Unity of Christians. Despite the Mixed
Commission’s moments of internal conflict, which were emblematic confrontations of the early phase of the Council, these did not prevent production of a schema De revelatione divina, which went out to all the Council
Fathers in May 1963, but was in time judged not sufficiently mature for discussion in the Council aula.44
42
On March 3, 1963, Tromp recorded his personal judgment that bad fruit was
coming from the commission’s failure to designate periti, since this had allowed Bishop
Joseph Schröffer to select Thils as peritus for the seven-member subcommission
preparing the 1963 revised schema De ecclesia.This move upset Tromp, because Thils
was a member of the Secretariat for Promoting the Unity of Christians and held
extreme ecumenical views. See von Teuffenbach, ed., Konzilstagebuch, vol. II, pt. 1:263.
Philips, coordinator of the periti who were then working to revise De ecclesia, confirms that in the work of revision Thils argued forcefully for texts expressing “open
theses.” However, this was welcome, since Philips could then defend moderate formulations acceptable to the majority. See Carnets conciliaires de Mgr Gérard Philips, ed.
Karim Schelkens (Leuven, 2006), pp. 93–94.
43
On Congar’s Journal of the Council, see Jared Wicks, “Yves Congar’s Doctrinal
Service of the People of God,” Gregorianum, 84 (2003), 499–550. On de Lubac’s
Carnets, see Wicks, “Further Light.” On Helder’s letters, see Wicks, “More Light,” pp.
81–86.An English translation of Congar’s diary has been published by Liturgical Press.
44
Among the many appended documents are the minutes of the Mixed
Commission’s meetings.The edition gives in two drafts a prooemium prepared and presented by Garrone, revising a text of Jean Daniélou, which offered on November 27,
1962, an attractive biblical and kerygmatic account of divine revelation itself. See von

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STILL MORE LIGHT ON VATICAN COUNCIL II

The diary relates a decisive moment of the Council—namely, the selection on February 26, 1963, as replacement of the Preparatory Commission’s
De ecclesia, of a draft written by Gérard Philips at the request of Cardinal
Léon-Joseph Suenens.45 Then one can follow Tromp’s record of the initial
discussion and production, coordinated by Philips, of the 1963 revised
schema De ecclesia. For Lumen gentium another key moment was the
insertion, late in the 1963 process, of chapter 2, De populo Dei, before chapter 3 on the hierarchy and episcopate.46 Also chapter 4, on the universal call
to holiness, was added to De ecclesia in 1963, appearing before a treatment
of the ecclesial role of persons specially dedicated to following the evangelical counsels.47
The newly published portion of the diary tells as well of the difficult genesis, in a three-part Mixed Commission (the Doctrinal and Eastern Catholic
Churches commissions with the Unity Secretariat), of the first full draft of the

Teuffenbach, ed., Konzilstagebuch, II, pt. 2:1013–19. Although the text contained several themes eventually found in chapter I of Dei Verbum of 1965, Tromp and several
others were severe critics of its style and content in 1963; see von Teuffenbach, ed.,
Konzilstagebuch, II, pt. 1:139, 259 and II, pt. 2:938–41, 1038–39. Pietro Pizzuto studied
the Daniélou-Garrone draft in La teologia della rivelazione di Jean Daniélou. Influsso
su Dei Verbum e valore attuale, [Tesi Gregoriana, Serie Teologia, 96], (Rome, 2002).
45
Von Teuffenbach, ed., Konzilstagebuch, II, pt. 1:257. Because Tromp was ill that
day and absent from the meeting of the seven-member De ecclesia subcommission,
he gives only a brief account, but the minutes taken by the recorder, Carlo Molari, are
offered in von Teuffenbach, ed., Konzilstagebuch, II, pt. 2:888–93.The meeting began
with Ottaviani stating that he had commissioned a draft by Archbishop Pietro
Parente, but Ottaviani then exited the room, leaving the chair’s duties to Browne. Of
the seven members, five voted for the Philips schema—namely, König, Charue,
Schröffer, Léger, and Garrone, with Parente abstaining and Browne favoring a text
prepared by Parente.
46
Suenens recommended that a new chapter II of De ecclesia treat the people of
God, at the July 4, 1963, meeting of the Council’s Coordinating Commission; see von
Teuffenbach, ed., Konzilstagebuch, II, pt. 1:485, 513.This had been suggested earlier by
Thijssen of the Unity Secretariat and taken over by Bea in a letter of January 23, 1963,
to Döpfner. But immediately before the July meeting, it was Monsignor Albert Prignon,
rector of the Belgian College, who convinced Suenens to put his authority behind this
restructuring. Mathijs Lamberigts and Leo Declerck,“The Role of Cardinal Léon-Joseph
Suenens at Vatican II,” in The Belgian Contribution to the Second Vatican Council, ed.
Doris Donnelly, Joseph Famerée, Mathijs Lamberigts, and Karim Schelkens, [Bibliotheca
Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium, CCXVI], (Leuven, 2008), pp. 61–217, here
pp. 94, 103 (with note 210).
47
Von Teuffenbach, ed., Konzilstagebuch, II, pt. 1:333 (Suenens’s proposal, presented on March 28, 1963, to the Coordinating Commission), pp. 373 and 449 (Tromp
relates this to the Doctrinal Commission, May 16 and 27, as coming from Döpfner), p.
457 (the periti Charles Moeller and Bernard Häring give backing on May 27 for the new
chapter), and p. 463 (Charue relates on May 28 that Suenens’s proposal has the backing of many Dutch, Belgian, German, and French bishops).

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493

schema De oecumenismo.48 Later, Bea added to the schema a brief chapter,
De Judaeis, without any consultation of the Doctrinal Commission.49
This diary also relates the work of early 1963 to assemble texts on the
Church and its outlook on and action in the modern world, in a Mixed
Commission from the doctrinal and lay-apostolate commissions.50 Suenens’s
programmatic speech, the aula on December 4, 1962, had exhorted the
Council to direct its concerns ad extra to the world to contribute solutions
to pressing global problems.51 In January 1963 the Coordinating Commission
mandated the formation of a Mixed Commission from the conciliar Doctrinal
and Lay Apostolate commissions to undertake drafting of “Schema XVII” (later
“Schema XIII”) on the principles and action of the Church to promote the
good of society. By mid-February, a general plan of work was in place, and
periti began to be coopted and assigned to do initial drafting.Tromp’s diary
for the ensuing weeks refers often to the subcommissions of this developing
project, up to his full record of this Mixed Commission’s plenary session May
20–25, at which the lengthy schema was reviewed and largely approved.52
48
Grootaers surveys this development concisely in “The Drama Continues,”
2:429–35. Von Teuffenbach, ed., Konzilstagebuch, II, pt. 1:,235, with note 408, tells of
the initial text presented February 22, 1963, by the periti, among whom the lead redactors were John Witte and Thils for the chapters, respectively, on the nature and principles of ecumenism in Catholic perspective and on the Church’s ecumenical action. In
time, chapter III’s section on relations with the Orthodox churches digested the 1962
schema from the Eastern Churches Commission, to which the Unity Secretariat added
in April 1963 a further section on relations with Protestant bodies; see von Teuffenbach,
ed., Konzilstagebuch, II, pt. 1:367.The Unity Secretariat’s chronicle of the genesis of the
schema is provided in von Teuffenbach, ed., Konzilstagebuch, II, pt. 2:793–99.
49
Tromp’s laconic note of July 27, 1963, on Bea’s chapter on the Jews is provided in
von Teuffenbach, ed., Konzilstagebuch, II, pt. 1:495.The secretariat had drafted a short
text in spring 1962. After political considerations led to it being set aside, the pope
approved resuming this work, leading to a statement that the secretariat’s members
approved in February 1963. See Claude Soetens,“The Ecumenical Commitment of the
Catholic Church,” in History of Vatican II, 3:257–346, here pp. 275–76.
50
Grootaers relates this concisely in “The Drama Continues,” 2:412–22. Giovanni
Turbanti treats more fully the late 1962 and early 1963 developments; see Un concilio
per il mondo moderno. La redazione della costituzione pastorale «Gaudium et spes»
del Vaticano II (Bologna, 2000), pp. 179–262. Turbanti’s comprehensive study is covered in Wicks,“More Light,” pp. 94–101.
51
Acta Synodalia, vol. I, pt. 4:222–25, mentioning the inviolability of the human
person and the population explosion, social justice and aid to the third world, evangelization of poor people, and international peace. Suenens’s earlier “plan” for the
Council, given to John XXIII in May 1962, had listed as well the ad extra topics of marriage and the family, the condition of culture, and the life of the political community.
Lamberigts and Declerck,“The Role of Léon-Joseph Suenens,” pp. 67–75, 138–39.
52
Von Teuffenbach, ed., Konzilstagebuch, II, pt. 1:191–93 (Suenens’s January recommendations of members and experts for chapters on the human person, family and
population, the economic and social order, human culture, and the international order),

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STILL MORE LIGHT ON VATICAN COUNCIL II

However, the schema was soon judged by Tromp, Döpfner, and Suenens and
to lack essential qualities needed in a document to be formally presented and
discussed in the Council aula.53
Amid the mass of reported information in this volume of Tromp’s diary,
one unfolding dynamic is the loss of control over “their” documents by the
leadership of the Doctrinal Commission. In the preparatory period from mid1960 to mid-1962, Cardinals Ottaviani and Browne, along with Archbishop
Pietro Parente, Tromp, and the leading periti of that phase, had acted with
considerable autonomy in producing schemas. But the elections of October
1962 gave to critical individuals both voice and vote on the conciliar doctrinal commission, and soon the mandated Mixed Commissions forced the doctrinal leaders to collaborate with task forces from the Unity Secretariat and
the Commission on the Lay Apostolate.The able and tenacious presidents of
these two entities, Bea and Fernando Centro, along with their commission
secretaries Willebrands and Achille Glorieux, began exercising influence on
the doctrinal texts on revelation and the Church/world relationship. Most
seriously, in early 1963 the Doctrinal Commission came under authoritative
direction emanating from the seven cardinals of new Commission for
Coordinating the Work of the Council.54 This Council “directorate,” created

pp. 213–15 (six chapters foreseen; initial drafts presented on the person in society by
Pietro Pavan, the economic order by Agostino Ferrari Toniolo, and “the community of
peoples” and peace by the Dominican Raymundus Sigmond), pp. 279–81 (two-hour
review on March 8 by the Mixed Commission’s bishops of the chapters developed by
the periti such as by Daniélou and Ermenegildo Lio on the human person and by
Johannes Hirschmann and Lio on marriage and family), and pp. 385–443 (the plenary
of May 20–25, giving Tromp’s minutes of the afternoon sessions on each chapter and
paragraph, with reports on the morning meetings of the different subcommissions and
periti working to incorporate desires voiced by the members).
53
Von Teuffenbach, ed., Konzilstagebuch, II, pt. 2:1142 (Tromp’s June 25, 1963,
memo after the election of Paul VI on the state of his commission’s schemas includes
his doubts that the schema on the Church in today’s world is ready to go to the Fathers.
It contains matters not pertaining to the Council and is questionable in deducing everything from human dignity. It presents a baptized humanism, without theocentric and
Christological themes), p. 483 (Döpfner says on July 3 that he and Suenens believe the
schema is not yet mature), and p. 487 (Suenens reports to the Coordinating
Commission on July 4 that the text lacks unity and synthetic power, is short on revealed
doctrine [e.g., the regal dominion of Christ], mixes certain doctrine with secondary
assertions, and does not develop sufficiently the topics of marital fruitfulness and the
value of human work.).
54
Von Teuffenbach, ed., Konzilstagebuch, II, pt. 1:173, where Tromp listed the newly
appointed cardinal-members: Ameleto Cicognani (president of the new Coordinating
Commission), Achille Liénart, Francis Spellman, Giovanni Urbani (patriarch of Venice),
Carlo Confalonieri (secretary of the Concistorial Congregation), Julius Döpfner, and
Léon-Joseph Suenens. Tromp added his foreboding over Liénart’s selection for such a
role, since in the Central Preparatory Commission and in his aula discourse of

BY JARED WICKS, S.J.

495

by John XXIII at the end of Period I, took charge of coordinating, overseeing,
and regularly evaluating—according to criteria from John—the schemas
produced by the Second Vatican Council’s commissions, including the doctrinal, with Cardinal Achille Liénart having responsibility for De revelatione
and Suenens becoming especially active as the Coordinating Commission’s
supervisor of work on De ecclesia and the schema on the Church in the
modern world.
Much more could be related about the trove of information given in von
Teuffenbach’s edition of volume II of the office diary of Tromp and many
related documents. But it is clear that the new volumes have made widely
available the records of a quite important period in the unfolding of the
Second Vatican Council.
The Diary of Edward Schillebeeckx, O.P., at the Second Vatican
Council’s Early Sessions (1962–63)
The newly published diary of Schillebeeckx offers an English translation
(pp. 1–45) and the original Dutch text (pp. 46–74). This may seem to be a
minor record of only a small part of the Council, especially when one compares it with the ample diaries that Congar, de Lubac, and Philips kept for the
whole or much longer phases of the Council. But one should not underestimate the record offered in these Council Notes of the Flemish Dominican. His
engagement with the approaching council began with journal articles in
February 1959, just weeks after John XXIII’s announcement of his intended
convocation of a council. Schillebeeckx then became an opinion-shaper, especially on broad collegial participation at the Second Vatican Council, by his
ghostwriting in late 1960 of the Dutch bishops’ booklet The Coming
Ecumenical Council, which circulated rapidly and widely in several languages.55 During the opening weeks of the Council, our diarist was well positioned for observing directions taken in the initial discussions, since he had
examined the nine initially distributed schemas in a detailed manner and prepared, in mimeographed form, two “Commentaries” widely distributed in
Rome on these first official draft texts of the Council.56

December 1, 1962 (Acta Synodalia, I, pt. 4:126–27), the cardinal of Lille had advanced
the view, contrary to Pius XII in Humani generis (and to the Preparatory Commission’s
schema De ecclesia), that the Mystical Body of Christ in fact extends more widely than
the boundaries of the Catholic Church. On the institution of the Coordinating
Commission and its wide-ranging direction of work during the first intersession, see
Grootaers,“The Drama Continues,” 2:365–70, 376–83.
55
In addition to translations into German, French, Spanish, and Polish, English versions appeared in The Furrow, 12 (1961), 365–81; and in Catholic Mind, 59 (1961),
364–80.
56
First came Schillebeeckx’s 56-page “Commentary on the ‘prima series’ of the
‘Schemata constitutionum et decretorum de quibus disceptabitur in Concilii session-

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STILL MORE LIGHT ON VATICAN COUNCIL II

The present publication gives the author’s notes (pp. 44–46 in English
and pp. 73–74 in Dutch) on the nearly three-hour meeting on October 19,
1962, of nine French and German bishops and fifteen theologians, who
agreed on the need of alternatives to the four initial doctrinal schemas.57 At
the meeting,Archbishop Alfred Bengsch of Berlin spoke out for a non placet
on the four texts from the Preparatory Theological Commission, whereas
Jean Daniélou held that good points could be lifted from them and fused into
an acceptable text. But Schillebeeckx joined Karl Rahner in arguing that this
was not possible, because the schemas were permeated by intentions discordant from the pastoral goal given to the Council by John XXIII. He held
that one needs, instead, a new kind of kerygmatic address to the Church and
to the world.58
Schillebeeckx’s diary offers accounts of developments and the author’s
reactions in a continuous manner only for Period I, which ran from October
11 to December 8, 1962. This includes accounts of the author’s service as
theological peritus of the Dutch bishops during the opening discussion of

ibus,’” treating the seven schemas sent to Council members in late summer 1962.The
commentary is now published in its English version in von Teuffenbach, ed.,
Konzilstagebuch, II, pt. 2:948–91. When the drafts of dogmatic constitutions on the
Church and on the Blessed Virgin Mary were distributed to the Council Fathers in late
November 1962, Schillebeeckx hastily prepared an 8-page set of Latin
“Animadversiones” on these, which saw rapid distribution in 1500 copies before the
ecclesiology debate opened on December 1, 1962 (text in von Teuffenbach, ed.,
Konzilstagebuch, II, pt. 2:1066–81, with Tromp’s critical remarks in German, dated
March 20, 1963, on pp. 1119–30).This activity, which many bishops welcomed, began
before the Council opened, when the author addressed a group of Dutch missionary
bishops on the schemas they had received. See Jan A. Browers, “Vatican II, derniers
préparativs et première session:Activités conciliaires en coulisses,” in Vatican II commence . . .: Approches francophones, ed. Étienne Fouilloux (Leuven, 1993), pp.
353–68.
57
In his preface to the Schillebeeckx diary,“The Importance of Diaries for the Study
of Vatican II,” Mathijs Lamberigts discusses the slight differences in the accounts about
those attending the October 19 meeting that appear in Schillebeeckx, de Lubac
(Carnets du concile, ed. Loïc Figoureux, 2 vols. [Paris, 2007], I:132–33), and Congar
(Mon Journal du Concile, ed. Éric Mahieu, 2 vols. [Paris, 2002], I:122–24).
58
Schelkens, ed., Council Notes, p. 45.The four dogmatic schemas treated (1) tradition and scripture as sources of revelation; (2) correction of errors on ten doctrines that
are undermining the pure communication to Catholics of the deposit of faith; (3) the
basic principles of the Christian moral order; and (4) chastity, matrimony, the family, and
virginity. Congar wanted to avoid a blanket rejection of the work of the Preparatory
Theological Commission, in part because he knew there would be valuable portions in
the commission’s further schema De ecclesia, soon to be distributed. Still, the four published schemas give masses of juxtaposed particulars “ce qui manque . . . c’est la synthèse, la vision; c’est le sens du mystère chrétien” (“what is missing . . . is the synthesis,
the vision, the meaning of the Christian mystery”). Congar, Mon Journal, I:124.

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497

liturgical renewal. On October 17, 1962, it was known that liturgy would
come up first for formal discussion.That evening Schillebeeckx spoke to the
Dutch bishops on the schema, which he was on record as having commended
as “in its main lines and details, an admirable piece of work.”59 The bishops
commissioned him to write a short Latin text on points favorable to the draft
that would serve as the basis of an eventual speech in their name in St. Peter’s.
Once debate opened on October 20, some backers of the liturgical status quo
took positions that called for rebuttal, and so Schillebeeckx reworked the text
of the speech. On October 25, one of the Dutch bishops learned about arguments against the schema that Cardinal Guiseppe Siri was to make the next
day. So, Schillebeeckx did another revision with the result that on October 26
in St. Peter’s Siri’s main points met with counterpointed responses in the
address immediately following by Bishop Willem Bekkers speaking for the
Dutch episcopal conference.60
A further section (pp. 33–43) of the diary was written during Period II,
treating more analytically the theological clash over episcopal collegiality,
especially on the “trend votes” of October 30, 1963. On the latter, the diary
includes the pertinent remark that the past weeks’ discussion in St. Peter’s
gave the impression that the bishops were split into opposing groups of
roughly equal size over basic aspects of the episcopate and its collegial
nature.The votes then showed that those who opposed the innovative directions of the schema were in fact a small minority.61
In the total reality of the Second Vatican Council, Schillebeeckx had a
limited role; although he was a resource for the Dutch bishops, he never
became an official Council peritus. Nonetheless, he did work in 1964–65 on
the subcommission on the family in preparing the Pastoral Constitution
Gaudium et spes.62 Of greater import were his 1964 lectures in Rome on
the Church/world relationship, which drew attention and occasioned
sharply critical reactions by de Lubac.63 But our global view of the Council
has to include the contributions of many individuals who acted at key
moments, and one of these is revealed in Schillebeeckx’s Council Notes,
which are a small but fine addition to the great mosaic of the record of the
Second Vatican Council.

59
“Commentary on the ‘prima series,’” in von Teuffenbach, ed., Konzilstagebuch, II,
pt. 2: 986.
60
See Acta Synodalia, I, pt. 1:440–41 (Siri) and pp. 441–45 (Bekkers).
61
The Council’s opening discussion in 1962 of liturgical renewal had left the same
“masking” impression, but the vote of November 14, to accept and develop the schema,
showed, as Schillebeeckx noted,“on liturgy in genere 95% pro.” Schelkens, ed., Council
Notes, p. 19.
62
See Turbanti, Un concilio, pp. 524–27, 633, 641.
63
See Wicks,“Further Light,” p. 560.

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Reading the Second Vatican Council as Modernist Rupture with the
Catholic Tradition
Some readers will be aware of a conservative Catholic agitation, centered
in Rome, which recently called for a high-level critical review of the Second
Vatican Council and its documents, to verify their continuities and more significant discontinuities with the normative Catholic tradition of teaching and
practice. Monsignor Brunero Gherardini, emeritus professor of ecclesiology at
the Pontifical Lateran University, is the leading theological spokesman for this
appeal.64 Another component originated in a large work of 1985, lamenting
the Council’s error of principle coming from modernism, by the Italian-Swiss
philosopher of esthetics Romano Amerio.65 In late 2010, the main exponents
of this reading of the Council and of the urgently needed remedies for the
Council’s deviations held a congress in Rome under the sponsorship of the
Franciscans of the Immaculate, at which the historian Roberto de Mattei was
a principal speaker.66
For readers of this journal, de Mattei’s published contribution will be of
most interest, for he has brought out a one-volume history of the Council
composed of 629 pages. The “hermeneutics of rupture”rule de Mattei’s reconstruction. Far from promoting the ongoing celebration of the Council, he
claims that many Council texts and directives have roots in neo-modernist
currents treated too benignly by Pope Pius XII despite the opposition of vigilant critics to their subversions.67 De Mattei does not cite or reference Pius
64
Brunero Gherardini, The Ecumenical Vatican Council II. A Much Needed
Discussion (Frigento, 2009), in which, after nine chapters raising critical questions, the
author concludes his epilogue with a four-page “Appeal to the Holy Father,” namely that
“You offer some clarity by responding in an authoritative manner to the questions
about the Council’s continuity with the other Councils . . . and about its fidelity to the
ever vigorous Tradition of the church” (p. 297). Gherardini’s recent works on the
Council’s interpretation include Ecumene tradita: il dialogo ecumenico tra equivoci
e prassi falsi (Verona, 2009); Quale accord tra Cristo e Beliar? Osservazioni teologiche sui i problem, gli equivoci e i compromessi del dialogo interreligioso (Verona,
2009); “Quod et traditi vobis”. La tradizione vita et giovanezza della chiesa
(Divinitas, 53 [2010], 1–399; Frigento, 2010); Quaecumque dixero vobis: parola di Dio
e tradizione a confronto con la storia e la teologia (Turin, 2011); and Concilio
Vaticano II: il discorso mancato (Turin, 2011).
65
Romano Amerio, Iota unum. A Study of Changes in the Catholic Church in the
XXth Century, translation from the second Italian edition (Kansas City, 1996). The
Italian original was republished with a postfazione by Enrico Maria Radaelli (Turin and
Verona, 2009). See Faggioli’s account of Amerio’s position in Vatican II: The Battle for
Meaning, pp. 26–29.
66
The news service Correspondenza Romana offers an account of the congress at
http://corrispondenzaromana.it/il-concilio-vaticano-ii-e-la-sua-giusta-ermeneutica-allaluce-della-tradizione-della-chiesa, accessed March 2, 2012.
67
De Mattei, Il concilio Vaticano II, pp. 31–77 (in the era of Pius XII, creeping theological novelties, especially in France, were noted but not suppressed in 1950 by

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XII’s encouragement, in Humani generis, that theology always return to the
inexhaustible sources of our knowledge of divine revelation:“Hence it is that
the theological disciplines, through the study of the sacred sources, remain
ever fresh (semper iuvenescunt).” Without this ressourcement, which was
characteristic of the preconciliar renewal currents, Pius XII says that theology
turns into sterile speculation.68
In its aftermath, de Mattei finds the Council leading to the deleterious consequences of a many-sided Catholic crisis during 1965 to 1978 under Paul VI.
This later “epoch of the Council” included developments such as a destructive
reform of the Curia, the Dutch Catechism (1966), dissent from Paul VI’s
Humanae vitae on contraception (1968), infiltration of the Church by elements of the social revolutions of 1968, and the spread of the theology of liberation.69 Because the Council did not condemn communism, the Vatican
Ostpolitik discomfited loyal, long-time Catholic opponents of Marxist ideology and religious suppression. Paul VI implemented the Council’s liturgy constitution with the revolutionary Novus Ordo Missae, in which critics found
an “immanentist” and secularizing ecclesiological vision.70
Chapters II–VI of de Mattei’s history set forth the Council preparations of
1959–62 and the events of each of the four working periods, along with
information on developments during the three intersessions of 1963, 1964,
and 1965. John XXIII had no coherent program, but was given to improvisations arising from his optimistic and benign outlook on life.This crystallized

Humani generis, the Catholic biblical movement surrendered to reductive historical
exegesis, the liturgical movement called for innovations infected by rationalism and
archeologism, and the ecumenical pioneers adopted the World Council of Churches
ideal of the people of God moving through history toward eschatological unity).Then
pages 83–98 introduce far-seeing opponents to these threats such as the Brazilian law
professor and Catholic activist Plinio Corrêa de Oliveira (1908–95); Reginald GarrigouLagrange, O.P.; Joseph C. Fenton; José de Aldema, S.J.; and Antonio Messineo, S.J. (of La
Civiltà cattolica). De Mattei presented the first-named of these Catholic watchmen in
The Crusader of the 20th Century: Plinio Corrêa de Oliveira (Leominster, UK, 1998).
68
See Acta Apostolicae Sedis, 42 (1950), 568–69.
69
De Mattei, Il concilio Vaticano II, pp. 527–54, followed by pp. 554–59 on perceptions of the situation by Paul VI (“the smoke of Satan”in God’s temple), by Hubert Jedin,
and by de Lubac (conference of 1969 at St. Louis University, denouncing abusive interpretations of the Council’s documents). Pages 559–61 tell how Siri denounced errors
and promoted a salutary emphasis on the Second Vatican Council’s continuity with the
tradition, especially in editorials from 1966 to 1986 that appeared first in the journal
Renovatio and later in Il dovere dell’ortodossia (Pisa, 1987).
70
De Mattei, Il concilio Vaticano II, pp. 563–74.The author catalogs works critical
of the Missal of Paul VI (p. 569n180) and recalls the multiauthored Breve esame critica presented to the pope in 1969 by Cardinals Alfredo Ottaviani and Antonio Bacci,
who lament the new Missal’s departures from Trent’s teaching on Eucharistic sacrifice
(p. 570).

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STILL MORE LIGHT ON VATICAN COUNCIL II

in the theme of aggiornamento, which, for de Mattei, rests on a naive belief
that one can change inherited forms without losing doctrinal substance. But
this was, in embryo,“the spirit of Vatican II.”71 De Mattei’s account of Period
I ends with his theory about the dynamic at work in the Council’s approval
of liturgical renewal followed by its critical handling of the doctrinal
schemas on the sources of revelation and on the Church’s nature, structure,
and mission. After relating Siri’s late 1962 catalog of disturbing developments, de Mattei takes over the view of Victor-Alain Berto, the peritus of
Spiritan Archbishop Marcel Lefebvre. Accordingly, the Council’s members
were not divided into a majority and minority, but instead into a tripartite
division between the often undecided majority and two minorities seeking
to give direction to the Council. One minority held Roman and Thomist principles, but was initially timid, whereas the anti-Roman and anti-Thomist
minority showed determination and efficacy from the beginning in gaining
broad backing for its critical positions.72
De Mattei relates, but does not reflect on, two aspects of the early part of
the Council. First, well before the efforts of organized promotion fused
together, an orientation vote on the liturgy schema on November 14, 1962,
showed a huge majority approving the renewal set forth in what was the
model-schema coming out of the Council ’s preparation.73 Second, in an interview given to Roberto Tucci, director of Civiltà cattolica, on February 9,
1963, John XXIII very plausibly read developments in Period I as the gradual
appropriation by many Council members and by whole episcopates of the
reforming hopes he had expressed in the opening discourse of October 11,
1962. In coherent, not improvised, directives given in the last days of Period
I, John made the central paragraphs of that discourse normative for the revision of schemas and created the supervisory Coordinating Commission to
ensure that revisions cohered with the pope’s aims.74
71

De Mattei, Il concilio Vaticano II, p. 118.
De Mattei, Il concilio Vaticano II, pp. 278–83, in which, after texts by Siri, the
author cites the sociological analysis of Melissa Wilde, which is presented in Wicks,
“Further Light.” But he is more convinced by Victor-Alain Berto, cited on p. 281, and by
André Joussain’s theory of modern revolutions that appears in La loi des révolutions
(Paris, 1950).
73
De Mattei, Il concilio Vaticano II, pp. 254 (the vote: placet, 2162; non placet, 46;
invalid ballots, 7).
74
De Mattei, Il concilio Vaticano II, pp. 286–88 (the interview, from Tucci’s unpublished diary).The guidelines of December 6, 1962, for revision of schemas are given in
Acta Synodalia, I, pt. 1:96–97. They cite John XXIII’s opening discourse, including the
distinction between the truths of the deposit of faith and the modus quo enuntiantur,
which should correspond to the magisterium being especially pastoral in character.
John’s intentions were taken up and deepened in Paul VI’s opening discourse of Period
II on September 29, 1963, in a profound confession of Christ as light of the world and a
succinct presentation of the four areas in which the Second Vatican Council would issue
updated teaching and orient the Catholic Church to dialogical interaction with others.
72

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De Mattei’s history is especially informative on the members, eventual
organization, and interventions during the Council of the Coetus internationalis Patrum.75 As on other topics that it treats, on and from the Coetus
this history offers numerous and sometimes sizable texts in Italian. A small
committee came together during Period I, through efforts of the Brazilian
bishops Geraldo de Proença Sigaud, S.V.D., and Antônio de Castro Mayer, who
met with Lefebvre and some French priests dedicated to saving the Church
from modernist subversion.76 They sponsored conferences in November
1962 that involved Monsignor Salvatore Garofalo, coordinator of the drafting
of De fontibus revelationis in the Preparatory Theological Commission, and
Cardinal Ernesto Ruffini who insisted, against the “modernists,” on tradition
for knowing divine revelation. Period II in 1963 saw the Coetus formally
organized and holding regular strategy sessions, especially against episcopal
collegiality, under the leadership of Lefebvre, Proença Sigaud, and Bishop
Luigi Carli of Segni. In Period III, the schemas on ecumenism and religious
liberty became targets of circulars of the Coetus and appeals to Paul VI.They
publicized as well their demand that the revised De revelatione divina be
modified to give tradition its due along with the inerrancy of scripture and
the historical character of the Gospels.77 Before Period IV, the Coetus asked
for, but was refused, an official role in the aula for voicing their critical views
on religious liberty, revelation in scripture and tradition, the Church in the
modern world, and relations with non-Christian religions. During the fourth
period, a resolute Paul VI rebuffed attacks by the Coetus and its sympathizers
on De libertate religiosa. But a long amendment prepared by the Coetus

75
On this group, see Luc Perrin,“Il Coetus internationalis Patrum e la minoranza conciliare,” in L’evento e le decisioni: Studi sulle dinamiche del Concilio Vaticano II, ed.
Alberto Melloni and Maria Teresa Fattori (Bologna, 1997), pp. 173–87; and Philippe J.
Roy, “Le Coetus Internationalis Patrum, un groupe d’opposants au sein du concilie
Vatican II” (PhD dissertation, University of Laval, 2011).
76
De Mattei, Il concilio Vaticano II, pp. 227–35, where one genealogical line goes
back to the French Seminary in Rome in the mid-1920s, when Marcel Lefebvre,VictorAlain Berto, and Raymond Dulac came under the formative influence of the long-time
rector, Henri Le Floch, C.S.Sp., whom Pius XI ordered to leave Rome in 1927 following
the condemnation of Action Français. At the Council, this group, formed into the
Coetus, had the practical help of a fourteen-person secretariat set up and financed by
Corrêa de Oliveira (p. 228).
77
De Mattei, Il concilio Vaticano II, pp. 330–35 (Siri reluctant to take part in group
action, because of progressive directions taken by Paul VI; on October 22, 1963, the
first of the weekly Coetus meetings; Berto orients the group to coordinated submission of modi in numbers that those making the final revisions will be unable to disregard), pp. 374–78 (“reserved note” of September 1964 to Paul VI against collegiality,
from Cardinal Arcadio Larraona and thirty-seven others, to which the pope responded
forcefully with an eight-page, handwritten letter), pp. 389–90 (appeal to Paul VI by
nine of the Coetus disturbed by imminent departures from the ordinary magisterium
on ecumenism and religious liberty), and p. 407 (ten-page circular on insertions to
demand in De revelatione).

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STILL MORE LIGHT ON VATICAN COUNCIL II

gained more than 400 adherents to the demand, which was partially and indirectly granted, of a condemnation of communism in the passage on atheism
in Gaudium et spes.78
De Mattei has given an account of the Second Vatican Council that is noteworthy in its coverage. But it is seriously flawed by neglect and even denigration of the leadership of John XXIII and Paul VI as well as of the leading
Council members whose intentions—aggiornamento, reform, and pastoral
renewal—cohered closely with those of the two presiding popes of the
Council.

78
De Mattei, Il concilio Vaticano II, pp. 422–26 (1964 interventions for condemning
communism, with ample citation of Carli), pp. 454–56 (request for an aula role), pp.
458–70 (dramatic clash with Paul VI over religious liberty), and pp. 492–502 (final offensive and the long modus against communism, which suffered an improper delay in
transfer to the commission for final revisions, but in the end led to the addition to
Gaudium et spes, no. 21, of note 16 documenting condemnations of communism by
Popes Pius XI, Pius XII, John XXIII, and Paul VI, with whom the Council joins in their
reprobatio of atheism).

FORUM ESSAY
BY

NELSON H. MINNICH, JOSHUA BENSON, HANS J. HILLERBRAND, SIMON DITCHFIELD,
PAUL F. GRENDLER, AND BRAD S. GREGORY
The Unintended Reformation: How a Religious Revolution Secularized
Society. By Brad S. Gregory. (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard
University Press. 2012. Pp. x, 574. $39.95. ISBN 978-0-674-04563-7.)

Introduction by Nelson H. Minnich
(The Catholic University of America)
In an effort to understand how contemporary American society came to
be with its hyperpluralism of religious beliefs, emphasis on individual human
rights, and dedication to consumerism, Brad S. Gregory looks for answers not
to the Enlightenment, but to earlier eras, especially that of the Protestant
Reformation. He approaches his topic from six intertwined perspectives:
excluding God, relativizing doctrines, controlling the churches, subjectivizing
morality, manufacturing the goods life, and secularizing knowledge. His investigation crosses national boundaries; sweeps across the centuries; and
engages the disciplines of theology, philosophy, political science, sociology,
economics, and even popular culture. An introduction explains his genealogical method and his conception of change over time, a conclusion summarizes his findings, and 145 pages of notes provide references to primary and
up-to-date secondary literature in multiple languages. His writing style is lucid
and even witty at times:“Whatever!”
In the chapter “Excluding God,” Gregory shows how the late-medieval via
moderna and its precursor John Duns Scotus departed from the traditional
view of God as transcendent and incomprehensible, the God who revealed
himself as “I am Who am” (Ex. 3:14) and whom St.Thomas Aquinas identified
as the act of “to be” (esse). Scotus and his followers claimed that God shares
being with creation, is conceptually part of the same framework as the created world in a “univocal metaphysics,” and in nominalism is construed as the
highest being (ens). Protestants insisted on the distinction between God and
his creation, initially rejecting Aristotelianism and sacramentality as understood in the Roman Church.The Reformed and Radicals insisted that God is
not physically present in the material world and that transubstantiation is a
false teaching.After the early Church, they argued, God no longer manifested
his power in miracles, and claims of apparitions and miracles wrought
503

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FORUM ESSAY

through saints were to be rejected as superstitious beliefs. But Protestantism
per se did not disenchant the world. Instead, the doctrinal disagreements of
the Reformation era sidelined disputed Christian truth claims and opened the
door for the intellectual exclusion of God via univocal metaphysics and
Occam’s razor through modern philosophy and science. In the seventeenth
century (natural) philosophers tried to understand the world by using reason
alone, identifying efficient causes, using mathematics, and seeing the world as
governed by immutable natural laws. Natural theology using reason alone
sought to understand the relationship between God and the world based on
metaphysical assumptions of the via moderna in which God and nature
belong to the same conceptual and ontological framework. Occam’s razor and
an either/or conception of natural and supernatural causality increasingly
restricted God’s role in the world. Once all events were defined as natural,
miracles were explained away and there was no need for a God except as a
remote first cause. Some philosophers turned God into Nature and Jesus
Christ into an ethical sage. Nineteenth-century thinkers such as Friedrich
Schleiermacher saw religion as the subjective realm of intuition and feelings.
The intellectual elimination of God came not through the findings of science
but through their conflation with assumptions of univocal metaphysics and
the application of Occam’s razor to the relationship between God’s presence
and natural regularities.
In the chapter “Relativizing Doctrines,” Gregory traces the changes from
the late-medieval world of shared beliefs, practices, and institutions to the
current, highly personalized hyperpluralism of beliefs, values, and priorities.
The Protestant reformers rejected what they considered the false truth claims
of the Roman Church in favor of truths found only in scripture.They accepted
the principle of noncontradiction and looked for divine inspiration when
reading scripture. Despite their frequent claims that scripture interprets itself
or needs no interpreter, no consensus could be found on such teachings as
the Real Presence, infant baptism, oaths, free will, and predestination.
Interpreters could be deceived, and Satan could present himself as an angel
of light. Claims of revelations and illuminations by the Holy Spirit only added
to the confusion. Human reason, whether tethered to scripture or alone and
dispassionate in modern philosophy, was unable to resolve conflicting doctrines. Philosophers since Descartes have added a long chapter to a story they
sought to move beyond. The great philosophical thinkers from the seventeenth to the twentieth centuries contradicted each other, rejected the
assumptions and alleged insights of other philosophers, and failed to agree on
what reason discloses and dictates. Modern foundationalist philosophy
sought through “reason alone” to transcend the unintended pluralism of
“scripture alone,” but replicated it in a different way.
In the chapter “Controlling the Churches,” Gregory notes that, by the latemedieval period, rulers were controlling the Church but not its doctrines in
their lands through the Statutes of Provisors and Praemunire (1351–93) in

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505

England, the Pragmatic Sanction of Bourges (1438) in France, the Acceptance
of Mainz (1439) in the Empire, and a series of concordats.While Martin Luther
urged rulers to reform the Church, he saw society as dominated by Satan and
the public sphere as the proper domain of non-ecclesiastical rulers. He
looked to Christian rulers to approve, support, and protect the Gospel.
Magisterial reformers made an alliance with secular rulers against the
antichrist of Rome and the Radical Reformers whose involvement in the
Peasants’ Revolt (1524–26) and New Jerusalem of Münster (1534–35) threatened church and state. In their respective political contexts, Catholic and
Protestant churches became “entirely subordinate and dependent institutions” (p. 154). In the wars of religion (1520s–1648) everyone lost, and religion became associated with coercion, oppression, and violence. Novel political thinkers claimed that the job of rulers was not to protect and promote a
particular religion, but to dominate it and punish lawbreakers. Holland, where
Reformed Protestantism was the “public” but not the state church and where
de facto toleration in private spaces of other confessions led to peace and
prosperity, pioneered what would eventually become the modern Western
model for the separation and coexistence of religion and politics. Religion
was a private matter of personal preference as long as the citizen obeyed the
state. The United States institutionalized the Dutch model by adopting the
principle of religious freedom and privatizing religious belief and practice.
Today, American courts decide what constitutes religion and which expressions of religion are permissible. The state achieves unity by exercising power
and promoting an ethos of individualist consumerism.
The chapter on “Subjectivizing Morality” describes the gap between ideals
and reality in late-medieval society, conceiving it as a moral community of
shared rules and virtues. The Church did not seek to eliminate inherited
social inequalities coming from the Roman Empire or feudalism in its appeals
to charity, or since the twelfth century through its canonists’ teachings on natural human rights based on human beings’ creation in the image of God.
Scholastics and humanists alike admired Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, with
its teachings about virtues. Niccolò Machiavelli, however, separated the exercise of power from morality. Luther wanted political power exercised according to the Gospel, but he saw human nature as completely corrupt, rejected
free will, and viewed Aristotle’s teachings in the Nicomachean Ethics as
opposed to the Gospel’s message of God’s grace. Ethics was separated from
theology. The elect would do what is good out of gratitude for being saved,
and the magistracy was to compel the reprobate to conform to law and
public morality. The suppression of religious dissenters in confessional
regimes prompted radical Protestants to apply rights of religious freedom to
individuals rather than churches. The individual, not the established church,
was to be the bearer of rights. Although the founding documents of the
United States claim that the basis of these rights is self-evident in that they
come from the Creator, this is today no longer universally accepted, nor is
there anything near a consensus on what constitutes the common good. Each

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FORUM ESSAY

is free to do what feels right within the limits of the law. No secular ethic has
emerged to ground a shared moral community. Science cannot teach ethics
nor provide a basis for the dignity of human persons.
In “Manufacturing the Goods Life” Gregory attempts to discover the origins of the capitalist-consumerism mentality of “acquire, discard, repeat” that
serves as the cultural glue of contemporary society. Well aware of relevant
biblical passages, medieval Christian leaders saw the dangers of acquisitiveness and preached against avarice and greed. They also violated their own
admonitions. Up to a point, Christian morality kept in check the excesses of
the urban profit economies and the competitiveness of market forces. While
holding to traditional Christian morality concerning avarice, the Protestant
Reformers separated morality from salvation and saw the world as overrun by
greed and ambition. Disagreements about biblical teachings liberated markets
and economic practices from Christianity. Across confessional lines,
Christians beginning around the mid-seventeenth century increasingly preferred shopping to fighting about religion. The economic success of the
Dutch Republic, where religion was privatized and one was free to pursue
profit, led people to turn their backs on biblical teachings about material
things.Among the Puritans in England and New England there was a gradual
shift from the common good to self-interest, the public sphere was secularized, and there was a “migration of the holy” from church to state (according
to John Bossy). Men sought to fulfill their duty to provide for their families.
Wealth was to be accumulated and displayed; it was seen as a sign of God’s
favor and approval. The quest for more and more material things encouraged
people to discipline themselves in Jan de Vries’s industrious revolution and
made them more easily governable by the state. Enlightenment thinkers
praised the pursuit of happiness through material things, and avarice
renamed as self-interest became a virtue.A new ethic emerged—the good life
consists of the goods life, translated in the modern day to industrial capitalism and contemporary consumerism that serves to hold together societies of
ideologically divided individuals.
In the chapter “Secularizing Knowledge” Gregory shows how the modern
research university came to privilege objective, secular, specialized knowledge that is separated from the rest of life and based on the assumptions governing investigation in the natural sciences.The truth-claims of revealed religion are considered subjective and are altogether excluded from knowledge.
Beliefs and rituals can be examined as cultural phenomena or relics in a religion, sociology, or history department. In the Middle Ages theology was studied in monastic and cathedral schools, in universities and the studia of the
mendicants. It embraced the rediscovered Aristotelian philosophy and was in
dialogue with other disciplines. New knowledge was derived primarily by
deduction from authoritative texts: the Bible and church fathers for theology,
the writings of Aristotle for philosophy, those of Galen for medicine, and the
Corpus juris canonici and code of Justinian for lawyers.The literary works of

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507

ancient Greece and Rome were models of style for Renaissance humanists.
Correspondence among humanists created a “Republic of Letters” outside the
university setting, in part because some intellectual endeavors were not welcome in a scholastic curriculum. Johann Müller of Königsberg in the 1470s
and Mikolaj Kopernik in the 1510s also conducted astronomical observations
outside universities. “By rejecting the authority of the Roman Church, the
Reformation eliminated any shared framework for the integration of knowledge” (p. 326), while disagreements over doctrine led some to see religion as
a matter of subjective opinion. Theology was privileged but thereby became
isolated and insulated in early-modern confessional universities protected by
rulers. Theologians devoted intellectual energy to confessional controversies,
but this meant they usually ignored new scientific and historical knowledge.
Those wanting to escape these divisive debates participated in the crossconfessional Republic of Letters to exchange increasingly secular ideas.
Academies, private homes, and princely courts became new sites where
experiments in the natural sciences were conducted and the findings
reported as new, useful, and objective knowledge in scientific journals.
Eventually universities in the Dutch Republic and Empire demoted the teaching of theology and initially gave prominence to philosophy and to research
in philology, then increasingly to the natural sciences in the nineteenth century. The social sciences developed and tried to imitate the methods of the
natural sciences so as to discover the laws that govern human behavior. The
secularization of knowledge occurred first in Protestant universities as
Catholic institutions retreated into a shell of antimodernist neo-Scholasticism,
their secularization coming only in the late-twentieth century. The long-time
privileging of theology, unexamined metaphysical assumptions, and ignorance of new knowledge meant most nineteenth-century theologians were ill
equipped to deal with the challenges of Darwinism, higher biblical criticism,
and historicism. Protestant pluralism could not be reconciled with objective
universal science. The German model of a research university was eventually
appropriated in America, and higher education was secularized because religious claims to knowledge could not be reconciled with pluralism.
Christianity, watered down to nonsectarian principles and values, was treated
as a civilizing factor. Eventually secular humanists looked to the great books
and works of art to provide this civilizing force. Anyone who took religion
seriously was dismissed as sectarian or a fundamentalist. The university’s
function was now to inculcate skepticism and open-ended toleration, to relativize or eliminate religious belief.
According to Gregory, it was the Reformation’s rejection of the authority
of the Roman Church, its insistence on sola scriptura, and its inability to
agree on what the Bible teaches that precipitated the early-modern doctrinal
disagreements and religio-political conflicts that unintentionally set this trajectory in motion. “Doctrinal disagreement—along with its multiple social,
moral, and political effects—is the most fundamental and consequential fact
about Western Christianity since 1520” (p. 45).

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Comments of Joshua Benson
(The Catholic University of America)
Gregory’s first chapter tracks the genesis and consequences of two
assumptions of secular reason. These comments will focus only on one: what
Gregory calls a “univocal metaphysics” (p. 38). This assumption is important
to Gregory’s total narrative, and he frequently returns to it. He argues that the
Franciscan theologian John Duns Scotus (d. 1308) lies at the source of this
univocal metaphysics, which ultimately undercuts God’s transcendence by
including him within the realm of the created world. Those who adhere to a
view known as “Radical Orthodoxy” have raised similar fears about Scotus.
Although Gregory seems to distinguish himself from these individuals in his
endnotes, his reading of Scotus is substantially the same. Regarding Gregory’s
text, I would like to point out briefly what a major group of scholars has
already demonstrated at length about Radical Orthodoxy’s reading of Scotus’s
doctrine of univocity—it is tragically flawed. As any number of commentators
have stressed: “The doctrine of univocity is a semantic doctrine . . . it is highly
misleading to talk . . . about a ‘univocalist ontology,’”1 or, metaphysics. In other
words, Scotus’s univocal concept of being belongs to the field of religious/
theological language about God; it is not a claim about any purported relationship between God’s being and created being in reality. Scotus does not
believe, contrary to Gregory’s reading, that his claim in a semantic field necessitates a claim about an ontological similarity between God and creatures in
reality, such that “[God] belongs to a more encompassing reality with creatures” (Gregory, p. 37). Scotus himself makes this clear in one of the most critical texts regarding his theory, which Gregory does not cite: “. . . God and creatures are nevertheless totally distinct in reality, because they share in no
reality.”2 One hardly needs to know Scotus’s corpus well to discover this crucial distinction—there is a large body of scholarly literature, old and new, that
maintains it. In fact, one of the sources cited by Gregory also shows that
Scotus’s theory does not undermine God’s transcendence. Scotus indeed
praises God’s transcendence in his De primo principio: “You the first efficient cause, you the ultimate end, you supreme in perfection transcend all
things.”3 This is not mere lip-service; Scotus holds that God transcends all
things, and his univocity theory of religious language does not undermine it.
Further, it is significant that fourteenth-century figures were more concerned
to criticize Scotus’s formal distinction and its implications for God’s simplicity than issues regarding univocity and divine transcendence. Gregory’s work
1
See Thomas Williams, “The Doctrine of Univocity Is True and Salutary,” Modern
Theology, 21 (2005): 575–85, here 575.
2
“[Deus et creatura] sunt tamen primo diversa in realitate, quia in nulla realitate conveniunt.” John Duns Scotus, Ordinatio 1.8.1.3 (Vatican City, 1956), 4:190n82.
3
“Tu primum efficiens. Tu finis ultimus. Tu supremus in perfectione, cuncta transcendis.” John Duns Scotus, A Treatise on God as First Principle, ed. Allan Bernard
Wolter (Chicago, 1983), p. 143.

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does not stand or fall on his claim about Scotus. Nevertheless, in a work so concerned with genealogies, we might hope for more care in their construction.

Comments of Hans J. Hillerbrand (Duke University)
This is a remarkable book, and given the attention it has already received
it might well buttress its author’s standing as key scholar of early-modern
Europe. Its analytic prowess, bibliographical mastery, and conversancy with a
wide range of developments in European intellectual history are all impressive. This is the kind of book reviewers wish to have written themselves.
Having said that, one must add, however, that the book’s thesis and conclusions are neither new nor persuasive. That the Protestant Reformation was
an intellectual, theological, and societal disaster has been a mainstay of
Catholic critics—for them, Martin Luther was not only a poor theologian; he
also destroyed a flowering late-medieval culture and worldview. To be sure,
Gregory gives the traditional Catholic perspective an intriguingly new twist,
but in so doing, he is not always successful.
It is not clear what kind of book this is. It is certainly not a history of the
Reformation (although three of the four blurbs on the dust jacket are from
early-modern historians.) Gregory has a lot to say about the Reformation, but
he also says a lot about the centuries before and after the Reformation.Thus,
his focus is considerably broader so as to sustain his argument that, no matter
how committed to enhancing the place of religion in society, the Reformation
produced the exact opposite—the philosophically confused, morally blemished, theologically irrelevant twenty-first century.
That, of course, is heavy medicine.
Unfortunately, in the six chapters of the book Gregory lets his thesis overwhelm the facts.Although he declares repeatedly that his book is more than
an intellectual history of Europe, covering political, social, and economic
developments as well, this reviewer, at any rate, is left with the impression
that he slides all too smoothly over individuals and ideas that do not fit his
scheme of things. There may be other culprits in the story of the “decline of
the west,” but Gregory leaves little doubt that the real culprit was Luther and
his compatriots in reform.
At issue, then, is the question if developments in Europe can be traced so
singly to the Reformation (as both title and subtitle of the book assert). I do
not think so. Although I am pleased that religion, in varying guises, is given so
central a place in Gregory’s book, I also suggest that there were revolutionary
developments that “secularized society” and had nothing to do with the
Reformation. Take the role of the scientific and geographic revolutions where
surely the work of Copernicus, Kepler, and Galileo had less to do with their

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religious beliefs than with problems of the Aristotelian/Ptolemaic cosmology.
Or take economics. The uniform medieval value system collapsed because
the concept of the “just price” no longer worked. Europeans in faraway places
traded cheap glass marbles for costly furs. What then was the “just price for
furs in Europe?” Late in the sixteenth century, Spanish Jesuit Juan de Mariana
offered the apt conclusion that “the market has its own laws.” Add to that the
Christian encounters with different religions, Louis Cappel’s study of the
Hebrew vowel marks, and the ubiquitous rise of natural science, and one must
conclude that the new turns in the understanding of the world and its impact
on society would have come about even if the likes of Martin Luther,
Huldrych Zwingli, or John Calvin had died in their respective cradles.
In short, things were just a bit more diverse than is brilliantly argued here,
although one appreciates, perhaps grudgingly, Gregory’s commitment to
make religion important in European history. That makes (its flaws notwithstanding), The Unintended Reformation a book that needed to be written.
Not that it makes a cogent case, but it should trigger a conversation.

Comments of Simon Ditchfield (University of York, UK)
This is a very American book and for a very simple reason. Even the least
observant Briton visiting the United States today is struck by a paradox—
although in the United States church and state are legally separate, the country has become a Walmart of religious faiths all jostling for the spiritual consumer’s attention. By contrast, in the United Kingdom, where the monarch is
head of the Church of England and the coins that jangle in our pockets all
proclaim her as “Defender of the Faith,” the public profile of Christian faith in
particular and religion in general is, relatively speaking, all but invisible.Thus
viewed from the British perspective, Gregory’s lament for the parlous state of
the present in which a cacophony of religious, philosophical, and moral
“hyperpluralism” has superseded what, for all its dissonances, was essentially
a harmonious pre-Reformation Age of Faith appears misplaced. So what has
got Gregory’s goat and impelled him to abandon his original project, which
was to write a more conventional narrative history of the Reformation Age, in
favor of authoring a passionate polemic of such breathtaking scope and learning? The answer lies in the specifically American context of its composition,
where the failure of “the Secularization thesis” was given such dramatically
tragic endorsement by 9/11. This has been accompanied by the so-called
“religious turn” within the profession of U.S. academic history as reflected by
the news that, according to data culled from membership details of the
American Historical Association in 2009,“religious history” surpassed all other
topic categories. If one adds to this the moral and actual bankruptcy of the
financial sector and the unmasking of that demonic enabler of the “goods
society”—easy credit—presaged by the collapse of Lehmann Brothers in
September 2008, the necessary conditions are in place for Gregory’s apologetic. However, the sufficient conditions are still lacking to contextualize

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Gregory’s argument, and here, to borrow E. H. Carr’s sage injunction, one
needs to attend to the sound of the buzzing within the historian’s bonnet.4 In
Gregory’s case, we are dealing with a scholar who is not only a trained historian and member of the academic staff at one of the pre-eminent Catholic
universities in North America—Notre Dame—but also a professionally qualified philosopher, with two degrees from the Catholic University of Leuven.
This unusual skill set for a twenty-first-century historian helped me understand why so often I found myself thinking that the facts adduced by Gregory
for his argument were doing philosophical rather than historical work. To
borrow an insight of Jonathan Sheehan in his subtle analysis of a work I consider to be similar in its ambitions to the book under review—Charles Taylor’s
A Secular Age (Cambridge, MA, 2007)—The Unintended Reformation “is not
a history. Rather, it documents a set of contrastive categories.”5 However, in
place of Taylor’s narrative of the shift from the premodern ”porous” social self
open to the spiritual world to the modern “buffered” individual for whom religion has been “excarnated” and rendered immaterial and transcendent,
Gregory offers an altogether bleaker cautionary tale in which “the blithe and
incoherent denial of the category of truth in the domains of human morality,
values, and meaning” (p. 18) has left religion itself secularized (p. 174,
emphasis added). For Gregory, the answer is to be found in a neo-Scholastic
marriage of reason and belief, with philosophy as (once more) the handmaid
of theology. The implication appears to be that we do not need a (scientific)
truth to serve us, but a (religious) truth to serve. This raises a disquieting question. Where does this leave those of us religious historians who do not profess allegiance to any formal denomination and believe that our continued
membership of the secular academy does not disqualify us from making valid
contributions to the historical understanding of our chosen subject?

Comments of Paul F. Grendler
(University of Toronto Emeritus and Chapel Hill, NC)
This comment will focus on the last chapter in which Gregory argues that
the Reformation secularized knowledge, especially university knowledge. He
argues that just before the Reformation “the monastic, scholastic, scientific,
and humanistic strands of late medieval knowledge-making were not
sequestered from one another” (p. 324). But then,“By rejecting the authority
of the Roman church, the Reformation eliminated any shared framework for
the integration of knowledge” (p. 326). Theology and theologians became
separated from the scientific knowledge creation of the universities, a situation that exists today.

4

E. H. Carr, What Is History? (Harmondsworth, UK, 1962).
Jonathan Sheehan, “When Was Disenchantment? History and the Secular Age” in
Varieties of Secularism in a Secular Age, ed. Michael Warner, Jonathan VanAntwerpen,
and Craig Calhoun (Cambridge, MA, 2010), pp. 217–42, here p. 225.
5

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There are historical problems with this argument. University scientific
knowledge (medical, legal, and physical knowledge) was already separate
from theological knowledge before the Reformation. How so? The most
important universities for producing all knowledge except theological knowledge in the Renaissance and Reformation era (1400 through the early-seventeenth century) were Italian universities. Why? Because they had many (and
famous) professors in these subjects, whereas northern European universities
had few (and little known) professors. For example, the universities of
Bologna and Padua had thirteen to twenty-eight professors of medicine and
twenty to fifty professors of law in any given year in the sixteenth century.
The universities of Heidelberg, Leiden,Vienna, and so forth had three or four
professors of law and medicine each, but lacked professors of astronomy and
mathematics. Professors in Italian universities created an enormous amount
of new knowledge—good, bad, and indifferent—and disseminated it through
lectures and publications. Professors in northern European universities produced little. Some of this new scientific knowledge had an enormous impact;
for example, Italian university professors created the Medical Renaissance of
the sixteenth century.
Italian universities had already marginalized theology in the fourteenth
and fifteenth centuries. By 1500 most large Italian universities had only one
or two professors of theology and one or two professors of metaphysics in a
professoriate of fifty to one hundred. Some had fewer theologians. For example, the University of Bologna did not teach theology through much of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, and theology won a permanent place in its
curriculum only in the academic year 1566–67. Just as important, many professors of law, medicine, and natural philosophy had little respect for theology
and metaphysics.
Another way of explaining the situation is that northern European and
Spanish universities were collegiate universities teaching arts (meaning
humanities and philosophy) to what we would now call undergraduates and
theology to clergymen. Most of the teachers were regent masters, young men
with master’s degrees who taught younger students studying for bachelor of
arts degrees. They resembled today’s graduate teaching assistants. By contrast,
Italian universities were graduate and professional universities whose professors held doctorates. They offered advanced training and conferred doctorates in law and medicine on mostly laymen. Hence, numerous northern
Europeans acquired bachelor’s degrees in arts in their home countries and
doctorates in law or medicine in Italy.
In short, Italian universities were already research universities producing
secular knowledge and marginalizing theology before the Reformation. In
time northern universities became more like Italian universities as they
caught up with and sometimes surpassed the scientific innovations of Italian
Renaissance universities.

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513

Other questions come to mind.To what extent did Scholastic theologians
in late-medieval Europe evaluate the truth claims of scientific knowledge?
And perhaps Gregory underestimates the antagonism between humanism
and Scholasticism in northern European universities. A key component of
humanism was its sharp critical attitude toward all received knowledge.
Scholastic theologians and philosophers were a favorite target.
Finally, is it such a bad thing that a great deal of university knowledge was
and is secular? Should theologians using the test of Catholic experiential
knowledge have examined the truth claims of the new anatomical knowledge that Andreas Vesalius and his followers created? What would they have
said?
Although this comment questions some of the arguments of the book, it
agrees with much of its description of the development of knowledge and
criticisms of contemporary American life, including the universities. Finally,
two editorial suggestions are in order. The author might have divided the long
chapters into sections, and have reduced the size of many paragraphs and sentences. The publisher should have provided footnotes.

Response of Brad S. Gregory (University of Notre Dame)
I am grateful to my colleagues for their reviews and to The Catholic
Historical Review for the opportunity to respond briefly to their chief criticisms and questions. I will first address the two reviews that focus on specific
points, then turn to the two that consider the book as a whole.
My interpretation of Duns Scotus and his metaphysical univocity is based
entirely on secondary sources, beginning with Amos Funkenstein and including the other scholars of medieval philosophy and theology mentioned in the
notes. Even if we follow those interpreters who, as Benson indicates, regard
Scotus’s conception of being as a semantic theory of religious language rather
than an ontology, it would at most qualify the character of Scotus’s contribution to the genealogical analysis traced in chapter 1. A more adequate account
would then inquire about the process whereby Scotus’s semantic theory was
taken as a metaphysics such that God and creation were conceived ontologically as (infinite and finite) differentiations within the more encompassing
reality of being and how this became the dominant metaphysical framework
within which modern philosophical and scientific thought about the relationship between God and nature unfolded. For, whatever the particularities
of the history, it seems clear not only that this happened but also that, in combination with Occam’s razor applied to an either/or distinction between natural and supernatural causality, it explains why so many scholars and scientists today mistakenly assume that central claims of revealed religion are
rendered implausible in proportion as scientific explanation of natural regularities proceeds apace. Any revised account taking its departure from
Benson’s point about Scotus, it seems to me, would not affect my argument in

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FORUM ESSAY

chapter 1 about the critical role of Reformation-era doctrinal controversies in
sidelining contested issues related to God’s alleged revelation.
Grendler seems to have misunderstood what I wrote in chapter 6 about
the relationship between theology and the other disciplines in late-medieval
universities, whether in Italy (where I rely especially on his scholarship) or in
northern Europe. That different sorts of knowledge (monastic, scholastic, scientific, humanistic) were not sequestered from one another on the eve of the
Reformation, that they “coexisted and interacted among many of the church’s
intellectuals” (p. 324), does not mean—as I make clear—that they were integrated into a whole or that their interconnections were apparent at the time
(pp. 317–26). The point is that the pursuit and transmission of knowledge,
regardless of its type and whether it was inside or outside Italian or northern
European universities, continued to presuppose an intellectual framework
that included Christian truth claims and their theological expression. It was
thus not “secular knowledge” in any modern sense. That is why professors in
arts, law, or medical faculties in Italian no less than in northern universities, as
Grendler knows far better than I, could be and sometimes were suspected of
heresy. Theology’s marginalization in Italian universities (and its institutionalization in friars’ studia) did not imply that knowledge pursued in other faculties was opposed to or unrelated in principle to Christian truth claims.
Their integration was simply not commonly pursued, still less achieved. In
this sense, as I note (p. 318), the specialization of knowledge was indeed
already underway in the late Middle Ages. But the Reformation’s impact was
dramatically different in kind, because Protestant reformers rejected many of
the truth claims that constituted the doctrinal framework, rendering theology
incapable of serving as an integrative discipline across what became institutionalized divides in confessionalized universities. Grendler’s blandly general
remarks about humanism and Scholasticism do not do justice to the pages I
devote to their relationship (pp. 323–26), and his question about theology,
Catholic experiential knowledge, and Vesalius’s anatomical knowledge shows
that he misunderstands the chapter’s argument about how “the kinds of
knowledge in question were undeniably different, and irreducible to one
another” (p. 325; cf. 308–09).
A more basic incomprehension of the book as such seems apparent in
Hillerbrand’s remarks. His comments reflect some of the ingrained assumptions about periodization, supersessionist historical change, and textbook narratives of secularization that I challenge—hence his bafflement about “what
kind of book this is.” So, to be clear: The Unintended Reformation is a history
book. It takes the present Western world as its point of departure. It seeks to
explain how the past gave rise to the present, emphasizing the disruptions of
the Reformation era to this end. I proceed in self-consciously unconventional
ways for reasons that are clearly articulated in the introduction, which lays
out the book’s aim, rationale, and method (pp. 1–14, 20–24). Contrary to
Hillerbrand’s imputations (and Ditchfield’s suspicions), the book’s approach

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515

presupposes no substantive religious commitments, Catholic or otherwise.
An atheist careful not to impose personal views on those studied could have
written it. If all religious truth claims turn out to be nonsense, nothing in the
book’s analysis or conclusions would change. I state repeatedly (and show
extensively) that it was not “Luther” or the Reformation per se, but rather the
unresolved doctrinal disagreements among Protestants and Catholics, as well
as the concrete religio-political conflicts between Catholics and magisterial
Protestants, that precipitated the Western world’s unintended ideological and
institutional secularization. One can approve or disapprove of this process
and its outcomes, diverse assessments about which contribute to contemporary hyperpluralism; I offer multiple arguments about why our situation today
seems troubling, but this judgment is separable from the historical analysis as
such. Hillerbrand imagines that early-modern scientific and cosmological discoveries and the development of commercial markets were secularizing factors independent of religion and the Reformation’s impact and as such provide evidence that I let my “thesis overwhelm the facts” and “[slide] all too
smoothly over individuals and ideas that do not fit [my] scheme of things.”
Rather, such allegations make plain how little Hillerbrand understood of chapters 1, 5, and 6.
Instead of addressing any of its arguments, Ditchfield speculates about
why I wrote an ostensibly “very American book.” Yet the conclusions of many
of its historical arguments pertaining to “the parlous state of the present”—
about, for example, the absence of evidence for human rights given naturalist
metaphysical assumptions, consumerism’s impact on climate change, or the
effects of the fragmentation of knowledge on university education—apply no
less to Britain or European countries than to the United States. To be sure,
hyperpluralism with respect to questions of meaning, morality, and values is
more publicly visible and causes more political friction at present in the
United States than in the United Kingdom, but a very wide range of incompatible ideological claims, religious as well as secular, is evident in both. I did
not pursue in the book their specific, contingent, and complex particularities
in different national contexts or the highly variable character of their current
public manifestations and political implications. But these national variations
are fully compatible with the book’s argument.
I have been concerned with the questions that The Unintended
Reformation seeks to answer since long before 9/11, the scholarly “religious
turn,” or the economic debacle of 2008.When I was still in Stanford’s history
department, Ditchfield reviewed my first book, Salvation at Stake
(Cambridge, MA, 1999), in this journal. In its conclusion I wrote:
It would be an exaggeration to say that unresolved religious disagreement
caused the Enlightenment, the rise of modern science and philosophy, the early
modern renaissance of skepticism, and the birth of modern relativism. Yet its
important influence on all these major trajectories in modern thought is clear.
(p. 348)

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FORUM ESSAY

The Unintended Reformation extends and expands the exploration of
issues raised in Salvation at Stake. I reject Ditchfield’s apparent dichotomization of philosophy and history. Philosophy belongs to the human past and
present, and all scholars make historically rooted philosophical assumptions
whether or not they are aware of it. Among other aims, The Unintended
Reformation seeks to raise philosophical self-awareness among all scholars
on the basis of historical analysis, rather than acquiescing in dominant
assumptions about disciplinary boundaries. Yet Ditchfield can relax, considering how well he does his scholarly work as a leading historian of earlymodern Catholicism. Just as he professes no formal denominational allegiance, so The Unintended Reformation does not depend on any of mine,
regardless of my institutional affiliations. I have always argued that doing good
religious history is not a function of whether one is a religious believer. The
book provides no basis for imputing to me the view that the answer to current problems “is to be found in a Neo-Scholastic marriage of reason and
belief, with philosophy as (once more) the handmaid of theology.” This
should be evident from my remark about “comically simplistic papal diagnoses and remedies for the problems of modernity,” such as “Scholasticism”
(pp. 361–62). The contemporary intellectual viability of Roman Catholicism
and some other religious worldviews in relationship to natural scientific findings should be acknowledged by anyone who understands the relevant intellectual issues involved, whether or not they accept any religious claims. That
is why I say the academy should unsecularize itself based on its own principles of academic freedom and open inquiry. This has nothing to do with
reconfessionalizing academic life or imagining that religious beliefs are a prerequisite for doing good scholarship. It bears instead on recognizing the nonneutrality of secular beliefs in a manner that would widen the range of intellectually responsible academic discourse.

BOOK REVIEWS
________
General and Miscellaneous
Masters of Preaching: The Most Poignant and Powerful Homilists in
Church History. By Ray E. Atwood. (Lanham, MD: Hamilton Books. 2012.
Pp. xvi, 305. $60.00. ISBN 978-0-761-85780-8.)
A priest of Dubuque has written a most useful guide for anyone who
wishes to consider more seriously the fact that preaching is, in the clear
teaching of the Council of Trent, the Primum Officium of the priesthood. Ray
E. Atwood provides the historical schema for the development of various
schools and styles of preaching, from the Hebrew prophets to the twentieth
century, with typical sermons and homilies in accessible translation.
The patristic tradition expounded sacred texts not only literally, spiritually,
and morally but also allegorically and anagogically. Although the typology in
the latter idioms when overwrought can wear thin, it obviously had an impact
on their original hearers. This only shows that great preaching must not only
have a timeless quality but also a certain datedness, if it speaks directly to
the vernacular culture.
The author draws heavily on the Reformed theologian Hughes Oliphant
Old, who proves to be a good source. For instance, in contrast to the sometimes extravagant rhetorical devices of the Cappodocians, he sees in St.
Augustine a sacramental sense of preaching that did not aim at “great oratory”
but rather understood preaching as an act of worship. The Second Vatican
Council’s teaching on the preaching ministry only renewed what had always
been in the bosom of the Church and which in earlier times also had to be
reinvigorated, as it was through such great lights of the Counter-Reformation
as the Jesuit saint and cardinal Robert Bellarmine. He did not disparage oratory as an art and even encouraged its refinement, but not for its own sake. In
his “De ratione formandae concionis” Bellarmine expects in a preacher “zeal,
wisdom, and eloquence” and finds these symbolized by the tongues of fire at
Pentecost whose “heat points to zeal, the splendor to wisdom, and the form
of tongues, eloquence” (p. 209). St. Charles Borromeo’s insistence on a thorough knowledge of history reminds us that the neglect of such study explains
much of the weakness in contemporary preaching.
Since the book includes thirty sermons and introduces voices such as
Ezekiel, Jeremiah, St. Basil the Great, St. Ephraim the Deacon, the Venerable
Bede, St. Alphonsus Liguori, and St. Jean Marie Vianney, it is almost pedantic
to regret the omission of St. Bernardino of Siena. The Dominican Jean-Baptiste
517

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BOOK REVIEWS

Henri Lacordaire is mentioned only in passing. But it is a major loss to have
overlooked Monsignor Ronald A. Knox, the most polished and original
preacher of his age. Instead, for the twentieth century, we have Walter
Burghardt, whose admirable style could outshine content, and Venerable
Fulton J. Sheen, whose influence on many somewhat atones for indulgent
dramaturgy.“Cupio dissolvi” was not a motto instinctive to him, and his free
use of Knox, G. K. Chesterton, and C. S. Lewis without attribution was so bold
as to be almost guileless.
None of the preachers cited followed the author’s advice that ten minutes
should be the length of a homily. Just as a prelude and a sonata are not a symphony, so should distinctions be made between forms of preaching, and
sacred rhetoric is not confined to the liturgy. At least preaching is no longer
a “legitimate interruption” of the Mass, as the old Code of Canon Law had it.
The reader will learn much from the many details presented here, although,
alas, John Keble and Edward Pusey did not “follow [John Henry] Newman
back to Rome” (p. 242), and Pope Benedict XVI did not canonize Newman.
One hopes that may be a not too hasty prophecy.Atwood has written an edifying study, and both priests and people will benefit if it is widely used.
Church of Our Saviour, New York

GEORGE W. RUTLER

The Franciscan Tradition. By Regis J. Armstrong and Ingrid J. Peterson.
[Spirituality in History Series.] (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. 2010. Pp.
xxviii, 196. $16.95 paperback. ISBN 978-0-814-63030-3.)
The present volume is the first in a new series launched by the Liturgical
Press exploring five major spiritual traditions within the Catholic Church:
the Benedictines, Carmelites, Dominicans, Jesuits, and Franciscans.The focus
of this inaugural volume by two recognized scholars of the tradition is to
introduce the reader to Franciscan spirituality—in its various male and
female expressions—through a survey of seventeen saintly figures within
the tradition. A number of them are canonized saints of the Church (Francis
and Clare of Assisi,Anthony of Padua, Bonaventure of Bagnoregio, Colette of
Corbie, Catherine of Bologna, Felix of Cantalice, the Martyrs of Nagasaki,
Veronica Giuliani, Jean-Marie Vianney, Marianne Cope of Molokai, and
Maximilian Kolbe); others are officially recognized as blessed (Junípero Serra
and Mother Mary of the Passion); and a few are generally acknowledged as
men and women of outstanding holiness (Angela da Foligno, Matt Talbot, and
Solanus Casey). To account for the broad diversity of the Franciscan Family
in history, the authors have chosen representative figures from all four
branches of the Franciscan Family: the First Order of male Franciscans
(including examples from all three of its branches: the Observants,
Conventuals, and Capuchins); the Second Order of Poor Clares; the Third
Order Secular of laymen and laywomen; and the Third Order Regular. The
volume is thus carefully thought out with respect to the complexities of

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519

Franciscan history and representative of its medieval, Renaissance, early
modern, and modern periods.
The overall structure of this slim but substantive volume follows a simple
pattern: a biographical sketch of each saintly figure, followed by selections
from the writings of (or about) the individual in order to give a flavor of the
spiritual orientation of each Franciscan.
Readers or preachers looking for biographical sketches of the key spiritual
figures of this religious tradition have had to rely, for many years, chiefly on
the heavily pious and uncritical Franciscan Book of Saints by Marion A.
Habig (Chicago, 1959; rev. 1979). The biographical overviews in the present
volume, although considerably more compact in scope, are a major improvement on the older work, especially in its increased sensitivity to the relationship between hagiography and history. Most of the sketches contain pertinent
details on the lives of each of these saintly figures. The most disappointing
sketch—perhaps the most difficult to render due to the amount and diversity
of the literature—is the one treating Francis of Assisi. Indeed, the socioeconomic and political context of early-thirteenth-century Assisi, so formative of
the early minorite spiritual vision, is curiously absent in this treatment,
although one finds a passing reference to it in the sketch on Clare. Similarly,
there is little mention of the tensions that wracked the male movement in the
Middle Ages, whereas Clare’s travails with the papacy are pointedly noted.
The selection of texts that illuminate the spiritual vision of each figure is
judicious and evocative. Indeed, a number of the texts (e.g., the Pantheologia
for Bonaventure, the Testament of Colette, and especially the letters of Sera)
are relatively unfamiliar and instructive.
The one real disappointment of the volume is that there is no synthetic
essay attempting to present or grapple with a cohesive vision of Franciscan
spirituality. Perhaps this is due to the structure of the book. But this is to be
regretted since the reader is left with a somewhat fragmentary and impressionistic rather than analytical presentation of this particular spiritual tradition, which is the aim of the series.The work could have used more rigorous
attention to copyediting.
Dominican House of Studies
Washington, DC

MICHAEL F. CUSATO, O.F.M.

Sulle trace di una storia omessa: Storiografia moderna e contemporanea
dell’Ordine francescano. By Giuseppe Buffon. [Analecta Francescana,
Tomus XVIII; Nova Series: Documenta et Studia, 6.] (Grottaferrata: Frati
Editori di Quaracchi. 2011. Pp. 271. €35,00 paperback. ISBN 978-8-87013282-3.)
In this book, Guiseppe Buffon confronts the lack of interest in the history
of the Franciscan Order from the time of the official division of Observants

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BOOK REVIEWS

and Conventuals in 1517 until the Second Vatican Council (p. 29).The reason,
he claims, is to be found in a misinterpretation of the Council’s call for religious orders to rediscover the spirit and aims of their founders. For
Franciscans, this has resulted in an unbalanced emphasis on the writings and
early history of the brotherhood prior to St. Bonaventure, at the expense of
the Order’s modern institutional history. The reforms and divisions of the
latter period have been treated as irrelevant in terms of the order’s attempt
to uncover its true identity in the spirit of the Second Vatican Council (pp.
39–45). In addition, some scholars have claimed that, because it is so “splintered, wide-spread and wide-ranging in focus: the typical Franciscan history
simply does not exist,”1 Buffon refuses to accept this state of affairs, arguing
that the essence of Franciscan identity is to be found in the totality of the
Order’s history, complex and conflictual as it may be.
Given that St. Francis himself did not intend to found an order, a critical
acceptance of pluriformity in interpreting his charism would, according to
Buffon, constitute an important starting point in the search for Franciscan
identity. Problems occur when any one group within an institute claims to
have found the key to the charism, excluding other groups as decadent or
deviating from the founder’s perceived intention. Buffon cites Heribert
Holzapfel’s history of the Order (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1909) as an example.
This work aroused such controversy that it had to be withdrawn from commercial sale (pp. 47–51). A member of the Observant family and promoter of
the Leonine Union of 1897, Holzapfel considered the separation of 1517 as an
unfortunate necessity, promoting, as it did, official sanction of two diverse
interpretations of the Franciscan charism. This paved the way for further divisions, each one convinced of its own legitimacy in terms of faithfulness to St.
Francis. They were the work of restless and ambitious men, who professed
reform so they could exempt themselves from obedience and detach themselves from their legitimate superiors. With the passage of time, the
Observants would have demonstrated their vitality and propensity for reform
without the need for these divisions (p. 49).
In contrast to Holzapfel, Buffon suggests that what is required is a new history of the order that takes serious account of particular histories and of
other literature produced by the different parties concerned (Observants,
Reform, Recollects, Alcantarines, Capuchins, and Conventuals, pp. 249–53).
He examines several of these works in detail, placing them in their historical
context without neglecting associated controversies and hagiographical
debates (pp. 66–228). An extensive bibliography also is included (pp. 7–26).
Buffon argues that this material reveals a constant dialectic between the central administration of the Order and autonomous groups, between official his1
Emma Furniss,“The Franciscan Order in Late-Medieval and Early-Modern Western
Europe: A Historiographical Survey,” Monastic Research Bulletin, 12 (2006), 10. Buffon,
p. 259n5.

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tory and history as interpreted by individual groups, and between pluralism/autonomy and unity. All this, he claims, has contributed to Franciscan
identity (p. 259).
Although primarily of interest to those concerned with the nature of
Franciscanism, Buffon’s work may have wider appeal. His approach might
well encourage discussion of the nature of reform in religious life and the
multiplicity of factors, both within and without an Institute, that contribute
to its success or failure in any given period. A historiographical approach,
according to Buffon, enables the scholar to take in a wider perspective than
one focused exclusively on the founder and his or her immediate surroundings. His is a timely reminder that, in addition to “accepting and retaining the
spirit and aims of each founder,” the “sound traditions” of an institute should
also be retained as constituting “the patrimony of an institute” (Perfectae
Caritatis §2 (b). Historiography is an important instrument in determining
that patrimony.
Stoke Nelson, New Zealand

MAURICE CARMODY

Le pergamene dell’Archivio Capitolare Lateranense. By Louis DuvalArnould. [Tabularium Lateranense 1, a cura del Capitolo di San Giovanni in
Laterano.] (Vatican City: Archivio Capitolare Lateranense. 2010. Pp. 427.
€40,00 paperback. ISBN 978-8-890-50470-1.)
It is hard to believe that until very recently anyone who wished to consult
the documentary archives of the chapter of the Lateran Basilica—built by
Emperor Constantine and long the seat of the papacy—had to rely exclusively
on two handwritten inventories dating to the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries, preserved today as manuscript A.75 and A.31 (pp. 189–220). Paul F.
Kehr, his recent successors, and Philippe Lauer had indeed used the archives
for their publications in the nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries, but
Andreas Rehberg urged as late as 1999 to create at least an inventory for the
thirteenth- and fourteenth-century parchments that were kept rolled up in an
armario.1 It is very fortunate, therefore, that Louis Duval-Arnould—the
former Latin scriptor of the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana (1969–2003), head
of the papal library’s division of manuscripts from 1998 to 2003, and since
1995 a canon of San Giovanni in Laterano as well as prefect of the chapter’s
archive—has taken on the arduous task of publishing an inventory of the fond
of parchment documents of the Lateran Chapter.
The introduction (pp. 7–17) very briefly explains the historical vicissitudes of the Lateran over many centuries. They resulted on the one hand in
1
Andreas Rehberg, Die Kanoniker von S. Giovanni in Laterano und S. Maria
Maggiore im 14. Jahrhundert: Eine Prosopographie [Bibliothek des Deutschen
Historischen Instituts in Rom 89], (Tübingen, 1999), p. 7n24.

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enormous losses, one assumes—the earliest document preserved is a copy of
a privilege for the chapter of Pope Leo IX—and on the other hand caused a
wide dispersal of documents. To complicate matters further, the Lateran
Chapter archive also incorporated over the centuries records pertaining to
several monasteries that were annexed by San Giovanni in Laterano (Sant’
Andrea in Selci or de Castellis, San Pietro di Ferentillo, Santa Maria della Gloria
at Anagni, and Saint-Pierre de Clairac).Also incorporated by the Lateran was a
priory of regular canons, San Tommaso in Ascoli. In addition, documents
belonging to San Lorenzo ad Sancta Sanctorum in the papal palace were
added to the chapter archive (p. 8). It should be noted in the case of Santa
Maria della Gloria, absorbed by the Lateran in 1477, that this monastery had
earlier annexed in its turn a monastery, Bagnara Calabra. Similarly, Bagnara
Calabra had taken over the monastery of Santa Lucia della Montagna in Sicily
with its records. Records from all of these monastic institutions are preserved
among the documentary materials for San Giovanni in Laterano itself. Yet
another illustration of the difficulties that Duval-Arnould encountered is the
fact that today one section of the Lateran archive is preserved at the Casa
generalizia of the Regular Canons of the Lateran at San Pietro in Vincoli,
Rome. The other section of the Lateran archive is housed at the Archivio di
Stato in Florence.These latter materials had originally been transferred to the
monastery of San Bartolomeo dei Rochettini at Fiesole and were moved to
Florence after San Bartolomeo was closed.
The inventory is divided into three parts—I: Serie Q, pergamene; II: Le raccolte medievali (Codici A. 75 and A.31); and III: Bollario della Chiesa
Lateranense, where all papal privileges and other correspondence are inventoried, beginning with the privilege of Pope Leo IX of 1049 or 1050 (no. 1, p.
223) already mentioned and ending with a breve of Pope Paul VI of 1969 (no.
558, p. 340). The author modestly acknowledged the value of the inventory
compiled in 1763 by the Benedictine Pier Luigi Galletti, whose classification
he praised and maintained (p. 9). This means that all parchments are
described in a single series, labeled as ”Q” and divided into subsections by
subject matter. The exceptions are papal documents, as previously noted.
These are found arranged by date and numbered in part III of the volume
called the Bollario (pp. 223–340). Parts I and III will probably be most useful
for the modern period, but of particular interest are two medieval inventories
published by Duval-Arnould in part II of the catalog (pp. 189–205).They constitute the manuscripts A.75 and A.31 in the “Q” series of the Archivio capitolare Lateranense. The oldest one, A.75, was compiled at the time of Pope
Boniface VIII by the Canon Niccolò Frangipane, who was by 1297 among the
first of the secular members of the chapter of San Giovanni.2 Boniface eventually replaced all of the regular canons following the Rule of St. Augustine
with secular canons in a bull of 1299 (Bullarium no. 217, p. 271), claiming that
the regulars had dispersed the properties of the Lateran Basilica, but used the
2

Rehberg, p. 23.

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property in his turn to reward his aristocratic followers (p. 8). The second
medieval catalog,Archivio capitolare Lateranense, codex A. 31, dates from the
first half of the sixteenth century (pp. 13–14). Scholars will be very grateful
to have these old catalogs at their fingertips, allowing comparisons with
Galletti’s inventory, thus revealing at least fragments of the history of the
Lateran archive and therefore of the political and economic influence of the
Lateran Basilica. It is sad to note how many manuscripts and documents have
been lost since the mid-nineteenth century (pp. 10–11).
The catalog has been edited with great care and is admirable for its clarity.
Each item of the inventory, whether original or copy, or original and copy, is
dated as precisely as possible and preceded by a brief summary (calendar);
the entries are followed by succinct references to external features and bibliographical references when applicable. Detailed indices facilitate the use of
the volume. They include an index of incipits for the papal letters, and the
extremely important index of names of persons and places (pp. 343–426).
One notes with pleasure that three additional volumes are already planned for
the Tabularium Lateranense series.
The Catholic University of America (Emerita)

UTA-RENATE BLUMENTHAL

Ancient
Heretics and Heresies in the Ancient Church and in Eastern Christianity.
Studies in Honour of Adelbert Davids. Edited by Joseph Verheyden and
Herman Teule. [Eastern Christian Studies, Vol. 10.] (Leuven: Peeters. 2011.
Pp. x, 395. €59,00 paperback. ISBN 978-9-042-92486-4.)
Recent scholarship has been fertile both in the study of heretics and in studies of heresy. Commonly the former show more evidence of reading than of
reflection, whereas in the latter there is more reflection than evidence of reading. The first type, better though not the best conceivable, predominates in this
collection in honor of the Dutch scholar Adelbert Davids. Boudewijn
Dehandschutter justly observes, in “Heresy and the Early Christian Notion of
Tradition,” that Irenaeus, Clement, and Tertullian entertained different notions
of the rule of faith, but the bias that he professes to be correcting on page 8 is
already obsolete in the English-speaking world. When Anthony Hilhorst
(“Christian Martyrs outside the Catholic Church”) concludes that “the prestige
of the martyr’s status may have been fatal to the survival of Gnosticism” (p. 36),
he casts some old stones and leaves the rest unturned. In “Heracleon and the
Hermeneutics of Prepositions”Annewies Van den Hoek hints at a more skeptical appraisal of conventional taxonomies when she finds that Origen and his
interlocutor used “similar linguistic tools” (p. 49) in the service of a shared conception of hermeneutic activity. Fred Ledegang’s “The Ophites and the ‘Ophite’
Diagram in Celsus and Origen” is genuinely critical in its parsing of the impenetrable documents that remain to us. Jan van Amersfoot supplies enough evi-

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dence to justify the title of his offering, “The Ebionites as Depicted in the
Pseudo-Clementine Novel”; on the other hand, he cites no ancient witness in
support of his claim that Valentinus “taught freely in the Church of Alexandria”
(p. 86). Kristoffel Demoen, in “Incomprehensibility, Ineffability and Untranslatability,” adds little of his own to a catena of excerpts from St. Gregory of Nyssa;
in a subtle essay on “Preaching and the Arian Controversy” Johan Leemans
shows that Gregory is winnowing orthodoxy from heresy even when dispensing praise and consolation to his own partisans.Joseph Verheyden’s “Epiphanius
of Salamis on Beasts and Heretics” bring to light an imaginative strain in the
herpetology of the fourth century’s Grand Inquisitor. Daniela Müller, in “Aspekte
der Ketzerverfolgung,” corroborates the well-known fact that heresies were
defined in Byzantium by imperial law and in the West by bishops under Roman
hegemony. Peter van Deun’s edition of ten short Chapters on the Double Will
of the Lord will put scholars in his debt, although Maximus’s intimation that
theology should deal in facts, not words (p. 212), would make it impossible to
formulate either dogma or a history of doctrine. Antoon Bastiaensen on “Les
vocables perfidus et perfidia” shows that these perennial terms of vilification
signify the failure of the Jews to keep faith with God. Martin Parmentier offers
an edition of a Latin text, whose “Rules of Interpretation” include the incorporeality of the Godhead, the discreteness of the three persons, and their common
possession of divine attributes. Gerard Bartelink’s “Die Invektiven gegen
Nestorius” is an inventory of opprobrious terms in Cassian, also taking note of
the tropes that he fails to employ. In a study of the Syriac prelate Gîwargis of
Kaphră, Dietmar Winkler decides that the terms Nestorian and Monophysite
are blunt tools for historians of Christology, whereas Hubert Kaufhold, in
“Häresie, Schisma und Apostasie,” argues that these concepts are not differentiated in Georgian and Armenian histories. Once again, however, it would be
anachronistic to assume that they are in common use today. While Herman
Teule investigates the sources of a compendium by Bar-Hebraeus, Fedor
Poljakov professes to have discovered “Gnostiken Reminiszenzen” in the
Russian liturgy, and Bert Groen deprecates passages in the “modern Byzantine
liturgy” that appear to countenance “anti-Judaism.”
Christ Church, Oxford

MARK EDWARDS

One God. Pagan Monotheism in the Roman Empire. Edited by Stephen
Mitchell and Peter Van Nuffelen. (New York: Cambridge University Press.
2010. Pp. 239. $99.00. ISBN 978-0-521-19416-7.)
Monotheism between Pagans and Christians in Late Antiquity. Edited by
Stephen Mitchell and Peter Van Nuffelen. [Interdisciplinary Studies in
Ancient Culture and Religion, 12.] (Leuven: Peeters. 2010. Pp. vi, 225.
€48,00 paperback. ISBN 978-9-042-92242-6.)
These two collections of essays are the product of a conference entitled
“Pagan Monotheism in the Roman Empire (1–4 c. AD)” that was held at Exeter
University in July 2006 and represented a highlight of a triennial research pro-

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gram on the intellectual background to pagan monotheism.The program was
conceived as a response to the volume Pagan Monotheism in Late Antiquity,
edited by Michael Frede and the reviewer.
The two books differ in conception and format. One God is an elegantly
produced hardcover, containing six basically conceptual essays by recognized
authorities in the field of religious studies, as well as the contributions of the
two editors. Monotheism, on the other hand, is a paperback volume, apparently less carefully edited, which takes the form more of a series of case studies, as the editors themselves note (p. 8). While accepting “pagan monotheism” as a heuristic tool, both books give emphasis to the social and political
context of religious praxis and the preeminence of cult and ritual over ideology, although the editors point to a chronological division between the two.
Regarding the “Constantinian revolution” as a watershed, they assign to One
God papers dealing with the era before the recognition of Christianity as a
religio licita and to Monotheism those relating to the period 350–450. It may
also be noted that One God concentrates on the Greek East, whereas
Monotheism draws to an equal extent on Latin sources.
The papers in One God reflect the fundamental distinctions among (a)
“soft” (inclusive) pagan and “hard” (exclusive) Judeo-Christian monotheism,
(b) numerical and qualitative oneness, and (c) monotheistic thought and polytheistic cult. In a well-structured methodological article,“Pagan Monotheism
as a Religious Phenomenon” (pp. 16–33), Peter Van Nuffelen discusses the history and usefulness of such coinages as henotheism, monotheism, and monolatry, together with the neologism megatheism, in the context of the study of
Greco-Roman religion.All these terms, he argues, point to the changed way of
conceiving and worshiping the godhead in the Roman Empire as from the
first century, a change brought about by the interaction between various religious trends under the growing influence of philosophical discourse. Change
is equally the central issue in the analysis of Roman religion from the first to
the fourth century by John North, “Pagan Ritual and Monotheism” (pp.
34–52), although his emphasis is on social and sociological factors (listed on
pp. 42 and 51); not only does North minimize the role of philosophy in the
process of mutation, but he dismisses altogether the idea that the tendency
toward monotheism is “a necessary condition for the religious transformations we are seeking to analyse” (p. 51). Frede (“The Case for Pagan
Monotheism in Greek and Graeco-Roman Antiquity,” pp. 53–81) and Stephen
Mitchell (“Further Thoughts on the Cult of Theos Hypsistos,” pp.167–208)
remain faithful to the positions adopted in their respective essays in Pagan
Monotheism. Emphasizing continuity and intellectuality, Frede brings in evidence from Antisthenes, Chrysippus, and Galen to prove that philosophy is at
the heart of ancient religion, which “is not just a matter of cult and ritual” (p.
81). By adducing new epigraphic evidence, Mitchell restates his thesis that
the cult of Theos Hypsistos was “in essence and in spirit, if not in the narrowest definition, a form of monotheistic religion” (p. 198).

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With reference to St.Augustine’s reception of the Platonic theology,Alfons
Fürst (“Monotheism between Cult and Politics: The Themes of the Ancient
Debate between Pagan and Christian Monotheism,” pp. 82–99) argues that the
Christian apologists “found the decisive difference at the level not of the concept, but of the worship of God” (p. 85). Fürst sees this antithesis as already
present in Origen’s answer to Celsus and, following the influential thesis of
Carl Andresen in Logos und Nomos (Berlin, 1955), states that the debate
focuses on issues of ethical, social, and political order and more specifically
on “the complementary headings logos and nomos” (p. 94), rather than on
theoretical principles concerning the nature of the godhead.
The importance of the social context of religious belief and praxis is
emphasized by Christoph Markschies (“The Price of Monotheism: Some New
Observations on a Current Debate about Late Antiquity,” pp. 100–11),Angelos
Chaniotis (“Megatheism: The Search for the Almighty God and the
Competition of Cults,”pp. 112–41), and Nicole Belayche (“Deus deum… summorum maximus (Apuleius): Ritual Expressions of Distinction in the Divine
World in the Imperial Period,” pp. 141–66). Using epigraphic evidence from a
wide religious spectrum that includes Jewish, Samaritan, Christian, and pagan
confessional statements, all three authors argue that pagan monotheism is not
a helpful tool in a discussion of religious identity. Instead, they presuppose a
polytheistic background against which individuals, groups, cities, and communities advocate the supremacy of their own god in a spirit of basically amicable competitiveness. In particular, Markschies uses evidence from fifth-century Samaria to attack Assmann’s theory of primary (polytheistic) and
secondary (monotheistic) religions that are responsible for the eristic distinction between the one true god they worship and the many false gods of
everybody else. In this he is not alone; Assmann casts a heavy shadow over
One God, particularly the introduction (e.g., pp. 2, 4, 9–10), and most of the
authors prefer to convey a tolerant, multicultural image of the Mediterranean
world in Roman imperial times. One may wonder, however, whether this
irenic, postmodern vision, bred in the last few decades within an environment
of neoliberal competitive ideology and practice, is not something of an oversimplification, reflecting one aspect only of a complex historical reality.
In contrast, Monotheism steers clear of such firm preconceptions. Most
papers comment on the Christian-pagan discourse and therefore discuss
issues of reception and misrepresentation, appropriation and propaganda,
and distortion and slander, as well as concentrating on the dialectic between
inclusiveness and exclusion in social and intellectual terms. Maria V. Cerruti
(“‘Pagan Monotheism’? Towards a Historical Typology,” pp. 15–32) uses a variety of philosophical texts to illustrate the typological distinction between the
hierarchical and the syncretistic forms of pagan monotheism. In a very fine
article, Miguel Herrero de Jáuregui (“Orphic God(s): Theogonies and Hymns
as Vehicles of Monotheism,” pp. 77–100) takes us through a thousand years of
Orphic monotheism and its tribulations at the hands of various philosophers

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527

as well as of Jews and Christians. Giulia Sfameni Gasparro (“One God and
Divine Unity. Late Antique Theologies between Exclusivism and
Inclusiveness,” pp. 33–56) contrasts the social all-inclusiveness of Christian
communities with the intellectual exclusivity of paganism, whose Sitz-imLeben is the philosophical school. In “Eadem spectamus astra. Astral
Immortality as Common Ground between Pagan and Christian Monotheism”
(pp. 57–76), Bert Selter draws on the corpus of Carmina Latina Epigraphica
to show how the quintessentially pagan belief in astral immortality is presented by the Christians as their own. With reference to the careers of two
famous rhetors (“Pagan Conceptions of Monotheism in the Fourth Century:
The Example of Libanius and Themistius,” pp. 101–26), Isabella Sandwell illustrates the unsurprising compatibility between monotheistic and polytheistic
belief in the fourth century. Reading a variety of ancient philosophical and
rhetorical sources in the light of Max Weber’s discourse (“From Philosophic
Monotheism to Imperial Henotheism: Esoteric and Popular Religion in late
antique Platonism,” pp. 127–48), Niketas Siniossoglou explores the tension
between philosophical monotheism and cultic henotheism, arguing that,
despite Emperor Julian’s efforts toward combining the two, the inclusive attitude of paganism prevented it from ever becoming an Alltagreligion. Finally,
three papers, by Crystal Addey, Maijastina Kahlos, and Gillian Clark, concentrate on Augustine’s critique of the approval of polytheistic cult by pagan
philosophers with a monotheistic outlook—whereas in Christianity belief
and cult are addressed by all and sundry to the one true god, the scandal of
paganism consists, to Augustine’s mind, in the arrogance of its leaders who
seem to accept, and even propagate, the distinction between a philosophically minded elite and a superstitious populace.
Behind the nine case studies collected in Monotheism there lurks a persistent, if unformulated, question: What was it that ensured the victory of
Christianity vis-à-vis a revamped, monotheistic paganism? With varying degrees
of emphasis, the answers focus on its synthesis of a theology, which (despite its
often impenetrable nature) was professedly accessible to all, with a universally
practiced cult—this in contrast to the ambiguous attitude to cult of monotheistic paganism. But other factors also played their part. In several influential
studies Ramsay MacMullen has argued that the organization and management
of violence by the Christians was decisive; and one might equally suggest that,
in such a catalytic development,chance played its role as well. Yet,however one
balances out the parameters that led to the social triumph of Christianity, any
discussion of the subject should take into consideration the general issues that
cut across the spiritual background of late antiquity, rather than concentrating
on one particular aspect of it: these include the phenomena of canonicity and
exclusion, orthodoxy and heresy, prophecy and tradition, authority and challenge, faith and salvation, holy places and holy men, to mention just a few.
In this context it may be worth raising a query over another presupposition running through the two volumes: that the intolerance present in a strict

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monotheistic religion was “unknown in ancient paganism” (One God, p. 2)
and that the “Constantinian revolution” is thus a watershed between two
epochs (Monotheism, pp. 1, 5). It can equally be argued that the reign of
Decius (249–51) provides evidence of a turning point in the social and intellectual history of late antiquity, for what is normally described as the first systematic persecution of the Christians is no less than the demand made by a
theocratic ruler to all the inhabitants of his universal empire to comply, under
death penalty, with the cultic rules of the state religion. By the time of
Decius’s edict the “religious intolerance” that was to be later enforced by his
Christian counterparts had already begun to take hold. Nor was this simply a
pagan reaction to the rise of Christian monotheism: revolutionary monotheism (to use Assmann’s vocabulary), with its monopoly of the truth (and its
insistence on revelation, canonicity, and orthodoxy), was transversal to the
textual communities that emerged in late antiquity and remodeled its intellectual and spiritual landscape (cf. the reviewer’s La lutte pour l’orthodoxie
[Paris, 2006]).
The two volumes offer a welcome addition to the discussion on the
change of paradigm in the religious sociology of late antiquity and go some
way toward filling a gap that was noted and criticized in many of the contributions to Pagan Monotheism in Late Antiquity, arising as it did from their
emphasis on continuity in the philosophical discourse. However, one might
suggest that future studies, rather than underlining the differences between
pagan and Christian, should focus on osmosis, interaction, and acculturation,
all of which played a dominant role in influencing the change in priorities
among the newly created religious communities spread across the entire
breadth of the late-antique oecumene.
POLYMNIA ATHANASSIADI

University of Athens
Medieval

The Bear: History of a Fallen King. By Michel Pastoureau. Translated by
George Holock (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University
Press. 2011. Pp. viii, 343. $29.95. ISBN 978-0-674-04782-2.)
Michel Pastoureau’s The Bear: History of a Fallen King is a fascinating
cultural history, but one that seems to come up short. In part I, Pastoureau
points to a lost communion between man and bear, such that “ancient peoples in the Paleolithic considered the bear a creature apart” (p. 25) and elevated the bear to become a totemic animal. Later, Greco-Roman, Celtic, and
Germanic mythologies evidence a cult of the bear and provide enduring tales
of metamorphoses of human into bear; of protective she-bears that nurse
human infants; and of monstrous love, sometimes fertile, between a human
female and a bear.Although the bear was venerated in early-medieval culture
for its strength, its close resemblance to man and its allegedly insatiable sexual

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appetite prepared the foundation for a more violent confrontation with ecclesiastical authority. Since the theology of the Church depended on man’s
uniqueness and superiority to animals, precisely because the bear so nearly
resembled man, Pastoureau contends, churchmen sought to suppress rites or
festivals that included the bear: Hincmar, archbishop of Reims, condemned
“vile games with the bear” (p. 83); and other bishops, too, condemned festivals in which men dressed as bears or danced with them. Until the end of the
Middle Ages churchmen repeated that men should not “play the bear” (p. 83),
which entailed not only adopting a bear disguise but also manifesting uncontrollable sexual desire.Thus, the Church “went to war” (p. 89) against the bear,
organizing hunts to nearly eliminate European bear populations. It attacked
the bear’s legendary strength by depicting it in hagiographical literature as
tamed and domesticated by holy men, and it demonized the bear as the
embodiment of numerous vices and as the preferred form in which the devil
appears. Finally, it humiliated the bear, allowing it to be captured, muzzled,
chained, and led from fair to market as an object of amusement. Once the
Church “dethroned” the bear as king of the beasts after 1000 AD, it replaced
him with the lion—an exotic, distant animal whose symbology could be easily
controlled. By the end of the twelfth century, the lion began to replace the
bear on armorial bearings and in royal menageries. The bear’s diminished
status is best illustrated for Pastoureau in vernacular literature: in the chansons de geste, or in French fabliaux like the Roman de Renart, in which the
bear is reduced to a foolish, stupid, clumsy creature.
Although Pastoureau’s study contains abundant fabulous material from
medieval bestiaries and vernacular literature to fascinate the historian, this
also underscores one of its shortcomings—it ignores challenges from natural
philosophy following the introduction of Aristotle’s biology. Although many
Scholastic texts do repeat the fantastic claim that bears couple like humans,
face to face, they challenge other mythic characteristics. For example, the natural philosopher Albert the Great (d. 1280), in his commentary De animalibus, remarks that the bear is not very lustful (parum luxurians; DA
7.3.3.157). To the myth that the she-bear gives birth to an unformed cub and
then brings it to life by licking it,Albert replies “none of this is true at all.” (DA
7.3.3.159) Although Alexander Neckam (d. 1217) does accept this myth, he
does not attribute it, as Pastoreaux suggests was common, to the she-bear’s
unsurpassing lust but rather to the bear’s humoral complexion, which causes
the cotillidones that bind the fetus to the womb to rend, resulting in premature birth. (De naturis rerum, 2.131)
Nevertheless, The Bear contains much that will inform and entertain.
University of Tennessee at Chattanooga

IRVEN M. RESNICK

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Sedulius Scottus: De Rectoribus Christianis, “On Christian Rulers.” Edited and
translated by R. W. Dyson. (Rochester, NY: Boydell Press. 2010. Pp. 202.
$90.00. ISBN 978-1-843-83566-0.)
This book is a bilingual edition, Latin and English on facing pages, of one
of the main works of Sedulius Scottus, the ninth-century Irish scholar and
poet who was active in Carolingian circles c. 850. Dyson is a historian of political theory aiming at an audience with similar interests.A person reading the
book to learn firsthand what Sedulius Scottus wrote on the subject of
Christian kingship will be fairly well served. However, readers who study
Sedulius Scottus or medieval Latin literature and are engaged in literary criticism will need to continue to rely on the previously published Latin text and
English translation.
The central error of the volume is Dyson’s misapprehension of the character of Sigmund Hellmann’s critical edition (Sedulius Scottus [Munich,
1906], pp. 1–91). He believes Hellmann did not take into account Migne,
Patrologia Latina, vol. 103 (“Hellmann appears to have taken no notice” [of
Migne], p. 20). This mistaken view supplies the rationale for choosing
between Hellmann and Migne as it suits him and making a small number of
conjectural emendations. In fact, Dyson misidentifies the author and date of
the Migne text, ascribing it to the Spicilegium of Luc D’Archery (1655–77)
rather than Angelo Mai (Spicilegium Romanum, 1842), who used the Vatican
Palatine manuscript (P). Dyson does not understand that Hellmann’s text is
based on all extant manuscripts and the editions of Mai and Traube (MGH,
Poetae Latini Aevi Carolini, vol. 3, 1896) and that citations in the critical
apparatus to “P corr. Mai” mean Migne.
Despite charging him with such a remarkable dereliction, Dyson praises
Hellmann and claims that his text is based on Hellmann (“the text printed
here is in most respects the one established by him” [p. 21]).This statement
does not prove to be true. Wording, spelling, and punctuation are closest to
Mai, including copying some of Migne’s errors (e.g., creseunt [poem line 6]
on p. 162 and the unmetrical final line of the poem on p. 190).
The preference for Migne sometimes leads Dyson to reject Hellmann’s
clearly better readings. For example, Dyson prints: “Ob hoc coelestum transcurrens prata librorum/Florida congessi vobis, rex, inclyta serta” (p. 44,
Preface, lines 11–12): [“To this end, passing across the flowery meadows/Of
heavenly books, I have plucked for you, O King,/Splendid wreaths”] instead of
Hellmann’s “Ob hoc caelestum transcurrens prata librorum/Florida congessi
vobis, rex inclite, serta” (p. 19) [“For this reason, running through the meadows of heavenly books, I have gathered flowery garlands for you, renowned
king”]. Taking florida with prata instead of serta and preferring inclyta to
inclite misses the Latinity of the word order of line 12 and leaves the underwhelming single word vocative “rex.” (Similarly, compare Hellmann, p. 28, line
23 and Dyson, p. 64; and Hellmann, p. 76, lines 1–4 and Dyson, p. 164.)

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Adding to the problem, there are instances where Dyson prints the text of
Migne but translates Hellmann: “fickleness” (p. 159) translates Hellmann’s
mutabilitate (p. 73, line 14), not Migne’s mobilitate;“equipped”(p. 163) translates Hellmann’s ornatus (p. 75, line 9), not Migne’s ordinatus.
Regarding the translation, Dyson claims to improve on the translation of
E. G. Doyle (Sedulius Scottus: On Christian Rulers and the Poems
[Binghamton, NY, 1983]), which he considers “often unduly free” (p. 21). A literal translation of an obscure passage, however, is no help, as seen in the
Preface, lines 4–5, when Sedulius writes, “Artibus egregiis sapientia
Celsitonantis/Praeposuit hominem cunctis animalibus orbis.” The translation “By excellent arts the wisdom of the Heavenly Thunderer/Has set man
over all the creatures of the world” (p. 45) misses the point that God has given
arts to humans:“The wisdom of the heavenly-thunderer set man by means of
excellent arts before all the animals of the world.”
The introduction mainly surveys political theory starting in the fourth century. Its assessment of the quality of Sedulius Scottus’s thinking is surprisingly
dismissive (“Most of the advice given by Sedulius Scottus is entirely predictable” [p. 38]), underestimating Sedulius’s nuanced presentation of the
relationship between the secular and the sacred, and leaving out the humane,
Boethian themes that set De Rectoribus Christianis apart from the other
Carolingian texts with which it is grouped.
University of Richmond

DEAN SIMPSON

Mind Matters: Studies of Medieval and Early Modern Intellectual History in
Honour of Marcia Colish. Edited by Cary J. Nederman, Nancy Van Deusen,
and E. Ann Matter. [Disputatio, Vol. 21.] (Turnhout: Brepols Publishers.
2009. Pp. ix, 308. €60,00. ISBN 978-2-503-52756-7.)
Marcia Colish has published widely and influentially on the history of
medieval thought. This Festschrift celebrates her valuable achievements with
thirteen essays written in her honor, some boasting witty titles, eight of them
on twelfth-century topics, five on later ones up to Machiavelli. Great figures
are present: St. Anselm of Canterbury, Hugh of St. Victor, Peter Abelard, Peter
Lombard, Gratian of Bologna, and Nicholas of Cusa, among others. Important
themes, too, are here: theories of language, the devil, Christology, the sources
of law, wonders, programs of study, music, princely virtues, and saints’ cults.
And the contributors are well-established scholars. An excellent evaluation of
notions of schools of thought—Porretans, nominalists, and so forth—in the
study of twelfth-century history is made by William Courtenay (“Schools and
Schools of Thought”). Gary Macy (“Fake Fathers”) finds that canon law discussions of the role of women in the Church were most often based on spurious authorities. Arjo Vanderjagt (“Constant Exercise”) brings to life links
between modern devotion and humanism in northwestern Europe in the late-

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fifteenth century with a study of a letter of Rudolfus Agricola offering pedagogical advice. Grover Zinn (“Minding Matter”) unpicks the discussion by
Hugh of St. Victor of a (now lost) symbolical drawing of Noah’s ark that
denotes the Church as the body of Christ. One of Colish’s books was on The
Mirror of Language (New Haven, 1968), and, appropriately, her interests in
language are reflected in an amusing essay by Mary Sirridge on the content
and functions of vocative and substantive phrases such as “I am called” and “I
am.” Priscian’s “rambling” and “notoriously cryptic and episodic” discussion of
these, she writes (p. 97),“in no way discouraged medieval commentators from
trying to extract a consistent theory from his remarks.” Willemien Otten
(“Broken Mirrors”) also writes on theory of language and Abelard’s teaching
on the Incarnation, but he loses the reader when he writes that Abelard sees
“incarnational teaching resulting in an intersubjective human process of universal learning by which Redemption can ultimately be the result of one
teacher’s unusual talent” (p. 86). M. B. Pranger shows how St. Augustine’s
exclusion of evil from being shaped the thought of Pope Gregory the Great,
Anselm of Canterbury, and Heinrich von Kleist about the devil. In an interesting way Jason Taliadoros challenges Colish’s assessment of the controversy in
Anglo-Norman circles over Lombard’s Christology, but his attempt to bring
John of Salisbury into these debates (pp. 139–40) is not successful. Edward M.
Peters’s essay on Gervase of Tilbury (“The Lady Vanishes”) usefully adds to
knowledge and understanding of twelfth-century stories about edifying and
memorable wonders. Nancy Van Deusen provides a most helpful study of the
Timaeus in the writings of Nicholas of Cusa. E. Ann Matter shows how
Alberto Alfieri in the early-fifteenth century happily turned Macrobius’s
swirling realm of the heavenly spheres into a Christian vision of the afterlife.
Cary Nederman suggests that Poggio Bracciolini and Machiavelli were not so
startling in their views on greed since Nicolas Oresme and Christine de Pizan
in the fourteenth century were already heading in a similar direction. Joel
Seltzer vividly shows how Hussite radicals in fifteenth-century Bohemia dismantled the practices that accompanied the cult of saints, yet by the early-sixteenth century the Utraquists in Prague “celebrated St Jan Hus Day with all
the hoopla of a national holiday” (p. 297). Occasional misprints notwithstanding, these “Mind Matters” are well worth reading.They are opened and
brought together with an appreciation by the volume’s editors of Colish’s
published work.
University of Sheffield

DAVID LUSCOMBE

Witch Beliefs and Witch Trials in the Middle Ages: Documents and Readings.
By P. G. Maxwell-Stuart. (New York: Continuum. 2011. Pp. x, 228. $32.95.
ISBN 978-1-441-14965-7.)
This book’s title derives from that of Joseph Hansen’s Quellen und
Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des Hexenwahns und der Hexenverfolgung im Mittelalter (Bonn, 1900), and the book itself offers in English

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translation a selection of the original sources (most in Latin, but some in
French and German) that Hansen edited. Maxwell-Stuart has drawn from parts
1, 2, and 6 of Quellen: papal pronouncements, the literature of witchcraft and
demonology (that is, extracts from legal documents or theological treatises),
and records of witch trials from both ecclesiastical and secular courts.
Hansen’s collection had eight parts, but aside from part 3 containing long
excerpts from the infamous Malleus maleficarum (now available in several
English translations, including an abridgement by Maxwell-Stuart himself), the
omitted parts of Quellen are quite small. Even from the sections he does translate, Maxwell-Stuart has had to abridge or excise many of sources to shrink a
collection originally near 700 pages down to just over 200.
Aside from cuts and abridgements, this volume follows Hansen’s original
selection and organization of sources, which is basically chronological within
each section (although some of Hansen’s datings have been corrected by subsequent scholarship). Although noting that Hansen’s overall interpretation of
the history of magic and witchcraft, which of course shaped his selection and
organization of sources, is now outdated, Maxwell-Stuart declares that the
“diversity” of Hansen’s materials “presents us with details and voices which
generally go unheard or are scarcely noticed in modern collections” (p. 14).
Since excerpts from demonological treatises and trial records are the bread
and butter of all witchcraft source collections, this probably refers to
Hansen’s focus on medieval material, whereas most subsequent collections
have focused extensively or indeed exclusively on early-modern witchcraft.
Among Hansen’s source-types, Maxwell-Stuart seems clearly to favor papal
pronouncements, which fill fully 20 percent of his abridgement, whereas they
compose a mere 7 percent of those sections of Hansen that he abridges.
As for the translations themselves, there are inevitably choices made that
readers will either favor or not, depending on their own preferences.
Regarding terms such as malefica or venefica, for example, Maxwell-Stuart
adopts the accurate if admittedly “cumbersome” (p. 14) practice of rendering
these as “female practitioner of harmful magic” and “female practitioner of
poisonous magic” rather than simply as “witch.” He also has a proclivity for
rendering long strings of Latin clauses as enumerated lists. This allows
modern readers to follow along a bit more easily, but is not strictly faithful to
the original texts. Although working exclusively from Hansen is certainly the
most practical way to translate a significant volume of medieval sources,
those editions have in some cases been augmented or corrected by later
scholarship. It would have been useful to have a discussion of this somewhere in the volume. Maxwell-Stuart’s introduction is very brief and seems
intended mainly to draw the reader back into a medieval world in which spirits and demons, miracles and magic are all rationally understood components
of divine order. He provides very little overview of the medieval history of
magic, and, despite presenting Hansen as a representative of the now largely
discredited “rationalist” school of the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth cen-

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turies (pp. 12–13), he offers no real overview of historiographic trends in
witchcraft scholarship.
Iowa State University

MICHAEL D. BAILEY

Medieval Anchoritisms: Gender, Space and the Solitary Life. By Liz Herbert
McAvoy. [Gender in the Middle Ages, Vol. 6.] (Rochester, NY: D. S. Brewer,
an imprint of Boydell & Brewer. 2011. Pp. x, 201. $95.00. ISBN 978-1-84384277-4.)
As Liz Herbert McAvoy points out in the introduction to her new book,
“The past two-and-a-half decades have seen a considerable development in
scholarly interest in the anchoritic life and its wider effects upon medieval
society and its systems of belief” (p. 3). Modestly, she does not add that, for the
last dozen of those twenty-five years, she has been at the forefront of stimulating, promoting, and shaping this scholarly interest as conference organizer and
editor of conference proceedings and collections of commissioned essays. It is
particularly good, therefore, now to have her monograph on the subject.
The centers of interest and angles of approach of Medieval Anchoritisms
will be familiar to anyone who has followed McAvoy’s work over this period.
Questions of gender are central—particularly the way that patriarchal culture
encloses women (with the anchorhold only the most extreme manifestation
of that fact) whilst in the process providing a position from which women
can write back. Luce Irigaray, Julia Kristeva, and Hélène Cixous are the
acknowledged underpinnings of the approach. As the book’s subtitle indicates, gender here is inflected also with work on the social production of
space (Gaston Bachelard, Henri Lefebvre, and Michel Foucault); René Girard
on scapegoats and Irit Rogoff’s more recent Terra Infirma are also avowed
influences (see pp. 6–7). The theoretical model is worth emphasizing,
because it is its constant presence that lends coherence and unity to a book
that often jumps around in method and especially in chronology. It should be
pointed out that, after its first chapter and despite the inclusive title, Medieval
Anchoritisms is a study of gender, space, and the solitary life in England.
The first two chapters look at male anchorites and in particular the way in
which male anchoritism is “haunted” by the feminine. Sources as diverse as St.
John Cassian’s Conferences, the Rule of St. Benedict, and the Regula solitariorum of Grimlaic (chapter 1), as well as the brief rule known as the “Reply of
a Fourteenth-Century Abbot of Bury St. Edmunds to a Man’s Petition to be a
Recluse” and the later Speculum Inclusorum (chapter 2), show anxieties over
the ways that anchoritic enclosure could be felt to compromise masculine
identity. In response the texts emphasize the aggressive masculinity of the
miles Christi or the virtues of “the sealed, continent and specifically monastic male body” (p. 66). Chapters 3 and 4 turn to female anchorites. Chapter 3
examines the ways in which texts by men (St.Aldhelm on virginity, Goscelin
of St. Bertin’s Liber Confortatorius, and Ancrene Wisse) interpellate their

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audiences of women anchorites, whereas chapter 4 instead looks at femaleauthored works: Julian of Norwich’s Revelations, the Book of Margery
Kempe (who, although not an anchorite herself, authors a book that is “shot
through with anchoritic hermeneutics” [p. 124] and “performs” an anchoritic
identity [p. 134]), and the gruesomely explicit Revelation of Purgatory by an
anonymous Winchester anchorite. The final chapter turns from literary
sources to records of the female anchorites of the Welsh marches (and
Chester in particular), primarily in the thirteenth century, seeing them as
reflective of the fluid, unstable (“feminine”) lines of the borderlands, as well
as probably productive of Ancrene Wisse.
Medieval Anchoritisms is not a summa, but it does draw together the
recurrent concerns and approaches that have characterized McAvoy’s work
to date and applies them to a wide range of texts. The book is perhaps most
convincing in its readings of the late-medieval canonical literary texts, but it
is always stimulating and has a singleness of purpose that is compelling.
University of Exeter

E.A. JONES

A Bishopric between Three Kingdoms: Calahorra, 1045–1190. By Carolina
Carl. [The Medieval and Early Modern World, Vol. 43.] (Leiden: Brill. 2011.
Pp. xii, 292. $166.00. ISBN 978-9-004-18012-3.)
The town of Calahorra, sited on a rock some 1200 feet above the Ebro
River about seventy-five miles northwest of Zaragoza, had been important
since Roman times. A Christian bishopric from 456 AD, its prelates appeared
in eight Iberian councils before disappearing from sight early in the Muslim
period. Some dim memory of its former existence as a bishopric was
reflected sporadically in later northern Christian sources. In 1045 García
Sánchez III of Navarre captured the town in one episode of the contemporary general movement of the mountain peoples of the north of Iberia down
into the river valleys. But Calahorra remained an exposed frontier post until
Zaragoza itself was conquered by Alfonso I of Aragón in 1118. Thus it became
one matrix for the gradual amalgamation of northern Christians, Mozarabe
Christian immigrants from the south, Muslim Arabs, and a yet newer stream
of south French pilgrims from beyond the Pyrenees into a unique society.This
present study therefore has the potential to stimulate the first fundamental
reconceptualization of the history of the Christian churches of the early
Reconquista period since the Augustinian Enrique Flórez published his
España Sagrada in the eighteenth century.
The current study extends an earlier one by the author.1 The titles of the
two studies indicate the change of emphasis in the author’s approach, as the
1
Carolina Carl, “The Bishop and the Basques: The Diocese of Calahorra and the
Basque Province of Alava under Bishop Rodrigo Cascante, 1147–1190,” Journal of
Medieval History, 34 (2008): 229–44.

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Basques as an ethnic entity of the first give way to the emerging political kingdoms of Navarre, Aragón-Barcelona, and Castile-León of the second. Within
this latter, wider arena the author moves with a generally sure touch as she
mines the source materials edited and the scholarship deployed upon them
by three generations of medieval historians of Iberia since the end of World
War II.
In addition, Carolina Carl is able to employ a knowledge, unparalleled in
its detail, of the machinery of this heretofore largely obscure diocese. She
details the interaction there of church governance with the emerging power
of urban municipalities and the growth of royal dynasties that furnished the
essential dynamic of contemporary Iberian society. Within this context she
correctly, one is tempted to say almost uniquely, identifies the new institution
of the cathedral chapter as a critical fulcrum of change. More often than the
bishopric itself, the cathedral chapter was an essentially urban institution, and
Carl is quite right to investigate its familial, social, and financial ties to the
urban elite of the similarly emerging municipality in what is surely the single
most valuable portion of her study.
She relates this story within the context of the emerging monarchies of
Christian north Iberia, of course, but her work here is largely derivative and
her conclusions often arguable, as are still those of most other current scholarship of the period. Notwithstanding, it is curious that the other major player
in the dynamic—the emerging Roman papacy—is largely neglected. She
focuses largely upon this latter’s initiative in the substitution of the Roman
rite for the Mozarabic but adds little to that subject. On the other hand, she
entirely ignores the growing acceptance at Rome of the desirability of formally recognizing the cathedral chapter as the ordinary canonical instrument
for the election of bishops.This was to be a crucial step that placed the cathedral chapter at the center of the competing interests of its own canons, the
urban patriciate, the local nobility, the crown, and even the distant papacy in
Iberia as everywhere in Western Europe.
Given that many of the critical arguments will have to be from the history
of architecture, art, and even archaeology, it is to be hoped that the author will
continue to press her own researches back into refoundation of the Christian
churches of Iberia in the aftermath of the Muslim Conquest of the peninsula.
Villanova University

BERNARD F. REILLY

The Eucharist in Pre-Norman Ireland. By Neil Xavier O’Donoghue. (Notre
Dame: University of Notre Dame Press. 2011. Pp. xv; 352. $48.00 paperback. ISBN 978-0-268-03732-1.)
In this study of the Eucharist in pre-Norman Ireland, Neil Xavier
O’Donoghue has assembled an array of primary source material that is most
impressive in its breadth and quality, and the University of Notre Dame Press

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537

has done this source material ample justice in its attractive presentation.
However, on closer inspection, one finds his secondary sources are dated and
incomplete, and his engagement with his sources is frequently not sufficiently
critical. Throughout his work, there is an undercurrent of inaccuracies, so
easily verifiable that it brings his scholarship into serious question. To highlight but a few of these: “When William died, he was succeeded by his son,
Henry I” (p. 32). But when William died, in 1087, he was succeeded by his
second son,William Rufus, who reigned until his own death in 1100. The Irish
Church was a “church without martyrs” (p. 14), but St. Patrick’s Letter to
Coroticus gives the lie to this popular belief. He claims that there is “little in
Irish monasticism that could be termed unique” (p. 14) but seems to overlook
the Céli Dé penchant for the daily recitation of the “beloved three fifties,” the
“Breastplate of Devotion,” and other practices of piety that are not found elsewhere. O’Donoghue claims that the use of chrismals was “a peculiarity to preNorman Ireland” (p. 121) and yet can quote the blessing of a chrismal from
the Pontifical of Egbert, Archbishop of York, and further on (pp. 187, 188)
refer to chrismals from Mortain in France and from England and Switzerland.
These minor inaccuracies are superficial irritants; however, there are more
serious errors. He claims that the Nauigatio sancti Brendani is “an important
work of Irish hagiography” (p. 116) and to a large extent treats it as such. If
he had consulted the critical bibliography of Glyn Burgess and Clara
Strijbosch, he would not have made this mistake and so have ignored the pioneering work of such authors as Jonathan Wooding, Thomas O’Loughlin,
David Dumville, and many others. He states that the Céli Dé movement was
“a reform” (p. 103) and claims that “there is little evidence that they produced
any hagiographical material”; this bald statement totally ignores the Félire
Óengusso, one of the most important hagiographical/liturgical works of the
early Irish Church. His misunderstanding of the Céli Dé monks leads him to
claim that the “sacramental ministry was the domain of the non-monastic
clergy” (p. 14) and “pastoral care . . . was provided by a nonmonastic clergy”
(p. 15). Even a superficial reading of the Céli Dé Rules reveals that for these
monks their pastoral ministry occupied a very major and significant place in
their daily monastic routine.1 These errors, coupled with careless presentation in his bibliography, spoil what could be a very promising area of
research.
In spite of taking refuge in the words of Robert F.Taft, who said that his
own conclusions might “seem banal in the extreme,”2 O’Donoghue’s conclusions are a disappointing anticlimax to the preceding 200 pages. He does
1
See the reviewer’s Sacred Time in Early Christian Ireland (London, 2007) for a
fuller treatment of the Céli Dé movement and the monks’ pastoral involvement.
2
Robert F. Taft, “The Order and Place of Lay Communion in the Late Antique and
Byzantine East,” in Studia Liturgica Diversa: Essays in Honor of Paul F. Bradshaw,
[Studies in Church Music and Liturgy], (Portland, 2004), pp. 129–49.

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not analyze his source material in sufficient depth to draw any substantially
new conclusions from his research. We learn little from his work about the
theological understanding of the Eucharist in pre-Norman Ireland. This is a
pity because of his obvious enthusiasm for his subject; because, as he points
out (p. xi),“relatively little has been published on the Eucharistic liturgy in
the pre-Norman church”; and because of the amount of material he has
assembled.
Sarum College
Salisbury, UK

PATRICIA RUMSEY

Crusading as an Act of Vengeance, 1095–1216. By Susanna A. Throop.
(Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing. 2011. Pp. x, 232. $119.95. ISBN 978-0754-66582-3.)
In a closely argued, lucid, and thoughtful study of the motif of vengeance
in the formative century of crusading practice and discourse, Susanna Throop
has made an important contribution to our understanding of the place of the
crusade within twelfth-century culture; of crusading’s rhetorical dimensions;
and of the ways in which it exploited a wide range of social, political, historical, and textual referents to create and sustain its impact on numerous
people’s imaginations. In the process, Throop mounts a strong challenge to
the current scholarly orthodoxy, which maintains that vengeance as an animating idea for crusaders was most pronounced at the time of the First
Crusade (1095–1101) and tailed away thereafter as historians, preachers, and
apologists of crusading developed discursive strategies that were more congenial to educated clerical sensibilities. This, Throop argues persuasively,
inverts the actual chronology of the importance of ideas of crusading as
vengeful violence; crusade-as-vengeance in fact becomes more prominent
over the course of the twelfth century. Moreover, historians’ assumptions
about the discrete categories of elite and popular cultural fields, she argues,
do not stand up to the evidence for the movement and interplay of ideas and
images between different literary genres bearing upon crusading, a discursive
flexibility that established a rich linguistic field within which notions of
vengeance were able to circulate and influence one another. Many challenges
have been made in the past, of course, to the elite-popular binary, but Throop
makes her case with care and insight, grounding her arguments in a close and
measured reading of her mostly narrative sources.
A number of criticisms may be made of the book. The mobilization of
those crusade-related texts that do not feature vengeance as a central element
of their target language is sometimes a little tentative, and their potential
value as contextualizing control material is consequently diluted. The promise of a methodological approach that is “modified structuralist” is perhaps
not fully realized. One feels that there is a more extensive lexical and semantic field operating on the margins of, and interpenetrating with, the terms

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such as ultio and vindicta that are especially targeted for analysis—a wider,
if less tidy, discursive frame that would have probably permitted further layering of the argument.
Overall, however, this is an extremely valuable book with important things
to say about the motive forces behind crusading as a collective and selfavowedly moral endeavor. Many of its particular points—about the importance of the Crucifixion as a potent symbol of vengeful righteousness for crusaders; about the ready conflation of Jews, Muslims, and heretics as the
victims of vengeful sentiment; about vengeance as an organon of social
memory; and about the language of zeal as an animating force within vengeful crusade rhetoric—are striking and exciting. In general, Throop’s book is
valuable as a demonstration of what can be gained from a reading of crusade
texts that is closely attentive to questions of language and meaning-making.
One hopes that more such work will be undertaken, for the study of crusading stands to be substantially enriched by discursively-aware research into its
extensive narrative source-base. This substantial book makes an excellent
start.
University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill

MARCUS BULL

Heresy, Crusade and Inquisition in Medieval Quercy. By Claire Taylor.
[Heresy and Inquisition in the Middle Ages, Vol. 2.] (Rochester, NY: York
Medieval Press, in association with Boydell & Brewer. 2011. Pp. xvi, 277.
$90.00. ISBN 978-1-903-15338-3.)
This is a tightly focused, and highly detailed, history of heresy, both
Waldensianism and Catharism, crusade and inquisition in the southern French
region of Quercy from the mid-twelfth through mid-thirteenth centuries.
Claire Taylor, despite her focus on Quercy, has important things to say about
larger questions. She challenges the tendency, perhaps most visible in Mark
Pegg’s work, of some recent historians to treat heresy as a “construct,” something that existed in the minds of Catholic polemicists and inquisitors rather
than in the objective, lived experience of real people. Taylor demonstrates
that both Waldensianism and Catharism had an objective existence in Quercy.
People clearly distinguished between competing belief systems. Their choice
of which faith to follow was based on a careful weighing up of what the
heretics and the orthodox church taught.They opted for dissent even though
they knew doing so was dangerous. Taylor also argues that the experience of
Quercy undermines many of what she terms the standard “structuralist functionalist” explanations for the appeal of heresy. It is often argued that heresy
appealed to people who lived where the shortcomings of the local clergy
made them incapable of meeting the felt spiritual needs of their flock. This
was not the situation in Quercy. There the twelfth- and early-thirteenth-century church was vigorous, the center of the region’s cultural and devotional
life, with its popular abbeys in particular establishing a dense network of rela-

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tionships with the local nobility. Indeed, the nobles of Quercy initially allied
with the invaders from the north when the Albigensian Crusade began in
1209.
What made the nobles of Quercy willing to protect heretics in their lands
were the social and political changes that came in the wake of the crusade.
Key to Taylor’s argument are changes in the nature of fief-holding that the war
brought. She follows Paul Ourliac and Elisabeth Magnou-Nortier in arguing
that in Quercy, as in Languedoc, the pre-crusade “fief” was very different from
its northern counterpart. It was not a piece of land, but the rights to take certain revenues associated with an office, a manse, settlement, or a church. It
was a mechanism by which nobles redistributed revenue to their servants.
Fiefs created alliances, not subservience, among those who often simultaneously held them from one another. The fief was not necessarily military, and
vassals did not owe military service for them. The crusade and its aftermath
produced a revolution in the nature of fief-holding:
Fiefs were no longer essentially about the distribution of rights to revenues, the
social glue . . . that acknowledged status through wealth but preserved horizontal relationships established between social equals. Fief holding now . . .
meant that vassals were obliged to provide men-at-arms for the crusaders’ campaigns, and that castles would be seized from uncooperative vassals. (p. 211)

This reduction in the political autonomy of the Quercy elite made it willing to tolerate and protect heresy. Ironically, it was only in the course of the
crusade and its aftermath that heresy spread widely in Quercy, as its protection became allied with the defense of southern autonomy.
The book does have some flaws. Although Taylor argues that people consciously chose to adhere to heretical beliefs, she also wants to maintain that
before c. 1180 people in Quercy were not necessarily aware of the contradictions among the various faith communities. Taylor never successfully
resolves this tension. The book’s organization could also be stronger, and
some lengthy passages read rather like undigested research notes. However,
the conclusion sums up the book’s major points in a crisp, concise, and clear
fashion. Anyone interested in heresy and its repression will find this book
essential reading.
University of California, Irvine

JAMES GIVEN

The Inner Lives of Medieval Inquisitors. By Karen Sullivan. (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press. 2011. Pp. xii, 296. $45.00. ISBN 978-0-22678167-9.)
As Karen Sullivan knows, three of the seven titular figures in The Inner
Lives of Medieval Inquisitors were not inquisitors. Yet if it is reasonably
simple to identify an inquisitor, defining “inner lives” is more problematic.
Aware of the difficulties surrounding medieval interiority, Sullivan signifies by

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541

“inner lives” inquisitors’ “thoughts and feelings” (p. 3) toward suspected
heretics: how they imagined and approached them, the premises of their antiheretical activity. Yet as the real disposition of “the inquisitor as a historical
subject in the world” (p. 3) is inaccessible, these inner lives are “subjective fiction” (p. 4), strictly textual and representational. Textualized inner lives are
retrievable; moreover, the “literary inquisitor” offers “a closer view” (p. 4) than
possible even if we knew, or were, his historical self.
This allows Sullivan to depart from “virtually all” recent scholarship on
medieval heresy inquisitions (p. 24). She sees this as dominated by deterministic structures and discourses, and rejects “the tendency of a certain kind of
historical scholarship to emphasize historical circumstances,” and change
over time, “over individual cases” (p. 113; cf. p. 103). Her concern is with
agency and decision, moments when persons cross the grain of a contemporary mentality unable solely to explain their conduct or sentiments.
“Individual cases” constitute the book’s seven chapters, which are further
organized by a binary of zeal (represented by St. Bernard of Clairvaux, Conrad
of Marburg, Bernard Gui, and Nicholas Eymeric) and charity (St. Dominic
Guzmán, St. Peter Martyr, Brother Bernard Délicieux) into which Sullivan
divides dispositions toward heretics.
Unsurprisingly from a scholar de-emphasizing “historical circumstances,”
the case studies generally offer very tight foci. Their close readings are
thoughtful and attentive. To Sullivan, the inner life prehensible in all texts—
by inquisitors and by others writing about them—co-construct a single, consistent whole.Although this is again consonant with her frank departure from
context and change, historians may be discomfited by its occluded tensions.
For example, Sullivan’s analysis of a “loving” Dominic omits or softens zealous
choices made by him and by those later memorializing him. In one instance,
Sullivan argues that although historian Étienne de Salanhac credited Dominic
with Diego of Osma’s angry prediction of the Albigensian Crusade (“the staff
will prevail where the blessing does not”), a still-charitable Dominic “merely
foresees that this suffering will occur and regrets its unfortunate necessity”
(p. 73). However, in Étienne’s account, Dominic rendered the prophecy as
promise, warning his listeners that concitabimus adversum vos principes et
prelatos bringing death and destruction. Sullivan strangely translates
concitabimus as “you will arouse,” transferring the violence’s source from the
“we” of Dominic and his companions (p. 73).
This instantiates for the historian the complications of a zeal/charity
binary and, relatedly, of merging diverse representations. Committed to each
“inner life” as a trans-temporal unity, Sullivan does not dismantle why an
author crafted a certain persona. Consequently, she sometimes appears to
describe precisely a “real” disposition held by “a historical subject in the
world,” with authors helpless to do aught but replicate it. Sullivan, ironically,
withholds “thoughts and feelings” about heresy from writers who were them-

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selves motivated agents able to defy contemporary mentality. Even when produced by another, each textual disposition restrictively redounds only to its
“inquisitor” and was not reflective of, or vulnerable to, other dispositions
toward heretics.
Structural history might be faulted for diminishing the agency of inquisitors who burned fellow Christians, granting them a passivity that can seem
exculpatory. Despite the care and craft of Sullivan’s readings, her literary
imaginaires also cannot explain that horror. Perhaps nothing can.
University of South Carolina

CHRISTINE CALDWELL AMES

Heilsbronn von der Gründung 1132 bis 1321: Das Beziehungsgeflecht
eines Zisterzienserklosters im Spiegel seiner Quellenüberlieferung. By
Miriam Montag-Erlwein. [Studien zum Germania Sacra, Neue Folge 1.]
(Boston: Walter de Gruyter. 2011. Pp. xiv, 666. $195.00. ISBN 978-3-11023513-5.)
The Academy of Sciences in Göttingen has assumed oversight of the
Germania Sacra (see ante, 96 [2010]: 755). In a welcome innovation, it is publishing supplementary historical monographs as well as the series’ wellknown studies of specific institutions that arrange all the available evidence
in accordance with a standard format. This first book of the new type is a
slightly revised version of the dissertation of Miriam Montag-Erlwein
(University of Erlangen-Nuremberg, 2007). She set out to demonstrate that
monasteries helped to integrate and shape the identity of the region where
they were situated. The Cistercian abbey of Heilsbronn, southwest of
Nuremberg, lends itself to such an examination because there are 384 extant
charters—regrettably, only twenty-seven date from the twelfth century—for
the period between the monastery’s foundation and 1321, the death of an
influential abbot.A 1483 necrology, surviving tombs and coats of arms in the
church, and the extensive abbatial library—which has been in Erlangen since
the eighteenth century—supply additional information. Montag-Erlwein studies in almost stupefying detail the abbey’s relations with the papacy, the
monarchy, the three Franconian bishops, the nobility, and nearby imperial
cities, as well as what the provenance of its manuscripts—many originated in
Paris—reveals about its intellectual horizons.
Bishop Otto I of Bamberg (1102–39) founded the abbey in 1132 in the
Diocese of Eichstätt to strengthen Bamberg’s territorial influence in a region
that also bordered on the Bishopric of Würzburg. After 1200 Heilsbronn freed
itself from its ordinary and Bamberg, but maintained close ties to Würzburg,
where it sold its surplus agricultural commodities. Otto appointed the nearby
Count Rapoto I of Abenberg, who was the advocate of Bamberg, as the protector (defensor) of Heilsbronn; his son, Rapoto II, may have become a monk;
and the first abbot, Rapoto, may have been an Abenberg. After the death,
around 1200, of the last of the Abenbergs, who used Heilsbronn as their burial

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church and who were remembered as the founders, the Staufen assumed the
advocacy. Heilsbronn benefited from the frequent stays of the postInterregnum kings in Nuremberg, where the abbey acquired considerable
property and where its dependents settled. The monks turned to Rome for
protection when relations with the king deteriorated. The counts of Zollern
(the ancestors of the later kings of Prussia), who became the burgraves of
Nuremberg around 1192 and who descended from the Abenbergs, made
Heilsbronn their necropolis a century later as they consolidated their power.
Their noble relatives and ministerials were among the chief benefactors of
the abbey. Between 1200 and 1321, at least thirty-six lower noble families
made around seventy-four donations to assure their salvation. No other
Franconian church enjoyed comparable support.
Although Montag-Erlwein has assembled a prodigious amount of information, her work will be of interest primarily to local specialists because she has
not made it accessible to others. There is no introductory general history of
the abbey; instead, she plunges into an examination of Heilsbronn’s relations
with the papacy. She first discusses Bishop Otto on page 150 and the
Abenbergs on page 266.There are no maps or genealogies. There is an extensive bibliography, but some more general works that might have been useful
are missing. Constance Hoffman Berman’s The Cistercian Evolution
(Philadephia, 2000) might have provided an insight into why it is unclear
whether Otto initially intended to found a Cistercian house.The author lists
an article by Joseph Morsel, but not his La noblesse contre le prince: L’espace
social des Thüngen à la fin du Moyen Age (Franconie, vers 1250–1525)
(Stuttgart, 2000). The Academy of Sciences should consider how the larger
scholarly community might be better served.
Illinois State University

JOHN B. FREED

Peter of Damascus: Byzantine Monk and Spiritual Theologian. By Greg
Peters. [Studies and Texts, 175.] (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval
Studies. 2011. Pp. xii, 214. $75.00. ISBN 978-0-888-44175-1.)
In this book Greg Peters introduces us to a Byzantine monk and spiritual
theologian who, although highly regarded by the tradition—second only to
St. Maximos the Confessor in the space allotted him in the Philokalia—has
been all but ignored in modern scholarship. The two works included in the
Philokalia Peters calls the “Admonition to His Own Soul” and the “Spiritual
Alphabet” in his table of contents; St. Nikodimos, in the Philokalia, has simply
“book I and “book II,” but Peters’s titles are apt.Although tradition clearly held
Peter in high regard, nothing much seems to have been known about him;
Nikodimos in his preface was most likely guessing, and guessing wrongly.
Peters begins his book with some serious detective work and argues convincingly that Peter Damascene belongs the middle/late twelfth century. He
argues, too, that we cannot deduce from the epithet Damascene that he came

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from Damascus and tries to identify our Peter, with no very secure result; we
do learn a good deal about attributions of treatises to people who may or may
not have been Peter. In the course of these early chapters we learn about the
slight scholarship on Peter, which has been mostly dismissive. Peters then
presents his own understanding of Peter, by way of a discussion, chapter by
chapter, of the two works. He wants us to see Peter as a more original spiritual theologian than most maintain and a clearer thinker. In particular, he
rejects the notion that Peter can be assigned to the “Evagrian-Maximian” tradition of Byzantine spirituality and tries to persuade us that his works are
more carefully structured than is usually maintained.Whether this is at all successful is an open question.The Evagrian-Maximian tradition is a pretty broad
one; it is not clear why Peter should be regarded as belonging elsewhere.
Over the question of structure, taking us through these works chapter-bychapter is not an entirely helpful way of approaching the issue. Peter seems
typical of the Byzantine spiritual tradition in presenting his teaching as a
series of lists and lists within lists. Like virtually all monastic literature, it is not
intended to be read through, but taken piece by piece and pondered. It would
have been more enlightening to compare and contrast Peter with other examples of monastic literature and to note similarities and differences. Arguing
that Peter stands apart from the Evagrian-Maximian tradition, which is the
Byzantine spiritual tradition, is a distraction. One striking, and unusual, feature
of Peter’s works is his frequent citations of earlier writers. Peters addresses
this in his final chapter on intertextuality, but it would have been much more
enlightening had it been woven more tightly into his exposition.An appendix
gives the verses that precede each chapter in the “Spiritual Alphabet,” omitted
in the English translation of the Philokalia as probably secondary. This is
valuable and brings out more clearly the alphabetical structure of the work.
However, in his discussion each chapter is called after its letter with ´ added;
the diacritical instructs us to read the letter as a number, so “Logos O´” should
mean “chapter 70.” It is, however, chapter 15; the diacritical should have been
omitted. Peters also argues that Peter envisages an audience now wholly
monastic, but that is true of many Byzantine spiritual writers and is not peculiar to Peter Damascene. Nevertheless, if this book serves to draw attention to
Peter Damascene, it will have achieved a worthy end.
University of Durham

ANDREW LOUTH

The Life of Wulfric of Haselbury, Anchorite. By John of Forde. Introduction,
translation, and notes by Pauline Matarasso. [Cistercian Fathers Series, No.
79.] (Collegeville, MN: Cistercian Publications. Distrib. Liturgical Press.
2011. Pp. viii, 262. $34.95 paperback. ISBN 978-0-879-07579-8.)
Pauline Matarasso has done great service in translating John of Forde’s
vivid portrait of the anchorite Wulfric, rendering John’s difficult Latin in crisp
and often witty English. Her substantial introduction, notes, appendices, bibliography, and index are particularly valuable, given the continuing absence of

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a critical edition of the Life. Although her translation relies primarily on
Maurice Bell’s 1933 edition, her “Translator’s Note” (pp. 81–84) reports that
she also consulted the forthcoming edition from Corpus Christianorum,
Continuatio Mediaevalis. Such information distinguishes this translation
from the many that fail to identify their source manuscript or edition.
In the 1180s John, a young monk at the Cistercian abbey of Forde, wrote
about Wulfric, enclosed from 1124–25 until his death in 1154 in the church
of Haselbury, eight miles from Forde. Matarasso suggests that the project may
have been a writing apprenticeship (p. 68), preparing John for his later composition of 120 sermons on the Song of Songs. Her introduction surveys
topics such as the author and the date of the work as well as the institution
of anchoritism and John’s skill at negotiating oral accounts about Wulfric in
the languages (English, French, and Latin) current in Anglo-Norman England
(pp. 32–37).
John is insistently present in this work, articulating the spiritual and moral
implications of Wulfric’s life. Of Wulfric’s desire for solitude, he writes,“May
all those who have devoted themselves to the spiritual life . . . not readily
entrust for long to human eyes that face which Christ so ardently desires for
himself” (p. 107). One short chapter concerns the affection for Cistercians
shown by Wulfric,“This champion and herald of our order”:“in every form of
holiness they pleased him whose approbation they desired” (p. 152).
Wulfric receives a constant stream of visitors, whom Matarasso discusses
at length (pp. 18–32) and tabulates in an appendix (p. 245). John’s meticulous
identification of his sources substantiates Wulfric’s claim that Brihtric, the
church’s vicar,“was the true anchorite of the place, whereas he [Wulfric], constantly exposed to conversation, could more properly be called the parish
priest” (p. 117).Wulfric is constantly available, alone for prayer only at night,
“for it was at night that he worked out his own salvation, since by day he was
working the salvation of others in the midst of the earth” (pp. 134–35).
As the Life of Wulfric is set in twelfth-century England, Matarasso’s notes
thoroughly explain that context. In a narrative of happy symbolism, John
depicts Wulfric’s conversion as signaled by a new coin of the reign of King
Henry I (r. 1100–35; p. 99). Later, Wulfric foretells Henry’s death (p. 200) and
the reign and capture of his successor, King Stephen (pp. 200–01). Other
reminders of Wulfric’s historical context involve more humble figures.When
Wulfric heals someone mute since birth, the man can speak both English and
French. Afterward, Brihtric complains to Wulfric in familiar terms well captured by Matarasso: “Look, I have served you all these years, and today I’ve
proved clearly that it’s a waste of time. . . . You have never given me the use
of French” (p. 115).The work is a rich source for medieval historians.
It would be a shame, though, if only scholars read this translation of The
Life of Wulfric. It is a lovely work, overflowing with great stories—perfect for

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refectory reading. As John of Forde lovingly preserved the memory of Wulfric
as a vir Dei, now Matarasso renews that memory, inviting a new generation
to Wulfric’s cell.
Ohio University

MARSHA L. DUTTON

Saving the Souls of Medieval London: Perpetual Chantries at St Paul’s
Cathedral, c. 1200–1548. By Marie-Hélène Rousseau. [Church, Faith and
Culture in the Medieval West.] (Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing. 2011.
Pp. xiv, 242. $124.95. ISBN 978-1-409-40581-8.)
The Cathedral of St Paul’s, the heart of London’s religious life, was one of
the most important churches in medieval England. A major landowner, home
to the bishops of London, and an important setting for significant civic and
national events, the cathedral was also central to urban lay piety, commemoration, and intercession. One of the most recognizable elements of this intercessory practice was the medieval chantry, the theme of which forms the subject of this book.
The medieval chantry was the foundation and endowment of a Mass by
one or more benefactors, to be celebrated at an altar, for the souls of the
founders or other specified persons. Chantries could range from Masses celebrated at pre-existing altars through to side chapels and the elaborate “cagechantries” of the later medieval period. The study of medieval chantries has
been a popular subject over the last few decades. However, much of this work
has largely been within the field of architectural history with a particular
focus on a small, perhaps unrepresentative, sample of surviving and architecturally impressive examples. Such work has often gloried in the architectural
specifics and minutae of such monuments, as well as perhaps a rather
unhelpful obsession with their founders. Overall, they have generally
informed very little on how these monuments operated in practice or their
wider relevance to the religious community as a whole; a lacuna somewhat
remedied by more recent revisionist historical, and archaeological, work.
Marie-Hélène Rousseau’s work is thankfully, largely in this category and provides a detailed and meticulously researched piece of historical work that
focuses not just on the chantries themselves, but on their management and
organizational arrangements.This is a worthy task made much the harder by
the fact that both chantries and medieval cathedral have long departed. Here,
the value of history in resurrecting the afterlife practices of pre-Reformation
London is ably and effectively demonstrated.
The interdisciplinary study of chantries can present many problems to the
researcher. Just as the archaeologist is sometimes criticized for failing to use
documentary sources adequately, the historian—and certainly the architectural historian—can be equally criticized for failing to reconstruct such physical aspects as setting, location, and visual and spatial relationships. Despite
the fact that individuals often founded chantries, it is clear that in practice

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they did not operate independently; they formed but one component of a
wider ritual church landscape.Thus, one minor criticism of Rousseau’s book
would be that it would be very interesting to understand further where some
of these chantries were located in the cathedral and their relationship with
other important areas of the church, wherever possible.We are told that there
were more than eighty chantries in the cathedral, and thus they would have
had a significant impact on church ritual space and liturgical arrangement, as
well as serving as foci for important civil and lay interactions. Such an interpretation, perhaps in the form of a plan—based on Schofield’s plan of the
cathedral and precinct already included—would have provided a further
useful addition to this work.
The book is a bit pricey and therefore may be unfortunately beyond the
means of many interested amateurs. Overall, however, it provides a timely,
well-written, and well-researched contribution to the study of medieval
chantries in one of London’s most important churches.
University of Winchester

SIMON ROFFEY

Die Register Innocenz´ III. 11 Band. 11. Pontifikatsjahr 1208/1209: Texte
und Indices. Edited by Othmar Hageneder and Andrea Sommerlechner,
with Christoph Egger, Rainer Murauer, Reinhard Selinger, and Herwig
Weigl. [Publikationen des Historischen Instituts beim Österreichischen
Kulturinstitut in Rom, II. Abteilung: Quellen, 1. Reihe.] (Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. 2010. Pp. xcii, 532. $254.00 paperback. ISBN 978-3-700-16544-6.)
It is now some sixty years since Leo Santifaller, at that time both head of the
Österreichischen Staatsarchivs and director of the Instituts für Österreichische
Geschichtsforschung, in alliance with Friedrich Kempf and Friedrich
Schmidinger, decided upon the great historical enterprise of an Austrian critical edition of the registers of Pope Innocent III (1198–1216), which would
replace the often seriously flawed texts published in Jacques-Paul Migne’s
Patrologia Latina (1844–55). The initial progress of the enterprise was slow,
given that the principal editor, Othmar Hageneder, and his associates could
not dedicate themselves to the task on a full-time basis, but happily in recent
years, with Hageneder still at the helm, an exceptional team of editors and
researchers is now moving the project forward at a considerable pace. Nine
years of registers have now been published, and in the latest volume, the letters of Register Vat. 7A, 49–101 have been transcribed. They concern the
eleventh year of Innocent’s pontificate and contain 271 letters from February
1208 to February 1209.
With the exception of the register of Pope Gregory VII (1073–85), which
contains some 390 items, the registers of Innocent III’s predecessors in the
high Middle Ages do not survive, although some of them at least were certainly conserved and consulted both by curial officials and visitors to Rome

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into the middle of the thirteenth century.This makes the almost complete survival of Innocent’s registers all the more valuable, even though it has resulted
in a tendency on the part of historians to ascribe to Innocent III any number
of innovations that were often no more than a continuance of papal thought
over a longer period, as we can often know from letters of previous popes
that survive in local archives or through decretal collections. The major limitation of Innocent’s registers is that they do not cover all the business conducted by the Roman Curia. It is important to emphasize that only a small
number of letters were enregistered, and how one letter found its way into
the register and why another is left out is often far from clear. Most privileges
to monastic houses, for instance, do not find their way into the registers, possibly because the cost of enregistering a letter proved prohibitive and not
central to the monastery’s purpose in obtaining the privilege. But even matters of high politics were sometimes left out. It is therefore always necessary
to be aware of the very many letters surviving in local archives that supplement those conserved in the registers. The use of both in combination gives
us the best understanding of papal government.
Nevertheless, the registers still tell us a great deal and give us a very useful
overview of the papacy’s concerns. However, papal letters should not all be
taken to be an expression of the thought of the pope directly. Although we
know Innocent III greatly involved himself in the business of government and
heard many cases personally, we cannot really know in most cases whether
the pope personally dictated a letter. One suspects he did in important matters of politics, and the eleventh year of his pontificate was hardly short on
political drama. The papacy still had to expend much energy dealing with the
aftermath of the Latin conquest of Constantinople and the subsequent problems of the relationship between the Greek and Latin clergy. An even older
problem—the unhappy marriage of Philip Augustus and Ingeborg, who had
spent one night together back in 1193—also continued to trouble the pontiff,
as did the arrangement of the marriage of his ward, Frederick II, who,
Innocent insisted, was of an exceptionally distinguished family and one very
worthy of the king of Aragon’s sister. New troubles dawned as well. King
John’s refusal to accept Stephen Langton as archbishop of Canterbury would
lead to Innocent’s interdict in England in March 1208, whereas the assassination of Peter of Castelnau, papal legate in Languedoc, caused the pope to
launch the Albigensian crusade, directed against Raymond VI of Toulouse,
whom he considered chiefly responsible for the crime. The negotium pacis
et fidei would be center stage for much of the year, although the papacy still
carefully sought the reconciliation of sometime heretics, as can be seen in its
treatment of Durán of Huesca and his Catholic Poor.Various ecclesiastical disputes across Christendom remind us of the great range and powerful influence of the papacy, but also that in resolving problems it was often as powerless to act as the unsuspecting deacon of León, G., invited to dinner by the
miles, M., who then castrated him, believing G. to be having an affair with his
concubine.This case, like so many others, required delicate handling. M. and

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his concubine had subsequently been burnt for the crime by the local prince
(presumably Alfonso IX). Only if Innocent’s judges delegate decided that G.
had been guiltless of fornication and of the vengeance exacted by the ruler
could G. properly be ordained as a priest.
As always, the Austrian edition comes with an excellent introduction to the
manuscript and the edition, an extensive bibliography, superb notes, and very
thorough indices. Innocent III, who paid such close attention to the practices
and production of his chancery, would undoubtedly approve wholeheartedly
of this admirable new edition.
Saint Louis University

DAMIAN J. SMITH

Cathédrale et pèlerinage aux époques médiévale et moderne: Reliques, processions et devotions à l’église-mère du diocese. Edited by Catherine
Vincent and Jacques Pycke. [Bibliothèque de la Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, Fascicule 92.] (Louvain-la-Neuve: Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique.
2010. Pp. 330. €45,00 paperback.)
Religious typology has conventionally separated the cathedral’s socio-religious experiences from those of the pilgrimage. The seventeen essays in this
volume (plus an introductory essay by Catherine Vincent and a conclusion by
André Vauchez) test the proposition that cathedrals as the bishop’s seat of
power and communal liturgies are essentially different from pilgrimages,
which are individual expressions of devotion outside of institutional structures. The volume’s conclusions challenge the traditional view by showing
the often-successful efforts of cathedral authorities over many centuries to
provide the sacred relics that would attract pilgrims to their shrines. Sites
explored in the essays include many individual places—Paris, Tournai, Toul,
Le Puy, Autun, Reims, Langres, Rouen, Sens, Cambrai,Vienne, and Embrun—as
well as more broadly focused discussions of cathedral crypts, postmedieval
developments, founding saints of Lorraine, and mendicant processions.
The majority of the essays focus on the later Middle Ages, especially the
fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. However, the vitality of cathedrals as pilgrimage sites did not end with the Middle Ages, as several of the essays
demonstrate. For example, Le Puy-en-Velay with its famous Black Virgin was
an ancient Marian pilgrimage site that, according to Bruno Maes, became an
even more important Catholic destination in the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries when it was surrounded by Calvinist Huguenot communities.After
the Council of Trent, too, there was a general move to open up cathedral
choirs, to rid them of the assemblage of altars typical of the Middle Ages—a
move that reached its apex in the eighteenth century, as Mathieu Lours
shows. The reinvigoration of shrines in the postmedieval period also resulted
from acquisition of a new relic such as the “suaire” (shroud) that moved to
Besançon’s Cathedral of St. Jean from the collegiale church of St. Etienne
when it was demolished by Vauban.

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The dividing line between a pilgrimage and a procession can be blurred,
as Philippe Martin points out for Toul in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Even during the Middle Ages, an important cathedral—like the “mother
church” at Tournai—could attract regional clergy on a pilgrimage, as Jacques
Pycke shows. The Tournai ecclesiastics encouraged pilgrimage at key liturgical points in the calendar, including Pentecost, the Exaltation of the Cross, and
Marian feasts. The authorization of commercial festivals at times of religious
importance also buoyed the Tournai cathedral’s privileged position in a large
area of northern Europe.
The distinction between procession and pilgrimage to Notre Dame of
Paris is likewise difficult to perceive, as Mireille Vincent-Cassy argues. This
cathedral had been a pilgrimage site since 945, but it was in the twelfth century that an influx of new relics often on display promoted the cathedral’s
status. The multiple visits of King Charles V during the fourteenth century to
pray for a son and then to commemorate the success of his prayer qualified
as “pilgrimages,” since they had the elements of the vow, the journey, and the
oblation. Processions were characterized by accompanying clergy carrying a
cross before the marchers and ended with a sermon. Some processions
became pilgrimages,Vincent-Cassy argues, for example the “deambulation” of
1449 in Paris, which had 12,500 children dressed in white, walking barefoot
with candles from the church of the Holy Innocents to the cathedral, where
they heard a Mass sung before the image of Notre Dame.
These specific examples are selected from the many richly detailed discussions of cathedral activity that could not be summarized here for lack of
space. Suffice it to say that a careful reader of the essays in this volume will
certainly come away convinced that the conventional division between
cathedral worship and the pilgrimage must be challenged as simplistic. The
historical reality is far more complex—and far more interesting.
University of Southern Maine

KATHLEEN ASHLEY

The Proceedings against the Templars in the British Isles, Vol. 1: The Latin
Edition; Vol. 2: The Translation. Edited and translated by Helen J.
Nicholson. (Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing. 2011. Vol. 1: Pp. xl, 432;
$134.95; ISBN 978-1-409-43650-8. Vol. 2: Pp. lx, 653; $154.95; ISBN 978-1409-43652-2.)
Controversy has followed the Order of the Knights Templar from the time
of the arrest of the French Templars on October 13, 1307, until today. Their
name has become mired in myth, legend, and fantasy, and their original function—to protect pilgrims in the Holy Land—has been largely forgotten, as has
their role in medieval society as military monks who took monastic vows of
poverty, chastity, and obedience.

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Representatives of the Order arrived in Britain in 1128, and the king and
his nobles vied with each other to give them land.As the Templars were latecomers to the British land-market this was often land that had to be reclaimed
from the waste, marsh, or fen. Over the years they did this and became efficient farmers, sending the profits from their estates to their brothers in the
East. Apart from the occasional squabble with neighbors (revealed in local
court records), they were unobtrusive landlords in the countryside. In
London, however, high-ranking members of the Order became advisers,
accountants, and bankers to the monarch.When the French king Philippe IV
arrested the French Templars, King Edward II of England procrastinated on
the grounds that the Templars had always been good friends to his family.
After pressure from Pope Clement V, he eventually arrested the English
Templars in January 1308 and held them on loose house arrest until the
arrival in 1309 of the papal inquisition.The text of these volumes that are transcribed and translated in a work of great scholarship by Helen Nicholson is
the evidence from the trials of the Templars in England, Ireland, and Scotland.
Five versions of the proceedings exist. The most complete of these is Ms
Bodley 454 in the Bodleian Library, Oxford. There are three versions in the
British Library, which are either incomplete or damaged by fire, and there is
a version in the Vatican Library (Armarium XXXV.147), which is a summary of
the proceedings in Britain sent to Clement V for use at the Council of Vienne
in 1312, when he disbanded the Order. All five versions are used in this edition. In the introduction to volume 1 Nicholson gives the provenance and history of the manuscripts and describes these in detail. She also discusses versions already in print, including the flawed version by David Wilkins. The
editorial conventions are carefully explained, and the text adheres as closely
as possible to the original manuscript, including marginalia, insertions, additions, and line breaks.The footnotes to the Latin versions show where the text
differs from Wilkins’s version, and there are extensive notes showing how the
contractions and abbreviations of the Latin words have been interpreted.This
is of inestimable value to scholars working on medieval Latin texts.
Volume 2 is a word-for-word translation of the Latin versions. Therefore,
those unversed in Latin can compare these and establish where contradiction
lies, whereas Latin readers can compare the editor’s interpretations of difficult passages with their own.
The British Templars were tried on eighty-eight charges obtained from the
interrogation of the French Templars, which were acquired by mental and
physical torture. In the introduction Nicholson includes a useful and very relevant discussion on the use of evidence obtained by torture. She concludes
that as historical evidence the proceedings of the trials of the British Templars
need to be used with care and should not be accepted as sound historical
evidence. She suggests that an important aspect of the trial evidence is that it
shows how the papal inquisition proceeded and overcame its difficulties in

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England, where torture was not permitted. She also shows that the Order was
one of centralization with a tight structure.
Only three of the British Templars confessed, and some sort of intimidation
may have been used on them. As shown in the text of the Bodleian manuscript, the others replied that they did not know or that they had never heard
of any such thing regarding the charges of heresy, blasphemy, idolatry, and
sexual misconduct. The evidence given by hostile witnesses, also included in
the proceedings, was either hearsay or complete fabrication.The proceedings
in these volumes show that the British Templars were not guilty of the
charges against them. So why were these brought in the first place? The proceedings against the French Templars do not show either Philippe IV or
Clement V in a good light, but the Grand Master Jacques de Molay was not
without his faults. The British Templars were caught up in a power struggle
that was not of their making. Nicholson does not get involved in any debates
on why the Templars were arrested and whether they were guilty. She presents the texts as they stand and illustrates these with intelligent introductions
that help readers to better understand them. Both editor and publisher are to
be congratulated on publishing these volumes, which are works of significant
scholarship and an addition to the printed corpus of medieval texts.
Wolfson College, Cambridge

EVELYN LORD

The Register of William Melton, Archbishop of York, 1317–1340, Vol. VI.
Edited by David Robinson. [The Canterbury and York Society, Vol. CI.]
(Rochester, NY: Boydell Press. 2011. Pp. x, 281. $45.00. ISBN 978-0-90723973-4.)
In volume VI of the Register of Archbishop William Melton, David
Robinson, who also edited the second volume in this series in 1978, calendars, primarily in English, the 741 documents dealing with the archdeaconry
of the East Riding. In addition to these brief summaries, Robinson furnishes
fuller or even complete renderings of many documents, sometimes in English,
sometimes in Latin. Robinson has carefully edited this work, occasionally suggesting corrections to the Latin text and referring where appropriate to
printed collections of sources such as the Calendar of Patent Rolls.
This volume records the routine business of an archdiocese: licenses for
ordination, licenses for private confessors and chaplains, appointments to
churches, excommunications (in one case, for stealing the archbishop’s
swans), visitations of parishes and monasteries, penances imposed on nuns
and canons for various sins, marriage cases, purgations from alleged crimes,
disputes over benefices, establishment of chantries and one monastery, dispensations for illegitimate birth, and permissions for or punishment for clerical nonresidence. Occasionally a document refers to something of more than
local significance, like destruction of property by Scots. There also are the

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occasional human-interest references like the license given to the prioress of
Nunkeeling to visit the shrine of St.Thomas at Canterbury “provided that she
returns as soon as possible to her house” (p. 31). This was, after all, Chaucer’s
century, and perhaps here was another Madame Eglentyne. Chaucer’s clerk
might also have found a kindred spirit in Thomas de Eston—acolyte and
rector of Heslerton, to whom in 1322 the archbishop grants permission to be
absent from his church for seven years so he may study at a studium generale.
Ten years later, the archbishop grants Thomas, now a priest, permission to
study at a studium generale for another three years. Three years later,Thomas
gains an extension of two more years. In another interesting case, the archbishop orders the nun Joan de Ledes, who feigned her own death and burial,
to return to her priory.
In short, this volume from Melton’s register, especially when complemented by the others in the series, provides the kind of information utilized
by Craig Harline and Eddy Put in A Bishop’s Tale (New Haven, 2000). The
forty-nine pages of indices, as a further example of the potential of this
source, provide an extremely useful synopsis of the contents of the register.
Almost three pages of those indices concern abbeys and priories of men and
women. In addition to general issues like appointments of officials appear a
purgation of a prior on a charge of adultery, a restriction on expenses for dogs
and horses, and multiple references to corrodies. The archbishop warns the
canons of the Augustinian Priory of Bridlington, in the interest of a free election, not to discuss the election of their next prior with the local notables.
Apostate religious may return to their abandoned monasteries a third time
but no more. After visitations of the priories of Nunkeeling and Swine, the
archbishop directs that secular women are not to reside in those institutions
without his permission.The archbishop also forbids secular priests and friars
access to certain areas in those priories. In several documents the archbishop
warns both canons and nuns about novelties in dress. Hens and chickens may
not be present in the choir, church, or chapter of Swine priory.
Students of the fourteenth-century English church owe a considerable
debt of gratitude to Robinson and the Canterbury and York Society for this
book.
Stephen F. Austin State University

JOHN W. DAHMUS

Handbook for Curates: A Late Medieval Manual on Pastoral Ministry. By
Guido of Monte Rochen. Translated by Anne T. Thayer. Introduction by
Anne T. Thayer and Katharine J. Lualdi. [Medieval Texts in Translation.]
(Washington, DC:The Catholic University of America Press. 2011. Pp. xliv,
350. $34.95 paperback. ISBN 978-0-813-21869-4.)
The fields of pastoral care and more generally the religious life and piety
of the late Middle Ages have experienced significant attention over the

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course of the last several decades.With this first English translation of Guido
of Monte Rochen’s Manipulus curatorum, scholars and students now have a
more accessible text of what was certainly one of the most widely disseminated handbooks for “neophyte priests,” particularly so after the introduction
of printing in the fifteenth century.
The introduction offers a helpful overview of the Handbook by Guido, a
fourteenth-century “magister” from Teruel, Spain, and the issues surrounding
it. Written in the early 1330s, the Handbook survives in some 250 manuscripts and more than 1400 early printed copies. The work is saturated with
references and imagery from the Bible, and Guido incorporated authorities
from the patristic era to more contemporary sources in theology and canon
law. Of particular interest in the introduction is the discussion of marginalia
and annotations contained in the manuscripts and printed copies. Although
it is difficult to speak with much precision about Guido’s medieval and earlymodern readers, given the large number of annotations, clearly this was not a
text that sat idly on the shelf.
Guido divided his work into three parts. Part 1 looks at the sacraments in
general and then separately at baptism, confirmation, the Eucharist (the
largest section in this part), holy orders, extreme unction, and marriage. Part
2 is an extended discussion of the sacrament of penance and all of the theological and practical complexities associated with the administration of this
sacrament.The third part is a basic catechesis and walks the reader through
the articles of faith contained in the Apostles’, Nicene, Athanasian, and
Lateran Creeds along with the Lord’s Prayer, the Ten Commandments, and a
short section on the “gifts of the blessed.”
Modern readers will find in this text a measure of pastoral/theological flexibility—the way in which Guido offers competing theories from different
authorities and in some cases hesitates to provide the answer or even allows
the reader to decide the best course of action. This flexibility was not uncommon in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. But in the sixteenth century,
theological tensions and a sharpened doctrinal focus on the sacraments may
explain why Guido’s Handbook was listed on the Spanish Inquisition’s Index
of prohibited books. Modern readers also will find informative and often
amusing examples about how parish priests should handle both real and
hypothetical cases. For example, in his discussion of baptism, should a sleeping person be baptized, and what should be done for conjoined twins (one
baptism or two)? In his discussion of the “defects” that can occur in the Mass,
Guido has a lengthy discussion about what to do if a spider or fly gets into
the consecrated chalice. One solution is that the insect should be “burned and
its ashes kept in a shrine” (p. 104).
In all, this is a well-written and readable translation that will benefit
scholars working in the fields of religious history and/or theology in the

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late Middle Ages. It will also be a useful source text for university or seminary students.
Roberts Wesleyan College

RONALD J. STANSBURY

Statuti e costituzioni medievali del Capitolo Lateranense. By Louis DuvalArnould and Jochen Johrendt with the collaboration of Anna Maria Voci.
[Tabularium Lateranense 2.] (Vatican City: Archivio Capitolare
Lateranense. 2011. Pp. 195. €20,00 paperback. ISBN 978-8-890-50470-2.)
Two articles on the medieval Lateran chapter that appeared in 2006 in
French and German respectively are here united in an Italian translation by
Anna Maria Voci. Louis Duval-Arnould edited the statutes for San Giovanni in
Laterano issued by Pope Gregory XI (1369–73), and Jochen Johrendt, inspired
by Duval-Arnould to fill the remaining thirteenth-century gap, published critical
editions of the papal statutes for the chapter by Pope Gregory IX (1228) and
Pope Nicholas IV (1290).1 Although much of the general history of the Lateran
chapter is unfortunately still unknown, the texts here combined in an Italian
translation form important stepping stones to a better understanding of the role
of San Giovanni in Laterano during the Middle Ages. The most influential
change in the composition of the chapter occurred in 1298/99 under Pope
Boniface VIII, who replaced the regular Lateran canons following the Rule of St.
Augustine with secular canons. Boniface VIII, however, never issued statutes
strictly speaking, but instead regulated the life of the newly constituted chapter
in a series of important letters and extremely generous privileges. It is a major
plus for the book that Duval-Arnould also edited twenty-three of these together
with a complementary letter of Pope Benedict XI of April 1304 (pp. 63–110).
Without texts illuminating the change-over from regular to secular canons c.
1300, the relationship between the critically edited constitutions and statutes
of the thirteenth- and fourteenth centuries would have been difficult to understand and to appreciate. Still an open question, however, is the institutional history of the chapter in the later eleventh- and early-twelfth centuries. It seems
unlikely that the privilege issued for the chapter by Pope Alexander II in 1061,
a deperditum, already stipulated the later Rule of St. Augustine as regulation for
the life of the reformed canons as Johrendt accepts on the basis of later privileges (p. 23). It would probably be better—sources on this question are very
scarce—to look to the Aachen Rule as altered by Pope Gregory VII as inspiration for the canons of San Frediano of Lucca who were charged by Alexander
II with the reform of the Lateran chapter.2
1
Jochen Johrendt,“Die Statuten des Regulierten Laterankapitels im 13. Jahrhundert,”
Quellen und Forschungen aus italienischen Archiven und Bibliotheken, 86 (2006)
95–143; Louis Duval-Arnould, “Les constitutions de Grégoire XI pour le chapitre du
Latran (1369–1373),” Rivista di Storia della Chiesa in Italia, 60 (2006) 405–50.
2
Cf. Tilmann Schmidt, “Die Kanonikerreform in Rom und Papst Alexander II.
(1061–1073),” Studi Gregoriani, 9 (1972): 199–221.

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Johrendt’s discussion focuses with precision on the thirteenth century. He
provides critical editions of the documents of Pope Gregory IX (February 3,
1228) and Pope Nicholas IV (May 7, 1290) in favor of the chapter and illuminates with great care the changes that they illustrate. The privilege of Gregory
IX is a “statute” in line with the confirmations of rights and properties granted
by the papacy since its earliest days, but especially since the eleventh century.
In contrast to the mixture of regulations for the internal life of the chapter
and confirmation of property rights found here, the bull of 1290 granted by
Nicholas IV is a document that exclusively deals with the internal life of the
regular canons. Both illustrate very well the evolution of “statutes” as a category of primary sources (p. 25). The same could be said of the youngest document in the volume—the constitutions of Pope Gregory XI. This pontiff, the
former Cardinal Roger de Beaufort, was a great benefactor of the Lateran basilica as well as its chapter, confirming, for example, in a constitution of 1372
the primacy of the basilica over all the churches of the world, not excluding
St. Peter’s (p. 113n). His bull, the Lateranensis capituli constitutiones a
Gregorio PP. XI edictae, issued May 1, 1373, at Avignon (pp. 149–72), replaced
the statutes of Pope Nicholas IV. These naturally no longer suited a chapter
that now was formed exclusively by secular canons, who had relied so far on
unwritten consuetudines (p. 114).
The reader will be grateful for the edition, not least for the complete
description and the detailed commentary on the content of the regulations
governing the chapter of San Giovanni in Laterano in the late-fourteenth century.The book concludes with a very useful index of persons and places for
the entire volume.
The Catholic University of America (Emerita)

UTA-RENATE BLUMENTHAL

The St Albans Chronicle: The Chronica Maiora of Thomas Walsingham, Vol.
II: 1394–1422. Edited and translated by John Taylor, Wendy R. Childs, and
Leslie Watkiss. [Oxford Medieval Texts.] (New York: Oxford University
Press. 2011. Pp. c, 888. $250.00. ISBN 978-0-199-25346-3.)
Chronicle-writing in later medieval England was dominated by the
Benedictine abbey of St. Albans. Initiated by Roger of Wendover and then continued by Matthew Paris, this rich tradition was revitalized in the later years
of the fourteenth century by Thomas Walsingham (c. 1340–c. 1420).
Throughout his long affiliation with St. Albans,Walsingham produced a large
contemporary history, the Chronica maiora, covering events from 1376 to
1422.At the same time the St. Albans scriptorium also produced an abridged
version of this text, the so-called Short Chronicle. These histories were written contemporaneously with the events they describe, and circulated in
numerous overlapping and often repetitive drafts. Owing to this complex
manuscript tradition, versions of both the longer and shorter histories
appeared in several clumsily edited Rolls Series editions published in the

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1860s and 1870s. The first sustained effort to correct the errors in the Rolls
Series editions was made by Vivian H. Galbraith, with his edition of The St
Albans Chronicle 1406–1420 (Oxford, 1937). Galbraith’s groundbreaking
work was continued by his student, the late John Taylor, whose comprehensive understanding of fourteenth-century chronicles was unparalled.Together
with Wendy Childs and Leslie Watkiss, Taylor has edited the portion of the
Chronica maiora extending from 1376 to 1394 in volume I (2002). Now,
with the appearance of volume II (1394–1422), the editors have at long last
provided scholars with a single, unified text of this important chronicle.
In their lengthy introduction the editors address several interrelated problems associated with the Chronica maiora. After deftly disentangling the
complex manuscript tradition conveying versions of both the Chronica
maiora and the Short Chronicle, the editors explain their rationale for basing
this edition primarily on Bodley MS 462, collated with two related manuscripts, Faustina B. IX, and CCCC 7 (2). The editors next explore the knotty
problem of authorship. Although in their estimation Walsingham was the sole
author of the narrative extending from 1376 to 1393 (found in BL, Royal MS
13. E. IX), alterations in both the manuscript tradition and the narrative style
in the later segment from 1394 to 1422 raise the possibility of multiple
authorship. After noting that “evidence of his participation in the writing of
this part of chronicle is hard to come by” (p. xlii), the editors then note that
Walsingham “remains . . . in all probability, the sole author of the Chronica
maiora” (p. xlvi). The editors then turn their attention to the character of the
narrative and its historical value. The narrative focuses on the last years of
King Richard II’s reign, whose “actions are portrayed in a uniformly
unfavourable light” (p. liv). This is especially evident in the extended narrative
concerning Richard’s deposition and the accession of King Henry IV, where
extensive reliance on the Record and Process betrays a clear Lancastrian bias.
For its account of the Lancastrian regime the Chronica maiora provides
important and in many places unique versions of principal events, especially
concerning King Henry V’s campaigns in France and the Lollard movement.
Thanks to the editors’ expertise, scholars are now availed of the full narrative, with English translation, of the St. Albans chronicle extending from
1376 to 1422. All the same, because many of the editors’ interpretations
advert to the views expressed by Galbraith in the 1930s, a few of which have
been challenged—if not overturned—by subsequent scholarship, some of
their conclusions do not necessarily represent the final word. Thus, the editors’ observations regarding the dating, sequencing, and relationships among
the several manuscripts conveying both the Chronica maiora and the Short
Chronicle are not altogether convincing. It is not altogether clear, for instance,
whether Walsingham (assuming he was the sole author) first compiled the
Chronica maiora, and then subsequently drafted an abridged version—or
vice versa. Nor is the question of Walsingham’s sole authorship of the entire
narrative made abundantly clear; even the editors are vague on this point.

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Quite apart, then, from the overall importance of this most welcome edition
of the St. Albans chronicle, some of its conclusions invite further discussion
and reconsideration.
La Salle University

GEORGE STOW

Kampf um Florenz–Die Medici im Exil (1494–1512). By Götz-Rüdiger
Tewes. (Cologne: Böhlau Verlag. 2011. Pp. xiv, 1190. €128,00. ISBN 978-3412-20643-7.)
Many years ago, there was a delightful friend, all energy and projects, who
would visit my roommates and me in our college dormitory. She carried a
very heavy bookbag, which, after climbing four flights of stairs, she would
drop on the floor with a thud. In the bag there figured most prominently a
thick biology text that she was always promising to read. One day, we played
a prank on her and placed a brick at the bottom of her bookbag. Imagine her
surprise one week later when we emptied the bag and revealed the brick.
When Götz-Rüdiger Tewes’s new book—nearly 1200 pages in German—
arrived, this reviewer’s first thought was that a similar if not identical trick
was being played on him by the editors of The Catholic Historical Review.
All’s well that ends well. The friend did read her biology book, and this
admirable book by Tewes was a pleasure to read.
Florence in the period from 1494 to 1512, when the Medici family was in
exile and a republican regime known as the governo popolare was in control,
has long been the subject of intense scrutiny, especially by scholars interested
in Savonarola and Machiavelli. Tewes tells the story of this period again, but
this time from the point of view of the exiled Medici and their partisans in
Florence, whose story is reconstructed in exacting detail on the basis of a
great deal of new evidence that Tewes has assembled and analyzed with great
care. He situates his work within the field of historical network study, but his
is an unusual case. Other Florentine historians have looked at the network as
a tool of social advancement, as a means of preserving class dominance, as a
way of controlling territory, as an instrument for seizing political power, or as
a way extending influence abroad. The emphasis has been on how growing
networks advanced the interests of those who belonged to them. Tewes
instead studies a network that shrunk and adapted defensively during a prolonged crisis. This is not an expansive Facebook-style story, but it is no less
interesting.
The broad network that was established by Cosimo de’ Medici in the
1420s and 1430s did not disappear after the political disaster of 1494, but in
great part it became dormant. Most former partisans participated in the
restored republic, whereas only a few key Florentine players remained
secretly active in the Medici network, whose principals (Piero, Cardinal
Giovanni, and Giuliano) continued to move freely about the Italian pensin-

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sula. Crucial to the survival of the principals as political actors was the
preservation of their wealth. Notwithstanding repeated “clawback” efforts by
the Florentine government, the Medici continued to command resources that
were substantial enough to influence the policy of successive popes and the
king of France.
To the final chapters of Raymond de Roover’s classic study, The Rise and
Decline of the Medici Bank (Cambridge, MA, 1963), Tewes offers a powerful
corrective. De Roover described Lorenzo the Magnificent, who was in charge
from 1469 to 1492, as financially inept, bringing about the collapse of the
Medici bank. On the contrary, Tewes shows how during the War of the Pazzi
conspiracy of 1478–80, when there was good likelihood that Florence would
lose the war and the Medici would be forced out of Florence, a financially
astute Lorenzo transferred most of the holdings of the Medici bank to another
entity, the Bartolini family bank. Lorenzo used the Bartolini bank as a front for
Medici business and a vehicle for preserving his wealth in the event of political catastrophe. He also enriched it by using it as a conduit for state funds.
The result was a durable and flourishing enterprise in service to the Medici
but directed by the Bartolini, one of whom happened to be director of the
Florentine Mint.
The extent of Medici participation in the Bartolini bank was not public
knowledge. When catastrophe did befall them and the Medici were exiled in
1494, their wealth was protected by the Bartolini, most of whose business was
done in faraway Lyons, giving the Medici powerful leverage in France.
Meanwhile, the Bartolini director of the Mint remained in office in Florence
long after the Medici were exiled. Others of the Bartolini held significant positions of authority in the governo popolare, and—along with members of the
Tornabuoni, Lanfredini, Pucci, Alamanni, and Salviati families—they worked
secretively to further the financial and political interests of the Medici in exile.
Alongside the Bartolini bank, another, indispensable resource was the network of lucrative church benefices held by Giovanni de’ Medici, the future
Pope Leo X. When the republic subjected his Florentine benefices to punitive
taxes, Giovanni used Roman channels to transfer them to friends in exchange
for pensions from their revenues.
To reconstruct the Medicean network,Tewes has done exemplary work in
the Archivio Segreto Vaticano, the Archivio Salviati in Pisa, and the Archivio di
Stato of Florence. Much of his crucial evidence is from the wonderful but
rarely consulted collection of account books and parchment diplomas of the
Bartolini Salimbeni family, whose archive is kept in their summer residence in
Vicchio, a fifty-minute drive from Florence. The precision with which he has
documented a complicated but extremely important dimension of this decisive period in Florentine history is to be commended.
Seton Hall University

WILLIAM J. CONNELL

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Early Modern European
Religious Conflict and Accommodation in the Early Modern World. Edited
by Marguerite Ragnow and William D. Phillips Jr. [Minnesota Studies in
Early Modern History, No. 3.] (Minneapolis: Center for Early Modern
History, University of Minnesota. 2011. Pp. xii, 257. $55.00. ISBN 978-0-97975592-7.)
The new history of the ideas and practices of religious toleration is now
global, and this volume fits very well in that trajectory. It covers both interreligious (Christians versus Muslims versus Hindus versus Chinese and more)
and intra-religious (Shiite versus Sunni, Protestant versus Catholic and more)
conflict and accommodation in many a variation on the theme.
The opening chapter by James D.Tracy makes the valuable point that all of
the conflicts among Catholics and Protestants and dissenters in Europe took
place against the background of the looming threat of Islam, and yet the Turks
were often more worried about their conflicts with Persia than with the
Europeans.War and peace between the two religious blocs were only the tip
of the iceberg of raids, piracies, and incursions on the one hand and trade,
cooperation, and peaceful interaction at the local level on the other. Different
levels of conflict could become salient or recede in importance at different
points in time.
Ideas counted and were manifold. Anne Marie Wolf analyzes a letter from
Juan de Segovia of 1455 in which a strong case for toleration of Muslims is
made almost exclusively from texts of the Bible, not from pragmatism, natural
law, rationalism, or human rights. Wolf thinks the author’s concern for conversion may “not fit most conceptions of religious tolerance” (p. 61), but
surely the term can be ample enough to include peaceful conversionists.
The Mughal emperor Akbar’s House of Religious Assembly, analyzed by
Stephen Blake, brought together a breathtaking array of figures for discussion:
Sufi, philosopher, orator, jurist, Sunni, Shia, Brahman, Jain, Nazarene, Jew,
Zoroastrian, and others. The goal was “lasting reconciliation” as a political
strategy for governing a very diverse empire, and it seems to have worked up
to a point.
Denis Crouzet finds a transition in sixteenth-century France from understanding the king as a figure of violence—defender of the faith, punisher of
evil—to representing him as a peacemaker. The king against his (and God’s)
enemies morphed into the king as guarantor of civil peace. Accommodation of
religious diversity was a duty of peace. A century later, that had changed again.
Transylvania was probably the most officially tolerant place in Europe in
the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, with repeated decrees permitting
Catholic, Lutheran, Calvinist, Arian (a heresy everywhere else), and even

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sometimes Orthodox services. Graeme Murdock explains that this can probably be attributed to the precariousness of frontier living, and the danger of
provoking internal violence in the face of an external threat.
Timothy Brook tells the fascinating story of a Spanish-Chinese massacre in
Luzon in 1639–40. In China, the state was strong enough to enforce accommodation from European merchants and missionaries. Not so in the
Philippines. Economic distress led to a battle of the gods, and the Chinese
merchants and farmers there lost, perhaps in part because their state would
not back them overseas.The idea of henotheism caused the Spaniards to fight
for the superiority of their deity, whereas the Chinese were accustomed to
appealing to different gods at different times.And the Chinese center saw the
Chinese who had strayed so far away as unfilial, in contrast to the Spanish
view of their adventurers as righteous conquerors.
A chapter from Luca Codignola on conservatism as a survival strategy for
the Catholic Church in North America, 1760–1829, is reprinted from the
William and Mary Quarterly (2007). And Frederick Asher explores the
reconstructions of Hindu history today that are used to justify encroachment
on Muslim mosques. Nationalists seek conflict; local merchants seek accommodation so they can live on tourism.
In books like this one, the history of the world is being rewritten as the
history of variations on the theme of conflict and accommodation.The present may later be understood as part of the same dynamic.
University of California, Riverside

JOHN CHRISTIAN LAURSEN

The Ruin of the Eternal City: Antiquity and Preservation in Renaissance
Rome. By David Karmon. (New York: Oxford University Press. 2011. Pp. xii,
320. $65.00. ISBN 978-0-199-76689-5.)
This book challenges the evidence of our eyes and of scholarly tradition.
Most of Rome’s ancient buildings are gone; many have supplied columns, capitals, and pavements to later structures; and considerable contemporary documentation attests to the recycling of antique stone as lime and construction
material.The historiography has almost universally decried the destruction of
the city’s ancient remains by Romans down through the ages, but especially by
Renaissance and Counter-Reformation popes. David Karmon argues, on the
contrary, that Rome had a long tradition of preservation legislation and that the
Renaissance popes—rather than being arch villains—were in fact saviors of
antiquities. (His study ends with Pope Paul III, perhaps wisely, as Pope Sixtus V
might have been harder to incorporate into his thesis.) When Karmon can
make such claims without irony, we must believe that he does not subscribe
to the conventional definition of preservation; and indeed that is the case he
makes in this book. He asks us to rethink what preservation means, to look

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afresh at the legislative evidence of concern for protecting ancient buildings,
and to read “destruction” with more nuance. In other words, Karmon does the
unthinkable; he takes a historicist approach to preservation policy, suggesting
that we look at what it meant to the actors of the time rather than imposing
modern, not very well conceived, standards on the past.
This argument is set forth in part I of the book and in its conclusion. Part
II is felicitously named “object biographies,” and here we find chapters
devoted to the specific history of preservation (and destruction) at three
important ancient structures: the Colosseum, the Pantheon, and what is now
known as the “broken bridge”—Ponte Santa Maria. If there is a slightly broadbrush approach taken in part I, the three subjects of part II receive very satisfying treatment—detailed, readable, and illuminating. By focusing on the
theme of what was preserved and what was not at each of these sites,
Karmon throws fresh light on the history of these buildings and of the political forces that played over them. He brings out the role of the civic government, which had early claimed to be the protector of Rome’s antiquities, so
that for the first time we can trace its policies and interventions comprehensively over time. (These included the power to grant quarrying rights.)
Karmon also argues vigorously that the papacy showed its commitment to
preservation by the appointment of the first papal commissioner of antiquities, a post that lasted until 1870, under Paul III. If he does not go into detail
on sixteenth-century papal “excavation campaigns” (that is, quarrying), his
book nonetheless points up the need for a parallel study of the economic history of the Roman construction industry, complete with prices of different
kinds of stone and what “ruins” supplied them.
This is a book with a bold, overarching thesis and richly textured component parts. It does assume that the only antiquities under the lens are classical. Hopefully it will inspire others to look anew at Rome’s ancient churches
and their even more tortured history of preservation and destruction.
Wesleyan University

LAURIE NUSSDORFER

Contested Canonizations: The Last Medieval Saints, 1482–1523. By Ronald
C. Finucane†. (Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press.
2011. Pp. xii, 276. ISBN 978-0-813-21875-5.)
Contested Canonizations is an engaging, “unashamedly narrative” (p. 3)
study that offers the first collective overview of how five prospective saints
advanced to the altars between 1482 and 1523. In none of these cases was
success assured. The group’s average time to canonization may have been a
respectably cautious 210 years, but individual waits ranged from 12 to 417
years, and that vertiginous spread is, in a sense, Ronald C. Finucane’s subject.
What telling difficulties did each man face? And why did these cases succeed
rather than others?

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An initial chapter describes the nature of “Saint-Making at the End of the
Middle Ages.” Finucane skillfully reduces this complex subject to two topics of
universal interest: evidence of changing attitudes toward miracle (is it science
yet?), and the nature of the procedure (how corrupt was it?). Then he gently
deflates these enthusiastic questions. None of his documents from the curial
elite of c. 1500 reports arguments about miracles per se; rather, they evince a
legalistic concern with the factual details of miraculous events (in some cases,
it seems, with sheer obstructive intent). Thus, despite the usefulness of latemedieval miracle collections for understanding local perceptions, and of papal
ceremonials and legal relationes for sussing out attitudes among the curial
elite, the late Middle Ages did not achieve the sorts of revelatory discussion of
miracle that would occur well after Trent. As for the second, procedural question, Finucane reviews the conservative format of the late-medieval canonization process, which essentially continued the twelve stages articulated in the
thirteenth century by canonist Hostiensis. On that account, Finucane is justified in identifying his holy quintet as the last medieval saints, although they
would normally be ascribed to the Renaissance or early modernity. Behind
them lay the steadily diminishing rhythm of canonizations over the preceding
two centuries; before them loomed the great saint drought of 1523–88.
Five core chapters follow, one per saint: theologian and Franciscan MasterGeneral Bonaventure of Bagnoreggio (d. 1274, canonized 1482); lay ruler
Duke Leopold of Austria (d. 1136, canonized 1485); the Minims’ founder,
Francis of Paola (d. 1507, canonized 1519); Archbishop and Dominican theologian Antonino Pierozzi of Florence (d. 1459, canonized 1523); and Bishop
Benno of Meissen (d. 1106, canonized 1523). Each chapter repeats a simple,
satisfying structure—overview of the life, discussion of the process, reflection
on success. Despite the desperate complexity of the material, Finucane tells
the men’s stories extremely well.
Beset by “internal problems” particular to the renaissance Curia and by
“external influences” associated with the tumultuous politics of early-modern
Europe, these canonizations yield no simple recipe for success. Still, it is clear
that a dogged supporter, political opportunism, and ready cash could tip the
balance. Bonaventure would not have made it through the gauntlet of
Franciscan factionalism, especially in the absence of miracles, without the
support of Pope Sixtus IV. Leopold of Austria had plenty of posthumous miracles at his shrine in Klosterneuburg, but success required papal-imperial politicking and the labors of a tireless procurator on Klosterneuburg’s behalf.As
for Francis of Paola, he enjoyed the speediest ascent to the altars, thanks to
the deep purses of French royalty, notably Louise of Savoy. Antoninus of
Florence had a similarly politicized elevation—his cause served the Medici to
counter the lingering influence of Savonarolan radicalism in factionalized
Florence. Finally, canonization of the obscure Benno of Meissen burnished the
dynasty and declared the reforming interests of Duke George of Saxony while
underlining Charles V’s opposition to Luther.

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Finucane concludes that these individuals succeeded because each benefited a powerful interested party at a particular moment (p. 241).All scholars
of canonization records know that asking “Cui bono?” will pretty reliably
uncover the most vulgar trafficking in influence. God works in mysterious
ways, respond the faithful; cynics experience a familiar tickle of amusement.
Finucane, a consummate scholar, remained above that fray, content to be curious about the nuts and bolts of the processes during a liminal period.A wide
audience will enjoy the author’s storytelling skills and even discover a salutary provocation in his silences. Good teachers know when to let the conversation continue in the reader’s mind.
University of Texas at Austin

ALISON K. FRAZIER

Karlstadt and the Origins of the Eucharistic Controversy: A Study in the
Circulation of Ideas. By Amy Nelson Burnett. [Oxford Studies in Historical
Theology.] (New York: Oxford University Press. 2011. Pp. xxviii, 234.
$74.00. ISBN 978-0-199-75399-4.)
Within the annals of historical theology,Andreas Bodenstein von Karlstadt
often gets a bad rap. Maligned by Martin Luther and rejected by Ulrich
Zwingli, his role within the development of the Eucharistic debates among
the emerging evangelical movements of the early-sixteenth century has been
largely overlooked beneath a cloud of rhetoric and caricatures. In this book,
however, Amy Nelson Burnett digs beyond the rhetoric to crack open a fresh
look at both Karlstadt and his views on the sacrament within the broader context of the sixteenth-century evangelical movement. Those looking for a systematic theology of Karlstadt’s views, however, will not find it here. Instead,
Burnett plies her skills as an historian to trace the interaction of key themes
within Karlstadt’s Eucharistic theology with the theologies of both major and
minor Reformers of the 1510s to the 1520s through the various tracts and
essays that were published on this theme. In so doing, she sketches a new picture of Karlstadt’s role as a catalyst of debate within the Eucharistic controversy that ended up fracturing the nascent evangelical movement into competing factions.
Perhaps the greatest strength of Burnett’s book is that she approaches her
topic as a study in the “circulation of ideas.” This allows her to move beyond
the polemics that characterized the debate and to focus instead on the way
in which Karlstadt’s ideas circulated throughout German-speaking territories
to seed dissent reaction to these emerging discussions concerning the nature
of the presence of Christ’s body and blood within the elements of the sacrament. After providing a brief outline of key themes within his Eucharistic
thought, she traces the movement of these ideas not only in relationship to
Luther but also to Zwingli and a host of lesser Reformation figures—a connection that has not yet been adequately explored—to illustrate the way in
which his views acted like shepherding moons so as to shape and define the

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diverging views on the sacrament that eventually fractured the evangelical
movement into different confessional camps. Burnett’s genius shines in the
way that she traces the circulation of these ideas from the ground up through
an examination of the publication history of the various writings that constituted the substance of this debate.
One could only wish that she had included more direct quotations from
her primary texts within the body of her work to allow students and readers
to see for themselves the way in which Karlstadt and the various Reformers
stated their positions. She also does not connect the Eucharistic controversy
with the earlier medieval debates concerning the nature of the sacrament,
leaving the impression that the differences that surfaced during this time
period were something new rather than a progression of intellectual currents
with deeper historical roots. Burnett does periodically hint at what she calls
“practical consequences” (p. 10) that divided the evangelical Reformers from
one another; but by opting instead to follow the debate in terms of more
abstract intellectual differences, her work misses the more profound connection to questions of faith formation and the relationship between objective
means and subjective faith that emerged across Europe during this period.As
a result, she falls short of grasping the shifting patterns of spiritual formation
which went hand-in-glove with the more abstract theological debates—or at
the very least, the reason behind the polemical rhetoric that divided Luther
and Karlstadt from one another. In the end, her work remains (as her title suggests), not a study of shifting patterns of early-modern spirituality, but a study
in the circulation of ideas.
Burnett’s book breaks important ground for the historian and theologian
alike. Like a good work of scholarship, it also hints at new areas of creative
inquiry. As a landmark study, it will be of use for students of religious history
and theology for many years to come.
Concordia Lutheran Seminary
Edmonton, Canada

RICHARD A. BEINERT

The Senses and the English Reformation. By Matthew Milner. [St. Andrews
Studies in Reformation History.] (Burlington,VT:Ashgate Publishing. 2011.
Pp. xiv, 407. $124.95. ISBN 978-0-754-66642-4.)
The common understanding of late-medieval Christianity in relation to its
reformed counterpart is that the former was highly sensual, grounded in a
rich visual culture of images, vestments, processions, and sacramentals and
depending on practices such as seeing the elevation of the host and the visual
veneration of relics. Its Reformation successor would be dominantly aural,
based on the hearing of vernacular scripture and preaching; its banishment
of the visual made it an internalized and intellectual experience. Such an
understanding is, of course, far too simple and moreover accepts uncritically

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the Reformation self-understanding and its critique of late-medieval religion.
The Senses and the English Reformation undertakes to examine attitudes
toward the senses, not simply visuality and aurality but smell, taste, and touch
as well, from the fifteenth through the end of the sixteenth centuries to determine whether changes in understanding underlay the moving of those tectonic plates that convulsed European religion.
With extraordinary learning, Matthew Milner examines philosophical
views of the senses from the high Middle Ages through the sixteenth century.
Following from the Aristotelianism of Aquinas, sight was indeed accorded the
primacy among the senses. But aurality came a close second, mainly for its
ability to perceive interiors. Perhaps surprisingly, smell came next in the hierarchy of the senses, followed by taste, and—considered the basest—touch.
The real issue emerged in the role the senses played in human cognition,
whether they could be trusted, and if so, to what degree. How did religious
objects and actions affect the devout and to what degree were religious elements what they appeared to be? Although it counseled caution in regard to
the senses, pre-Reformation piety fully exploited an affective sensation in its
liturgical practice.
The underlying question is the degree to which attitudes toward the
senses changed between pre-Reformation and post-Reformation English
experience and how such change might explain the upheaval in religious
expression and understanding. This is what Milner sets out to examine in his
study.What he finds, however, is a general consistency in the attitudes toward
the senses over this 200-year period, the reformers still governed by traditional assumptions about sensory propriety and theory.The fundamentals of
medieval sensory culture appear not to have changed appreciably over the
course of the sixteenth century. Fear of idolatry, he notes, is dependent on the
same understanding of the senses on which medieval sacramentality was
based. In fact, the most ardent nonconformists with Elizabethan religion
“appear as the truest inheritors of medieval religious sensing” (p. 290)
because of their retention of an intrinsic intentionality in their understanding
of religious objects.
What, then, did change in the ways the senses were deployed between the
late-medieval and early-modern periods? Here, the explanatory character of
the book may disappoint. The major differences must lie with printing; it
would be hard to overestimate the impact of the printing press on European
eyes and ears in the period. Although Milner acknowledges the position of
scripture as the focus of the senses, he has little to say about the ways its
authority was enhanced immeasurably by the printing press. Readers will
look in vain for reference to the major scholarship on printing—that of
Elizabeth Eisenstein, for example.
But the true value of The Senses and the English Reformation lies in its
account of English worship and liturgy over the two centuries it treats. Milner

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richly demonstrates the position played by the senses in English worship
from the late-medieval world through the various stages of the Reformation.
“Sensation may be the root of all sin,” he notes, “but it was also the cornerstone of redemption” (p. 59) in its sacramental role. Although the overall story
will be familiar to historians of the period, the wealth of detail and the attention to the ways in which the various senses informed the liturgical life will
amply repay the reading. We learn, for example, about acoustic jars that
enhanced the resonance of music and preaching (pp. 107–08), whereas in the
Reformation the greater emphasis on aurality required pulpits to be moved
into the naves and the distance between preacher and congregation to be
minimized (p. 292). The “dogwhipper” became a necessary function to keep
animals from fighting or leaping onto the Communion table (p. 300). Lovers
of words will prize “utraquism” (from utraque, both) that describes the direction in the 1548 Order of Communion for the reception of Communion in
both species (p. 316). And perhaps surprisingly, we learn touch would prove
just as essential in Protestant sacraments and sacramentals.
Those concerned with the texture of religious practice in the crucial centuries of pre- and post-Reformation England will prize the learning and scope
of this book.
University of California, Santa Barbara

MICHAEL O’CONNELL

Catholic Identity and the Revolt of the Netherlands, 1520–1635. By Judith
Pollmann. [The Past & Present Book Series.] (New York: Oxford University
Press. 2011. Pp. xviii, 239. $99.00. ISBN 978-0-199-60991-8.).
Historical scholarship on Catholics and Catholicism in the past ten years
has undergone a remarkable evolution, moving away from a focus on institutions and clerical offices that grimly drilled obedience into indifferent laymen
and laywomen. Instead, studies on various territories across Europe have
given attention to the eager involvement of the laity in religious revival, the
ongoing vitality of traditional observances in programs of reform, and the
power of devotion in inculcating a confessional self-consciousness among
Catholics. Judith Pollmann’s exemplary treatment of Catholic identity in the
Southern Netherlands represents the full flowering of these salutary revisionist trends.As important as institutions were, historians can no longer cast
the Catholic Reformation, at least in northern Europe, as primarily a set of
organizational responses to Protestantism. Pollmann also clears up misreadings about the state of lay piety in the Netherlands and sends scholarship on
the Reformation in new directions.
The focus of her study is perceptions by laity and clergy from the middle
strata of society about the religious and political movements that moved
through the Southern Low Countries. In a remarkably succinct book,
Pollmann accomplishes this task with great success in part because she

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uncovered an amazing array of unpublished sources from clerics and from
laymen and laywomen who experienced the upheaval of rebellion, war, and
religious conflict. Largely overlooked by historians, these diaries, spiritual
journals, poems, chronicles, and even a songbook, along with an extensive
body of published narratives, form the bulk of her source material. She handles these sources with dexterity, extracting a great deal out of them yet
without universalizing her evidence. Interspersing firsthand accounts
throughout the various phases of the political and religious narrative enables
Pollmann to contextualize the sources appropriately and to illuminate the
critical moments of action from local perspectives. For example, she marshals
Marcus van Vaernewijck and Nicholas Soldoyer to describe the execution of
heretics and Willem Janszoon Verwer to elucidate the Spanish siege of
Haarlem. As a result, compelling local insights and observations substantially
enrich Pollmann’s inquiry into the advent of heresy, the call for reform, and
the tumult of iconoclasm in chapters 1 and 2, the Hapsburg suppression of
rebellion and Protestantism in chapter 3, the temporary Calvinist ascendancy
in chapter 4, and the triumph of the Hapsburgs and the Counter-Reformation
in chapters 5 and 6.
The book’s central argument is that Catholicism eventually triumphed in
the Southern Netherlands and perhaps in other places as well, because clergy
actually engaged laypeople, giving them reasons to reject heresy, providing
them the means to develop their spiritual lives, and restoring to them a sense
of sacred community. Thus, clerical collaboration with laity could bring about
religious change for early-modern Catholics as much as it did for Protestants.
She traces the developments that led regular and secular priests to the realization that they had to reach out to the laity. From the 1520s through the
1560s, clerics failed to equip the laity to answer Protestants, treating the
Reformation as an internal church problem. After iconoclastic upheaval in
1566, the Hapsburgs responded by conflating religious orthodoxy with political obedience, spawning new resistance. Finally, after the defeat of Protestant
forces in the south in the 1580s, political and ecclesiastical authorities promoted sodalities, the veneration of saints, and Eucharistic devotion, which
found a ready constituency among lay Catholics.Thoroughly researched, elegantly written, and splendidly conceived, this book deserves careful attention
from all students of the Catholic Reformation.
Saint Louis University

CHARLES H. PARKER

From Inspiration to Invention: Rhetoric in the Constitutions of the Society
of Jesus. By J. Carlos Coupeau, S.J. [No. 22 in Series 3: Scholarly Studies
Originally Composed in English.] (St. Louis:The Institute of Jesuit Sources.
2010. Pp. xii, 292. $29.95 paperback. ISBN 978-1-880-81074-3.)
Over the past twenty years, historians, prompted in part by John W.
O’Malley’s The First Jesuits (Cambridge, MA, 1992), have explored the strug-

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gles of the first generation of Jesuits as they defined themselves and their
role in early-modern Catholicism. Oddly, few historians have shown a comparable interest in the ordinances, rules, and decrees formulated by the
same Jesuits in their juridical, canonical conceptualization of this self-understanding. Within a hundred years the succinct Formula of the Institute
evolved into a multivolume collection of letters, briefs, bulls, ordinances,
rules, and decrees. Such negligence becomes even more astonishing
because the Institute of Jesuit Sources has made the Constitutions, Ratio
studiorum, and the decrees of the general congregations more accessible in
English translations. [May one hope that the different formulae and regulae
will be translated before the classically educated generation passes away?]
The same institute has published the only commentaries (in English translation) on the Constitutions, specifically the multivolume study by Antonio
M. de Aldama, S.J. (1989–99), and Together for Mission: A Spiritual
Commentary on the Constitutions of the Society (2001) by André de Jaer,
S.J. Both authors, not surprisingly, were more interested in Jesuit understanding and appreciation of the Constitutions than with a historico-critical analysis. De Jaer, following in the venerable footsteps of Joseph de
Guibert, S.J., claims a spiritual value for the Constitutions equal to that of
the Spiritual Exercises. Indeed, de Jaer suggests the former may be more
important for Jesuits because they are proper to the Society whereas the
wider Ignatian family share in the Spiritual Exercises. In the monograph
under review, the author proposes the perspective of the “academic discipline of spirituality” (p. 2) through the study of argumentation with a specific rhetorical objective.
J. Carolos Coupeau, S.J., wrote his doctoral thesis under the direction of
O’Malley at the Weston School of Theology. Currently Coupeau lectures at the
Institute of Spirituality of the Pontifical Gregorian University and edits the
online journal Ignaziana. He employs disciplines such as spirituality, history,
rhetoric (old and new), hermeneutics, and literary criticism, as he charts the
movement from the inspiration behind the Constitutions to rhetorical invention of its audience. Certain themes will interest historians more than
others—for example, the delineation of the role of St. Ignatius of Loyola’s secretary Juan de Polanco in the composition of the Constitutions; and the influence of four classic rules, St. Basil’s Asketikon, St.Augustine’s Praeceptum, St.
Benedict’s Regula, and St. Francis of Assisi’s Regula et vita, on the Jesuit
Constitutions. In a fascinating and important section on the history of the
interpretation of the Constitutions, Coupeau posits three distinct phases:
postfoundational (1558–1895) with apologetical, critical, and ascetical works;
historical interpretation (1900–64); and spiritual interpretation (1964–present).The author’s linguistic abilities allow him to peruse classical Latin commentaries and twentieth-century vernacular tomes. We progress from “a sort
of holy founder’s last will, the norm of ascetical life, a set of canons and regulations, and, only recently, as a concrete model for discernment in one’s life”
(p. 62) as we move through the three periods.

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Coupeau revised and distilled his thesis for this monograph. The finished
product is not an easy read, with a density and preference for technical language often to the point of obfuscation. Nonetheless, the book merits attention, but readers should familiarize themselves with the vocabulary in the
glossary.Without it, they could get lost amidst charts and diagrams.
Fordham University

THOMAS M.MCCOOG, S.J.

Between Opposition and Collaboration: Nobles, Bishops, and the German
Reformations in the Prince-Bishopric of Bamberg, 1555–1619. By
Richard J. Ninness. [Studies in Central European Histories, Vol. LIII.]
(Leiden: Brill. 2011. Pp. xiv, 224. $136.00. ISBN 978-9-004-20154-5.)
In his great history of the popes, Leopold von Ranke noted that the princebishops of Franconia proved powerless to hold back the spread of the
Reformation. Not only were their parishes full of Lutheran preachers, but the
nobility, the magistrates, the burgers, the mass of the subject population—
even the episcopal authorities—gave over to the faith. Only those with “old
German and Franconian fidelity,” Ranke suggested, had any remaining reverence for the bishops in their vestments and mitres. In Between Opposition
and Collaboration, Richard J. Ninness revisits this issue, and in particular the
observation that even the episcopal authorities should be counted among the
supporters of the Lutheran religion. By way of a meticulous, archive-based
study of the cathedral chapter of Bamberg and some of the higher offices of
the diocese, Ninness reveals the inner workings of the prince-bishopric
during the age of confessionalization. Indeed, the concept of confessionalization has an important ordering function in this study, for one of the main aims
of the work is to add complexity and nuance to the rather one-dimensional
image of the confessionalization process, particularly in the Catholic princebishoprics. Most studies tend to emphasize the conflictual character of the
process and the sharp divisions that occurred as a result of religious change.
In contrast, the perspective adopted by Ninness sets out to “. . . challenge at
least the blanket validity of this position and argue for a more nuanced
approach toward and a sensitivity to the variability of relations among the
religious confessions” (p. 12). What is particularly fascinating about Between
Opposition and Collaboration is that the confessional groupings under
investigation are sharing the same offices of rule in the prince-bishopric of
Bamberg.
The study begins with a historical backgrounding of the cathedral chapter
itself, where it quickly becomes clear that it was essentially an aristocratic
republic monopolized by the imperial knights and held together by “nepotism, cronyism, and exclusive cliquishness” (p. 41). With this as a foundation,
the analysis then moves through the various stages of confessional change
from the Reformation and the different phases of the Counter-Reformation.
Ninness often draws back from a close study of Bamberg to take in the

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broader context of developments, as with his look at the fate of the imperial
knights within the Empire or the broader confessional framework; but the
bulk of the analysis is focused on the workings of the prince-bishopric and
what this reveals about religious relations. The main point to take away is that
adherence to Lutheranism did not preclude a career in the chapter. At the
outset of the study Ninness remarks that “the raison d’être of the cathedral
chapter was family, not religion” (p. 26), and this observation is later confirmed at the end with the observation that “. . . confession was intertwined
with family ties, traditional privilege, and political status in motivating the
actions of the imperial knights in Bamberg” (p. 194).This would not surprise
too many historians familiar with the period or the place, but what is particularly interesting about the study is how Ninness, largely on the basis of his
archival work, is able to demonstrate how the knights were able to negotiate
their shifting interests over the course of the confessional period—even in
the face of intense Counter-Reformation reform, which momentarily knocked
things out of balance—without renouncing their Lutheran beliefs or declining into perpetual religious conflict with the bishop or his Catholic officials.
Indeed, mindful of the importance of the chapter as a matrix of patronage and
power, it was not unusual for the Lutheran officials to see through the implementation of the Counter-Reformation. According to Ninness, at least in the
early phase, “. . . Protestant officials were a more consistent influence in bringing Catholicism to the region than were the priests sent by Bamberg” (p. 122).
Given the dominance of the confessionalization paradigm and the historical
habit of thinking of religious relations in this period in strict either/or terms,
this is a difficult model to reconcile with our notions of the CounterReformation. But these are the historical realities revealed by Ninness’s careful study of the prince-bishopric of Bamberg. Hopefully it will inspire historians to take up a similar approach for other areas of the Empire.
Queen’s University, Belfast

C. SCOTT DIXON

La prassi della censura nell’Italia del Seicento. Tra repressione e mediazione. By Marco Cavarzere. [Temi e testo, 92, “Tribunali della Fede.”]
(Rome: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura. 2011. Pp. xx, 263. €38,00 paperback. ISBN 978-8-86372-281-9.)
This is a survey of ecclesiastical censorship from the first papal Index of
general authority of 1559 (not 1558 as Cavarzere asserts) and ending in the
early eighteenth century. The author has done extensive research in the
Archive of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (ACDF) in Rome,
which contains the surviving papers of the Congregations of the Index and
Inquisition and other materials. Although the book mentions individual censorship cases, its purpose is to provide an overview of papal censorship in
Italy. The book begins with an account of the system of ecclesiastical censorship. Other chapters describe the censors, press censorship, the censorship

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of various forms of literature, self-censorship, the impact of censorship on
society, and persons who avoided strict censorship. The book is sweeping
and well written. It includes references to a considerable amount of recent
scholarship, but not always the older scholarship. Unfortunately, the lack of
balance prevents this book from being the needed survey.
The first sentence of the book refers to the decadence of Italy in the seventeenth century, and page after page leaves no doubt that the “repressive
Roman system,”“ecclesiastical censorship,”“omnipresence of Roman ecclesiastical censorship,”“papal repression,” and “internal police” were responsible.
Once in a while Cavarzere mentions “the marriage of repression and mediation,” but mediation always failed. Since the opening of the ACDF archive in
the late 1990s numerous scholars have published detailed studies showing
nuanced and complex stories of attempts at expurgation, compromises, and
bureaucratic backing and filling, as well as significant repressive censorship.
Moreover, recent scholarship has also demonstrated that ecclesiastical censors recognized that they should not cut Italians off from European scholarly
and cultural developments. So they created a system of permissions that
enabled thousands of clergymen, scholars, and even ordinary laymen and laywomen to hold and read prohibited books. Cavarzere is aware of these developments, and he acknowledges that seventeenth-century censorship necessitated collaboration between church and state. But he does not see these
exceptions as significantly modifying ecclesiastical repression. This is a legitimate point of view. But it is not the only one.
Sometimes Cavarzere reaches too far; for example, he sees the censorship
of opera as part of seventeenth-century clerical repression. What would he
make of the fact that nineteenth-century civil censors forced Giuseppe Verdi
to make changes in his masterpieces? In the last chapter Cavarzere surveys
the breaches in the wall of Roman repression such as the significant number
of books printed in Venice that skillfully propagated libertinism, anticlericalism, and unbelief. In addition, Cavarzere correctly points out that influential
clergymen and laymen held prohibited books in their libraries and made
them available to others without penalty. Cavarzere argues that these exceptions paved the way for the Italian Enlightenment. But how pervasive could
Roman repression have been when such works were printed and read in the
seventeenth century? The account also jumps around chronologically, does
not provide enough dates, and assumes a considerable amount of knowledge
of censorship cases. In short, this is one point of view about the impact of
seventeenth-century censorship, but probably not one that will win general
assent.
University of Toronto and Chapel Hill, NC

PAUL F. GRENDLER

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Picturing the Scientific Revolution. By Volker R. Remmert.Translated by Ben
Kern. [Early Modern Catholicism and the Visual Arts Series, Vol. 4.]
(Philadelphia: Saint Joseph’s University Press, 2011. Pp. vi, 295. $65.00.
ISBN 978-0-916-10167-1.)
This volume, a translation of the German text Widmung, Welterklaerung,
und Wissenschaftslegitimierung (Wiesbaden, 2005) brings to English readers
the opportunity of understanding more fully the role of frontispieces, engravings, and visual emblems in the development of astronomy in the sixteenth
and seventeenth centuries. Like the texts and images that are Volker R.
Remmert’s historical subject, the author provides a kind of explanatio imaginum that brings out the contextual meanings implied in the pictures he
examines. The book is handsomely constructed and well annotated with
numerous references to historical sources and secondary interpretations
drawn from the ranks of historians of science and art. However, Remmert
clearly emerges as a historian of science in that his book’s organization is not
so much around the images as much it is around the ideas inscribed in the
images. He contextualizes the images, not in an artistic tradition, but in the
debates around Copernicanism and the attempt to gain support for both science and the theory itself. As the German title suggests, Remmert shows the
role of dedication (Widmung) in garnering patronage for the sciences, a strategy closely related to the legitimation of the mathematical sciences in general
and the heliocentric theory in particular (Wissenschaftslegitimierung).
Although the book belongs to a series on early-modern Catholicism,
Remmert treats as many as Protestant scholars (for example, Tycho Brahe,
Johannes Kepler, Philippus Lansbergen, John Wilkins) as he does Catholic
(Christopher Scheiner, Christopher Clavius, Giovanni Battista Riccioli). He
devotes considerable space to Brahe and his attempt to enhance the status of
astronomy as a discipline, a trend that continued through the seventeenth
century (chapter 6). This elevation of astronomy involved constructing a tradition of astronomy that included not only the customary luminaries such as
Alfonso the Wise and Copernicus but also the portrayal of Ptolemy as a king
in William Cunningham’s Cosmographicall Glass (1559). Remmert furthers
the not-to-be-forgotten work of Nicholas Jardine in the 1980s on Kepler’s
attempt to construct a new history of astronomy in his defense of Brahe.
These are instances of how the discipline of astronomy experienced a deepseated change in its aims and self-characterization between Copernicus and
Isaac Newton.
Chapter 7 covers the pictorial representations of four Jesuit figures. The
author offers enlightening commentary on how a book in early-modern
Europe functioned in multiple ways only one of which was to be read.
Extending his earlier discussion of Scheiner’s Rosina Ursina (Bracciano,
1630), Remmert demonstrates how the visual representations contained in
this volume served the dual purposes of soliciting patronage and fostering the

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advancement of science itself. The three other Jesuits treated (Mario Bettini,
André Schott, Francesco Eschinardi) advance the theme of the application of
the mathematical sciences by invoking the imagery of gardens, pictures that
to seventeenth-century eyes would no doubt have connected their thoughts
to Eden and the implied command in Genesis to increase knowledge for the
glory of God and the betterment of the human race.
Given the high quality of this volume, Remmert’s interpretations are nevertheless open to criticism, especially with regard to issues of biblical and scientific authority. His treatment of Scheiner’s Rosa Ursina is rich and nuanced
but results in some overstatements. He contends that the difference between
Galileo, as expressed in Il Saggiatore, and Scheiner lay in the latter’s vote for
the negating authority of the Bible and patristic exegetical consensus even in
matters of physical truth. However, the frontispiece of the Rosa Ursina does
not necessarily suggest a belief in the superiority of biblical and patristic truth
so much as a trust in the concurrence of natural and scriptural knowledge. In
general, this book leads the reader into the beautiful world of early-modern
representations of scientific ideas.
Institute of Catholic Thought
University of Illinois, Champaign

KENNETH J. HOWELL

Sinners on Trial: Jews and Sacrilege after the Reformation. By Magda Teter.
(Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. 2011. Pp. x, 331. $39.95. ISBN
978-0-674-05297-0.)
Politically powerful noblemen in Reformation Poland, attempting to protect Protestants (and enhance their own power), advanced measures limiting
the authority of the Catholic Church. This culminated in the 1560s when the
Polish parliament (Sejm) decided that secular authorities would no longer
enforce verdicts declared by ecclesiastical courts. Ironically, with the ecclesiastical courts’ loss of power, secular courts gradually began to adjudicate religious and moral matters. Acts that once were classified as sins and might have
been punished with symbolic acts of penance or excommunication were
now criminalized. As Magda Teter notes,“Crimes against religion, such as adultery, blasphemy and sacrilege, almost surely sent the convicts quickly to the
stake, while social and sexual crimes, such as adultery, bigamy, abortion and
infanticide, became punishable by diverse forms of death. . .” (p. 7). In effect,
local magistrate courts became the adjudicators of religious and moral behavior and the arbiters of the sacred. As the forces of the Counter-Reformation
gained momentum in Poland and the Protestant and Catholic Churches vied
for the status of “ecclesia Dei” (the Church of God), local authorities tended
to side with the Catholics.
With erudition and much precise detail (although with a murky rhetorical strategy), Teter traces the highlights of the Protestant-Catholic competi-

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tion, focusing especially on the issue of transubstantiation and the divine
nature of the Eucharist. She shows how both legends and trials of cases of
desecration of the host were part of a larger project to silence dissent, affirm
Catholic dogma, and re-establish the Catholic Church’s religious monopoly.
Teter forces a rethinking of the thesis of Janusz Tazbir, who famously termed
Counter-Reformation Poland “a state without stakes” (p. 225). He claimed
that the decline of the Reformation in Poland was “gradual and painless” (p.
225). Poland, due to its constitutional system and vaunted toleration of dissenters, was spared “bloody religious strife” (p. 225). Teter insists that,
although there may not have been religious wars, or mass trials and autos de
fe, numerous individual acts of religious violence imposed by secular courts
played a key role in Polish re-Catholicization:“The stakes were lit . . . it was
the lay courts’ classification of Catholic spaces as the only ‘sacred’ places and
their adjudication of crimes of ‘sacrilege’ that sent Jews and Christians alike
to death by fire . . .” (p. 225).
Teter’s subtitle signals the other major theme of her book. Returning, more
emphatically, to a thesis of her previous work, she posits that accusing, torturing, and burning Jews in desecration of host sacrilege cases was not typically persecution of Jews per se. Traditional Christian Jew-hatred made the
Jews into a convenient foil who, by supposedly desecrating the host, dialectically affirmed its holiness and, by extension, the truth of the Catholic Church.
Trying and burning Jews (not exclusively; actually, the majority of those executed for sacrilege were Christians) was but one tactic in the fight to reCatholicize Poland. Moreover, cases of Jewish sacrilege were often overdetermined; Jewish victims might be demonized and (falsely) accused as a means
of attacking the political power of their noble or royal protectors, confiscating Jewish property, weakening Jews as economic competitors, or securing
their expulsion from the city.
Teter does bring evidence that the Jews saw themselves not as pawns in
larger struggles, but as targets of religious persecution. However, her conclusion is that “Jews, conversely, were accused only when extraneous conditions
of religious, political, or economic nature coincided” (p. 223). Often accusations failed, and Jews were spared. In another ironic twist, unlike poor individual Christians, Jews (at least prominent ones), had resources to marshal in
defense against lethal libels:“charges mobilized a Jewish communal support
network that was often successfully able to seek help from higher authorities” (p. 224).
With its wealth of information and two challenging theses, Sinners on
Trial should become required reading for anyone studying Polish, Jewish, or
church history.
Bar-Ilan University
Ramat-Gan, Israel

MOSHE ROSMAN

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Empire of Souls: Robert Bellarmine and the Christian Commonwealth. By
Stefania Tutino. [Oxford Studies in Historical Theology.] (New York: Oxford
University Press. 2010. Pp. xii, 404. $74.00. ISBN 978-0-199-74053-6.)
Of the periodic outbursts of controversial writing that punctuated and
quickened the development of ecclesiological and political thinking in
medieval and early-modern Europe, the first, set off by the onset of the
Investiture Conflict in the late-eleventh century, has been the focus over the
years of an enormous amount of historical research. The same is true of the
upwelling of polemical and theological literature occasioned at the turn of
the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries by the bitter standoff between Pope
Boniface VIII and King Philip IV of France. That, however, cannot be said of
the early-seventeenth century outburst that generated at least in Milward’s
incomplete listing (he does not cover the Venetian contribution) some two
hundred often voluminous pieces of writing, and which Charles Howard
McIlwain long ago characterized as having precipitated “a paper warfare in
Europe the like of which has not been seen since . . . now that the common
language of that warfare has fallen into disuse.”1 That great upheaval of the
spirit was occasioned by the Gunpowder Plot of 1605, by James I’s imposition of an Oath of Allegiance in 1606, by Pius V’s imposition in the same year
of an interdict on Venice, and by the assassination in 1610 of Henry IV of
France by a Catholic fanatic. Although it has not, of course, escaped the attention of historians, that attention has been uneven in nature and the affiliated
research efforts somewhat balkanized. That is to say, they have tended to
focus on one or other of the several national flashpoints of the controversy
and have failed, by and large, to explore in adequate depth its intricately intertwined pan-European character.
This lack Tutino has now moved happily to remedy. She has done so by
focusing intently on Cardinal Robert Bellarmine and his teaching on the potestas indirecta of the pope in matters temporal. That power he depicts as
grounded in the superiority of the pope’s spiritual power (hence “the empire
of souls” in the subtitle). His theory had by 1610 found its way into the very
center of the Europe-wide outburst of theopolitical controversy and, in examining it, Tutino draws to the surface the degree to which its nuances were
elicited in the course of Bellarmine’s dialogue with thinkers as diverse as Paolo
Sarpi in Venice, King James I of England, the Gallican Jean Richer and the ultramontane André Duval in Paris, his fellow Jesuit Martin Becanus in Germany, as
well as various critics in Rome such as Pope Sixtus V. To some of them, he was
“a dangerous man” properly to be denounced to the Holy Office. Any reader,
then, prone to thinking of Bellarmine as an accepted member of some sort of
Counter-Reformation establishment will be speedily disabused of that notion
by Tutino’s account, which makes clear the degree to which he was dogged by
1

Charles Howard McIlwain, introduction, The Political Works of James I
(Cambridge, MA, 1918), pp. xv–cxi, here p. lvii.

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577

controversy in high papalist circles precisely because the papal power in temporals that he emphasized was no more than an indirect one. Nor is the reader
allowed to overlook the importance of the differing national contexts in which
that theory was deployed, the nuances that those differences inserted into its
usage, and “the fragile dynamic between center and periphery of the Catholic
world” (p. 258) that Tutino skillfully evokes. She does so by exploring not only
the veritable ocean of pertinent theopolitic literature but also (and admirably)
by calling upon the records of the Roman Inquisition and the voluminous correspondence between Bcllarmine and the Roman officialdom, as also with writers like Duval and Becanus. The outcome: A first-rate book, ambitious in scope,
impressive in delivery, tenacious in analysis, precise and comprehensive in documentation, a book destined for many a long year to come to constitute the
requisite point of departure for other studies in the field.
However, a few mild criticisms need to be made. I am surprised by the lack
of any mention of the earlier but still pertinent contributions of John
Courtney Murray and frankly puzzled by the author’s failure to discuss the
theory of a papal potestas indirecta developed by Jean de Paris three centuries before Bellarmine wrote. Although slightly different from Bellarmine’s
theory, it had resonated down through the centuries intervening, starting
echoes in the thinking of such as Pierre d’Ailly, Jean Gerson, John Mair, and
Jacques Almain—men whom Tutino certainly mentions, but not in this connection. I also would judge as ill advised the author’s attempt at the end of
the book to vindicate the continuing pertinence of Bellarmine’s theory by
inviting us to see it through the lens constituted by the views of such as
Antonio Gramsci, Michel Foucault, and Carl Schmitt (this last enjoying at the
moment something of an undeserved vogue). That attempt does not really
work, and it has the effect, alas, of introducing a fleeting moment of opacity
into what is otherwise a crisp and lucid account.
Williams College

FRANCIS OAKLEY

Saint and Nation: Santiago, Teresa of Avila, and Plural Identities in Early
Modern Spain. By Erin Kathleen Rowe. (University Park: Pennsylvania
State University Press. 2011. Pp. xvi, 264. $74.95. ISBN 978-0-271-03773-8.)
A country deeply divided over its proper role on the world stage, in doubt
over the nature of its core values and leadership, a country where a militaristic, nativist, and traditionalist faction was pitted against a more inclusive, forward-looking wing—this was not the contemporary United States, but Spain
during the crisis of the seventeenth century. In Saint and Nation, Erin
Kathleen Rowe makes a case for studying how national identity can crystallize around a religious symbol. Between 1617 and 1630, Spain was split in a
contentious battle over which saint or saints should be the country’s
patron—the traditional Santiago Matamoros (St. James the Moorslayer) or
Santiago together with the newly canonized St. Teresa of Ávila. Teresa’s pro-

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moters (“teresianos”) argued that new challenges—the rise of Protestantism,
mainly, but also difficult times at home—necessitated a modern patron saint
who understood these problems and could lead the Spanish nation to victory.
Santiago’s supporters (“santiaguistas”) fought back viciously and ultimately
won the day.
Over the course of an introduction and seven chapters, Rowe develops the
story of this controversy, relying primarily on the pamphlets that the two
sides hurled at one another, but also the archival records of the many cathedrals involved, the royal crown, and the Vatican itself. In essence, Rowe’s book
traces two histories. First, there is the ideological battle waged by the pamphleteers. A close reading of these pamphlets, some of them penned by
Spain’s leading authors and political thinkers, lays bare the nation’s prejudices
and aspirations. The santiaguistas revealed themselves to be misogynistic,
papal and royal scofflaws who could not bring themselves to accept a woman
as their patron saint, even though the pope, king, and parliament all commanded it. On their part, Teresa’s supporters, armed with the Tridentine
Church’s critical reappraisal of sainthood, questioned Santiago’s murky credentials and put forth the virtues of a real saint better equipped to deal with
the modern world in which they lived. The second history is that of the legal
battle that ensued over Teresa’s shared patronage with Santiago. Matters of
cult, Castile’s cathedral chapters argued, belonged to them, and the monarchy
or parliament could not simply vote themselves a new patron saint and
expect them to worship accordingly. Because there was the inconvenient fact
that the papacy had issued a brief authorizing Teresa’s co-patronage, the
Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela set itself the task of proving that Pope
Urban VIII had been mistaken when he granted it and remarkably won the
fight in 1630, quashing forever hopes for Teresa’s co-patronage of Spain.
Although both Santiago and Teresa’s supporters pitched their saints as
patrons for all of Spain, in reality this is a Castilian story. True, Philip III and
Philip IV were avid teresianos, but hitching Teresa to the cause of the
Hispanic monarchy, as Olivares hoped, never won over the hearts and minds
of non-Castilians, just as the monarchy itself could never convince the
Catalans, Portuguese, Italians, and Dutch to fall in line with its policies.
Ultimately, therefore, the co-patronage controversy is a story about how
Castile’s cathedral chapters, bishops, cities, parliament, and religious orders
lined up behind their saint and defended their privileges and political interests. At times, a more critical reading of some of the various primary sources
would have been welcome, as well as a conclusion that integrates the book’s
themes, rather than looking forward to the fate of Santiago and Teresa in the
twentieth century. These remarks aside, on the whole Rowe handles very
well the complexity of her subject and her sources, and in doing so sheds
valuable insight on the evolution of the Spanish national identity during the
early-modern period.
William Paterson University

SARA T. NALLE

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579

Processi informativi per la nomina dei vescovi di Trento nell’Archivio
Segreto Vaticano (secoli XVII–XVIII). Edited by Ugo Paoli. [Annali
dell’Istituto storico italo-germanico in Trento, Fonti, 10.] (Bologna: Società
editrice il Mulino. 2010. Pp. 771. €48,00 paperback. ISBN 978-8-81513998-6.)
In his book, Ugo Paoli introduces an important source for the historical
reconstruction of the Prince-Bishopric of Trent: the information processes
written for the appointment of the prince-bishop. The documents used were
obtained from the consistorial archives of the Apostolic Datary and the
Apostolic Nunciature in Vienna, preserved in the Vatican Secret Archives. The
author was vice-prefect of the Vatican Secret Archives from 1997 to 2002, and
this made the collection of data easier. Paoli previously published a similar
book, the Relationes ad limina (Trento, 2000), which covered the sixteenth
to eighteenth centuries for the Prince-Bishopric of Trent. The Relationes are
a complementary source to the processes, since they contain more information on the dioceses, whereas the processes focus on detailed biographies of
the bishops.
The importance of this historical source is shown by the triple role carried
out by the prince-bishop during the old regime: diocesan ordinary, prince of
the Holy Roman Empire of Germany, and confederate member of the Tyrolean
province. The prince therefore dealt with three authorities: the pope, the
emperor, and the count of Tyrol. The bishopric of Trent was under the Holy
Roman Empire, and as prince of the Empire the bishop had the right to vote
in the imperial diet and the option of using the imperial courts;Trent also was
a confederate member of the Tyrolean province, constantly fighting with the
counts of Tyrol due to their repeated attempts to dominate.
This book is divided into two parts. The introduction describes the origin,
evolution, and characteristics of the information processes used for the
appointment of new bishops. The purpose of the processes was to determine
whether the appointed bishop had the necessary requirements to be confirmed by the pope. The process examined qualified witnesses who would
provide answers under oath regarding the appointed bishop’s age, life, habits,
doctrine, political views, and qualification to teach. The rest of the information pertained to the dioceses—boundaries, location, population, cathedral
architecture and furnishings, structure of the cathedral chapter, number of
city parishes and religious homes, number of students attending seminary,
preservation of the bishop’s palace, and the status of the bishop’s revenue. In
addition to this examination, the future bishop provided the following documents: certificate of appointment, baptism and confirmation certificates, ordination to minor and major orders, studies conducted and academic degrees,
offices, profession of faith, proof of good manners and habits. The author then
focuses on the content of the processes specific to the various bishops
elected and on the historical circumstances affecting their election.

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The second part of the book is a transcript of all the processes concerning the newly appointed bishops from 1665 to 1776. A total of eleven information processes is included—nine held in Vienna and two in Rome.
This volume is a unique and fundamental source regarding the history of
the bishops of Trent. The documents published are important from a prosopographical point of view in reconstructing a collective biography of the
bishops, and for the study of political-institutional matters in a state that for
several years was a nexus among the Italian states, the Roman Church, and the
German world.
University of Milan

ALESSANDRA DATTERO

Aspects de l’érudition hagiographique aux XVII e et XVIII e siècles. By
Bernard Joassart. [École pratique des Hautes Études. Sciences historiques
et philologiques—V; Hautes Études médiévales et modernes, 99.] (Geneva:
Librairie Droz. 2011. Pp. x, 171. $72.00 paperback. ISBN 978-2-600-013604.)
The European Renaissance presumed the myth of the golden age.
Whatever was good was located in a remote and pristine past.The Jesuits as
“Renaissance men” approved of the recovery of texts, cleaner texts (reconciling the many variants) and corrected ancient texts—an early form of “historical criticism”—delving into the glorious past alongside other Renaissance
scholars, religious or “secular,” Protestant or Catholic. Even so, criticism of the
lives of the saints formed just a small part of the textual recovery of the era.
Joassart writes that Jean Bolland (1596–1665) worked alone in compiling
the Acta Sanctorum until he was joined by Godefroid Henschen (1601–81)
and later by Daniel Papebroch (1628–1714). There is scant reference to
hagiography in the Jesuit Ratio Studiorum. Even though it grew into a
legend, as did the small mission to Quebec recounted in the Relations
jésuites, the Bollandist hagiographical work was a numerically insignificant
apostolate of the Society.
Not surprisingly,“friendly rivalry” developed between the older and established Benedictines and the Jesuits. Dom Jean Mabillon (1632–1707), a monk
of the Congregation of St. Maur and student of Luc d’Achery (1609–83),
gained fame for his profound study of the Acta of the Benedictine saints.The
Maurist scholars were numerous, but only Mabillon distinguished himself in
hagiography, although he did not work alone and was active in other areas of
study. Mabillon’s masterpiece was the De re diplomatica (Paris, 1681; and
supplement, Paris, 1704). Joassart asserts that Bolland and Mabillon were
“twins” in the work they did for their respective communities. He likewise
asserts that the Bollandists eagerly followed the numerous publications of the
Maurists to stimulate their own research (p. 53).The two communities did not
organize or present their material in the same way.The Maurist hagiography

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581

was intended primarily for internal consumption, whereas the Jesuits were
writing apologetics for the whole world.
Early in his introduction Joassart exclaims that he does not wish to write
about something boring like we find locked away in dull dissertations.
Although the Bollandists and the Maurists may have been in benevolent competition with each other, this was not the case between the Jesuits and the
Carmelites. The beginning of the quarrel dates from 1675. The Bollandists had
just published in their first volume the article concerning Albert,“Patriarch of
Jerusalem.” Some of the early Christian writers did not support the Carmelite
claim that their founder “materially” was the Prophet Elijah. One may see here
the myth of the golden age at work in the Carmelite passion to seem as
ancient as possible. The Bollandists analyzed the tradition and stirred up a
controversy with the Carmelites, which became heated. Even some
Carmelites, including Louis-Jacob de Saint-Charles (1608–70), doubted the
claim about their foundation, which only increased the rancor. There followed a flood of Carmelite polemics in favor of the tradition that the Prophet
Elijah did indeed found the Order (pp. 92–93). Henschen and Papebroch were
responsible for the materials concerning the Carmelites. The Jesuit Superior
General advised a middle path between compromising the truth and needlessly offending the Carmelite Order. The Carmelite Provincial, Daniel de La
Vierge, wrote to the Bollandists to protest their publication, but his arguments
were ad hominem and not historical. Various important dignitaries in Rome
became involved in the case, mostly concluding in support of Papebroch. The
Superior General disapproved of the “tone” of the work against the tradition
of the founding of the Carmelites. Mabillon wrote to Papebroch, assuring his
full support for the position taken by the Jesuit Bollandist. Mabillon went so
far as to say he grieved that Papebroch was now distracted from his important work in order to defend himself in the case. In 1698 Pope Innocent XII
ordered that both sides keep silence on the matter—a pontifical solution
already famous at the beginning of the same century in the De auxiliis controversy between Dominicans and Jesuits.
Alma, MI

BRIAN VAN HOVE, S.J.

Morales en conflit: Théologie et polémique au Grand Siècle (1640–1700).
By Jean-Pascal Gay. (Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf. 2011. Pp. 984. €45,00 paperback. ISBN 978-2-204-09150-3.)
In this major study of one of the most notorious of intra-Catholic disputes
in early-modern France, Jean-Pascal Gay provides a tripartite survey of the
Jansenist-Jesuit controversy. He begins, persuasively but surprisingly, at the
end, with the censure of laxism by the Assemblée du Clergé in 1700, before
retracing both the growing critique of casuistry and the attendant evolution
of rigorism from the earlier years of the century. Among the many complex
and overlapping considerations that arise are the question of Gallicanism (the

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degree, in other words, to which this conflict was aggravated by its origins in
the French Church or, conversely, by the suspicion within France of an ultramontane agenda, focused on the Roman center and its links with the Society
of Jesus); the relationship among casuistry, stricto sensu, and the various penitential hypotheses to which it gave rise (tutiorism [the safer], probabiliorism
[the more probable] and, most controversial of all, probabilism [that which is
simply probable]); the internal differences within both warring factions and,
more controversially again, the perceived proximity between Jansenism and
Calvinism; the local variations within the French jurisdiction; the accessibility
(or not) of casuistic publications (in French and Latin), and the uses to which
they were put; and the prehistory of the tradition and the appeal to precedent. The three parts are broadly diachronic (narrating the evolution of the
controversy), ideological (examining the core issues at stake), and generic
(examining the respective arenas of theology and polemic). There are four
dominant texts (alongside an immense corpus of more technical treatises,
from all of which extensive quotation is provided): the hostile Théologie
morale des Jésuites, attributed to Antoine Arnauld (1643); the Lettres provinciales of Blaise Pascal (1656–57), constituting a turning point in the popularization of the debate and the trigger for a great deal of what was to follow,
both in writing and in practice; the response, in the form of the Apologie des
casuistes by the Jesuit Père Georges Pirot (Paris, 1657); and the rigorist
Théologie morale de Grenoble (Paris, 1676), whose influence was to continue well into the eighteenth century (and the broader scope of reference of
the study extends both backward into the sixteenth century and forward to
the 1730s). As is characteristic of a published thesis, Gay’s book is relentlessly
exhaustive in its exemplification and annotation, but since much of the material is both little known and difficult of access, it is hard to see how this
approach could have been modified in the interests of readability (and French
translations are helpfully provided of all the Latin texts).There is also a degree
of repetitiveness, not in the manner of treatment of the issues debated, but
simply by virtue of the nature of the raw material and indeed of the modes of
argument deployed. On the other hand, the gradual elucidation of the deeper
theological questions at stake is made substantially clearer by the provision of
partial conclusions to each chapter. Gay finally supplies a series of textual
appendices, including a particularly enjoyable one that provides an anthology
of satirical and parodic material. It will probably only be those scholars who
are centrally concerned with the disciplines of early-modern European
Catholic history who will read this detailed and technical account from
beginning to end; but many others will consult it, and there is no doubt that
it will serve as a seminal point of reference for any future work in the area.
St. Catherine’s College, Oxford

RICHARD PARISH

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583

Old Believers in a Changing World. By Robert O. Crummey. (DeKalb:
Northern Illinois University Press, 2011. Pp. xiv, 267. $45.00. ISBN 978-0875-80650-1.)
For nearly four decades Robert O. Crummey has written about the history
of Russia’s Old Believers in studies ranging from his classic monograph The
Old Believers and the World of Antichrist: The Vyg Community and the
Russian State (Madison, WI, 1970) to essays in the Cambridge History of
Russia and the Cambridge History of Christianity. Unlike other scholars,
who tend to specialize in one time period, Crummey has done groundbreaking research about both the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. He has
made significant contributions to the study of Old Belief’s legendary founding fathers, the religious and intellectual underpinnings of Old Belief high culture, and the complex relations between this high culture and popular religion. He also has published a number of thought-provoking essays on the
historiography of Old Belief.This volume presents a selection of twelve articles and book chapters from Crummey’s œuvre.
The volume highlights Crummey’s distinctive approach to the study of Old
Belief: his careful analysis of the manuscripts and miscellanies that guaranteed
Old Belief’s long-term survival. Crummey’s principal interest is in “the intellectual leaders of Old Belief” (XIII) and “the theological, liturgical, and moral
issues that preoccupied” (XII) them. This focus is illustrated, for example, in
four essays on the spirituality and historical philosophy of the founders (e.g.,
Andrei Denisov) of the famous Vyg Community during the early-eighteenth
century and another essay on Old Believer hagiography (“The Miracle of
Martyrdom”). Crummey’s preference for textual analysis is reflected in two
historiographic essays (expressing, for example, great admiration for the
Novosibirsk scholar Nikolai N. Pokrovskii, who pioneered the study of old
manuscripts surviving in Soviet- and post-Soviet Old Believer communities).
One of Crummey’s lasting contributions is his emphasis on lesser-known
leadership figures (who were eclipsed by the iconic Archpriest Avvakum). For
example, he identified the Monk Avraamii as one of Old Belief’s principal
founding fathers (pp. 68–84). Avraamii articulated for the first time the apocalyptic worldview that “provided concepts, images, and rallying cries with
which ordinary men and women could comprehend the rapidly changing . . .
world around them. . .” (p. 84). Similarly, he resurrects the long-forgotten
Andrei Borisov, leader of the Vyg Community from 1780 to 1791, who was
inspired by both Eastern Christian tradition and the European Enlightenment
(pp. 136–56). Fascinated by Rousseau and Western science (e.g., the physics
of electricity) Borisov prefigured later intellectuals trying to make sense of
Old Belief’s place in the modern world.
Crummey also explores the social contexts of Old Belief.An essay on popular culture (pp. 17–27) argues that Old Belief “was clearly not a religion of

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the illiterate” (p. 25) because “leaders struggled unceasingly to enforce the
most rigorous standards of Orthodox worship” (p. 26). This confessionalization process sharply distinguished Old Belief from official Orthodoxy. An
essay on religious radicalism (pp. 52–67) seeks to understand the apocalyptic
mind-set of peasants who committed suicide in the face of persecution
during the late 1660s. It is a fascinating account of women and men who
“extended their rigorous asceticism to its ultimate end—they stopped eating
altogether” (p. 59). Crummey’s findings suggest that preachers on the fringes
of Old Belief advocated suicide to escape the world of Antichrist.
Without Crummey’s contributions, the study of Old Belief would not be as
alive as it is today. One might call Crummey a “founding father” himself (comparable in stature to Denisov) of Old Believer studies. Crummey has continued and deepened earlier traditions of learning (that is, the scholarship of
Pierre Pascal, Sergei Zenkovsky, and Michael Cherniavsky) and thus contributed greatly to all future scholarship on Old Belief. This volume is a tribute to Crummey’s scholarly erudition and offers readers a uniquely thoughtful introduction to the current state of research in Old Believer studies.
University of California, Riverside

GEORG MICHELS

La Diócesis de Pamplona en 1734, a través de la visita ad limina del Obispo
Melchor Ángel Gutiérrez Vallejo. By María Iranzu Rico Arrastia. [Colección
Aspectos Jurídicos, 20.] (Pamplona: Universidad Pública de Navarra. 2010.
Pp. 489. €30,00 paperback. ISBN 978-8-497-69267-0.)
Since Pope Sixtus V mandated the first ad limina visits in 1585, bishops
have regularly traveled to Rome to visit the tombs of Ss. Peter and Paul and to
give the pope a report on the state of their dioceses. The documents generated with each ad limina visit are numerous, and the records at the Vatican
Archives, spanning more than four centuries, are indispensable to study the
evolution of the ad limina visits, church organization, and religious practices
within dioceses.
This book provides a detailed description of the ad limina visit of the
bishop of Pamplona in 1734 and includes transcriptions of all the ad limina
documents from that visit. María Iranzu Rico Arrastia does not analyze the
documents here; rather, she provides a primer on how to read and interpret
these sources. She posits that understanding how and why the documentation was generated in Rome and Pamplona will help historians move beyond
the formalism and the repetitive nature of the documentation and thereby
gain fresh insights into early-modern society from these sources.
The book is divided into five chapters and includes lengthy appendices.
Chapter 1 defines an ad limina visit and briefly gives the context for the visit
of 1734. Chapter 2 identifies repositories in Rome and Pamplona with docu-

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mentation on ad limina visits. Chapter 3 describes the different types of documentation generated in Rome and Pamplona. Chapter 4 develops more fully
the historical context of the visit, examining the career of Bishop Melchor
Ángel Gutiérrez Vallejo, his efforts to prepare for the ad limina visit despite
illness, and the role of local clergy in preparing the documents as well as in
impeding the visitation process by claiming exemption from episcopal oversight. Chapter 5 describes the documents in the appendices. Rico Arrastia’s
commentary on the written report and a unique catalog describing the 927
parishes in the diocese is particularly helpful. Here, she hints at different ways
the documentation might be used for church history, demographic history, or
social history. For example, she notes that the clustering of parishes named
San Román in the archpresbyterate of Yerri might shed light on popular devotion in that region. Disappointingly, because it is a primer, the book only
alludes to such lines of investigation but never takes them up. Rico Arrastia
also points out the documents’ shortcomings, most notably numerical errors
in the documents sent to Rome. With this grounding, the reader is ready to
undertake his or her own investigation of the sources.
The appendices consist of tables and documents. Rico Arrastia has
painstakingly created seventy-two pages of useful tables from the documentation.These tables include names of the parishes within the diocese; identification of parishes dependent on chapters, religious orders, monasteries, or
other ecclesiastical bodies; locations of monasteries, convents, and confraternities; plus several tables on the population of the parishes. The seventeen
documents of the ad limina visit total 240 pages of text. Most of the documents are in Latin, but a few are in Castilian.
Rico Arrastia must be commended for providing scholars with an easy-tofollow description of the documentation and making available the documents
of the most thorough ad limina visit from early-modern Pamplona.This book
will be a useful starting place for all historians planning to consult ad limina
records for their own research.
Saint Anselm College

SEAN T. PERRONE

Enlightened Monks: The German Benedictines, 1740–1803. By Ulrich L.
Lehner. (New York: Oxford University Press. 2011. Pp. viii, 266. $99.00. ISBN
978-0-199-59512-9).
Ulrich Lehner has written a book that anyone with an interest in eighteenth-century Catholicism and the more general phenomenon of religious
Enlightenment will want to read. Focused on the roughly 150 monasteries
(composed of some 3500–4000 professed monks) in the German-speaking
Benedictine communities of southern and Middle Germany, Austria, and
Switzerland over the course of the eighteenth century, the book draws on
extensive primary research in local and regional archives as well as the very

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best of contemporary scholarship in German and English. Lehner is nothing
if not a thorough and industrious scholar, and the wealth of information he
has amassed alone makes this book a valuable resource. But he is also a fluid
writer, with an eye for piquant details and arresting stories, ensuring that the
narrative is enlivened along the way by a great number of vivid and sensitive
portraits of individuals, like the “Catholic Werther” (p. 118), Nonnosus Gschall,
whose theological struggles and depressive illness led to his self-inflicted
demise; the scholar and notorious convert to Protestantism Gregorius
Rothfischer; and the Scottish Benedictine Andrew Gordon, whose residence
at the Abbey in Regensberg and keen interest in contemporary philosophy
(above all, the thought of Christian Wolff) made him a central eighteenth-century intermediary between the Anglophone and German worlds.
Lehner organizes his study around a series of “challenges” that beset the
Benedictines in the age of Enlightenment. These ranged from the need to
grapple with new philosophies, theologies, and understandings of history and
natural law to responses to cultural and “lifestyle” changes common to many
parts of eighteenth-century Europe. Thus, Lehner traces how changing conceptions of leisure time and the introduction of new luxury items like coffee,
tea, and tobacco led some monks to demand greater freedom and independence in which to play cards or billiards or smoke. So, too, did evolving understandings of personal privacy and self-expression lead to conflicts over space
and appearance. Did monks have a right to privacy in their cells? Might they
even lock their doors? And could they abandon the traditional tonsure in
favor of something a little more dashing? By the end of the eighteenth century, Lehner observes somewhat amusingly,“hair emancipators” (p. 41) were
a feature of nearly every Benedictine community in the German-speaking
world.
The attention to such changes in lifestyle and comportment, although certainly interesting in themselves, threatens at times to expand the notion of
Enlightenment so broadly as to render it virtually synonymous with eighteenth-century culture as a whole.Yet Lehner’s overriding aim is to show that
the Benedictines cannot be sealed off hermetically from the rest of eighteenth-century culture, including the culture of the Enlightenment. In this he
succeeds admirably, showing not only how the attitudes of Benedictine
monks tracked with wider conceptions of personal liberty that affected their
thinking about discipline and punishment, freedom of movement and
thought, and the relationship between rulers (abbots) and ruled but also,
more specifically, how the order participated directly in the cultural practices
and debates of the Enlightenment in a more restricted sense.Through scholarly exchanges and correspondence as well as university teaching, book collecting, travel, and the performance of scientific experiments, enlightened
Benedictines showed themselves remarkably receptive to many of the central
developments of Enlightenment culture, reading John Locke and Immanuel
Kant, Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz and Christian Wolff, and even Johann Gottlieb

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Fichte.Yet Lehner is well aware, too, that this receptivity was apt to provoke
a reaction: “The more the Enlightenment shaped all parts of society, the
stronger the support for the anti-Enlightenment grew” (p. 7).With the demise
of the German Reichskirche in the wake of Napoleon’s armies and the dissolution of the monasteries, light gave way to darkness of many, somber shades.
Florida State University

DARRIN M. MCMAHON

The Mixed Multitude: Jacob Frank and the Frankist Movement, 1755–1816.
By Pawel/ Maciejko. (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. 2011.
Pp. xiii, 360. $65.00. ISBN 978-0-812-24315-4.)
This fascinating book tells the tangled story that began in 1756 when
Jacob Frank, a charismatic Ottoman Jew, returned to his native Poland and
turned the world of east European Jewry topsy turvy. He proclaimed himself
the bearer of a new, eccentric variant of Sabbatianism, a seventeenth-century
antinomian and messianic strain within Judaism that taught salvation through
faith alone, coupled with flagrant ritual violation of the laws of halakhah,
rather than their observance. Inevitably, Sabbatians and traditional Jews came
into fierce conflict, each faction abusing the other as the erev rav, the “mixed
multitude” of the Hebrew Bible who threatened the purity of Judaism from
within.
As related here by Pawel/ Maciejko, a lecturer in Jewish Thought at the
Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Frank quickly attracted adherents, notice,
and controversy in Poland. Faced with competing pressures from the Catholic
Church that was eager for Jewish converts and the rabbinic leadership that
was bent on purging these undesirables from the fold of Jewry, Frank and his
followers received baptism as Catholics in 1759, the culmination of a bizarre
but discernible chain of religious logic. By the next year, Frank found himself
confined to lengthy virtual imprisonment in Cze˛stochowa by decree of Polish
church authorities, dismayed by the lurid and heretical rites of the Frankists
as well as the discovery that their leader had accepted Islam before his arrival
in Poland. If anything, the aura of martyrdom merely swelled the ranks of his
followers to the tens of thousands. Freed by the Russians in 1772 at the time
of the first partition of Poland, Frank and his considerable entourage moved
on to the Habsburg Empire and finally Offenbach am Main, constructing a
cultic adoration of his daughter as a semi-divine being modeled on a peculiar
understanding of the Virgin Mary and living out his days in ostentatious splendor. After his death in 1791, his movement lingered on for several decades,
with greater decorum but decreasing visibility, before fading out, as neither
mainstream Christians nor Jews in Poland regarded it as a legitimate or reputable branch of their own tradition.
Maciejko has based his account on an impressive amount of archival
research in Poland, the Holy See, and four other countries. In addition, he has

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done careful reading of the published work of other scholars and is not shy
to take issue with conventional wisdom on the subject. Above all, he stresses
that Frankism should not be regarded as simply a new form of Sabbatianism,
but as a doctrine sui generis cobbled together by its inventor; the strength of
Frank’s undeniable religious appeal, which persuaded thousands to regard
him as a messiah rather than a mere charlatan, was not consistent defense of
clearly stated convictions, but his originality and flexibility in adapting his
creed to suit different audiences and circumstances. One suspects that the
debates over Frankism have not ended, but for now, The Mixed Multitude
should stand as the authoritative work on the subject.
University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee

NEAL PEASE

Late Modern European
Religionen und Katholizismus, Bildung und Geschichtsdidaktik, Arbeiterbewegung: Ausgewählte Aufsätze. By Michael Klöcker. [Beiträge zur
Kirchen- und Kulturgeschichte, Vol. 21.] (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang.
2011. Pp. 629. $137.95. ISBN 978-3-631-61714-4.)
This edition collects some of the most important works produced during
a forty-year career that began with a lectureship in Cologne’s Teachers
College (Pedagogische Hochschule) and that continues with a professorship
in history and history education at the University of Cologne since Cologne’s
teachers college has been integrated into the university. This helps explain
the broad range of Michael Klöcker’s publications, which stretch from history
education and the Rhenish labor movement to the particularities of Rhenish
Catholicism. With the exception of a lengthy introduction by series editor
Christoph Weber, all essays included were published previously in other journals, reference works, or proceedings. The essays typify the solid archival
research of someone who has conducted primarily regional research as a
means to offer a more differentiated view of larger scholarly issues. An excellent example of this is Klöcker’s article on the question of Catholic parity—
or, rather, imparity—in academic appointments at the University of Cologne
during the Weimar years.
Klöcker’s work addresses Rhenish history from the Napoleonic occupation to the present. In particular, he focuses on the development of the
Catholic laity. The Rhineland is a region with a comparatively large Catholic
middle class (especially compared to Bavaria and Silesia), which historically
took the initiative in developing lay associations of all types. Klöcker’s work
reveals the transformation of Germany’s laity from one loyal to the hierarchy
and observant of the Church’s teachings to one that largely sees religious
ritual as a consumer good and where the magisterium has lost much of its
authority. Klöcker questions how Catholicism will fare in a postmodern pluralistic society. He sees contemporary German Catholicism facing a crisis

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moment where it can welcome either a new antimodernism or a new aggiornamento (pp. 335–36).
Given Klöcker’s analyses of the particularly Rhenish qualities of Cologne’s
Catholicism, one need not guess where his sympathies lie. He identifies a
Rhenish-Catholic mentality that is undogmatic, strong-willed, and critical of
authority (p. 467). For example, for years before and after World War I, archbishop and clergy would mount an intense campaign against carnival celebrations. Beginning right after Christmas, every Sunday homily would include
an admonition that Catholics should go on retreat rather than anticipate Lent
with little intention of later observing Lenten self-discipline (p. 417). Klöcker
drily notes that the hierarchical appeals remained ineffective. Similarly,
Klöcker helps explain Adenauer’s political flexibility and pragmatism by
pointing to his Rhenish origins.
Of particular interest is an article on the definition of German political
Catholicism, which was originally published in 1971. Klöcker’s argument that
political Catholicism should be defined more broadly and inclusively was novel
then; now it is commonplace. Just how much of a shift this represents can be
understood by the fact that no one less than E. W. Böckenförde, one of the institutional Church’s fiercest critics, recommended the article for publication.
Also included in the volume are several contributions made by Klöcker in
other areas. For example, he offers an interesting comparison of economic
concepts and relevant moral teachings of the three monotheistic religions. In
several other articles, Klöcker summarizes the state of the field such as in a
2005 article on National Socialism as a religion or as in two articles, from 1980
and 2003 respectively, on the state of history education in Germany.
Overall, although the individual articles might be useful primarily to scholars of modern Rhenish Catholicism, the collection as a whole not only
reflects forty years of scholarly engagement but also reflects forty years of
German Catholic historiography.
Rivier University
Nashua, NH

MARTIN MENKE

The Pope’s Soldiers: A Military History of the Modern Vatican. By David
Alvarez. [Modern War Studies.] (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas.
2011. Pp. xiii, 429. $34.95. ISBN 978-0-700-61770-8.)
Serious readers of church history are well aware of military episodes in
its long chronicle, among the most dramatic being the subjection of central
Italy by the fire-breathing Pope Julius II and the participation of papal galleys at Lepanto with the blessing of the saintly Pope Pius V. Less well known
are the years during and after the French Revolution, when the defense of

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the pope’s temporal power required a military option.That story is no less
fascinating.
Years ago, this was a book I had dreamed about writing. Fortunately, David
Alvarez got there first and did a much better job than I would have done. His
research was very extensive, as demonstrated by forty-five pages of helpful
notes and bibliography. Although he brings his narrative up to the Swiss
Guards of the present day, the heart of his story takes place between 1796 and
1870. During that period, there were six distinct military campaigns, culminating in the definitive loss of the Papal States and Italy’s unification. By that
point, the Papal States had built, per capita, one of the largest armies in
Europe and, judged by its performance, one of the best motivated.
The saga begins when France’s Revolutionary Republic invaded Italy, at
the expense of what Alvarez calls the “worst army in Europe” (p. 1), a largely
ceremonial force hampered by curial penny-pinching and skirmishing among
careerists. From that very low point, there were serious attempts to build the
pathetic militia into a credible force which might at least deter outside
powers from invasion. By the pontificate of Pius IX, even the skeptics saw the
need to field a reliable military. Optimistic cardinals who favored diplomacy
learned the hard way that even the friendliest major powers were unwilling
or unable to protect the Patrimony of Peter.
After a surprisingly brave performance in 1848, the army began active
recruiting and training of native Italian troops, as well as numerous foreign
volunteers. Potential adversaries learned that the old papal army, whose primary skill had once been the ability to run away, had now grown to include
dedicated troops who were willing to sell their lives dearly for a cause in
which they believed. The Castelfidardo campaign of 1860 was a tragic loss of
an army not yet trained and equipped to carry out its task. But those defeated
volunteers, including Irish and German recruits, showed a sort of courage not
common in anyone’s army. The final chapters in the Risorgimento came in
1867, when Papal Zouaves mauled Giuseppe Garibaldi’s much larger force at
Mentana, and the final defense of Rome in 1870. General Hermann Kanzler’s
troops demonstrated that they were willing and able to continue resistance
until the last, if Pius IX had wished it. Later chapters cover the evolution of a
credible army into peacetime units of Gendarmes, Swiss, Palatine, and Noble
Guards. Defending the autonomy of the Vatican during World War II was
indeed a military issue, with very high stakes for Pius XII to retain his voice.
Many parts of this fine book read like an adventure novel. The author
might have added more maps to support his fast-moving narrative, which
includes many place names. But overall, the book will stand up as a beacon of
the final and enthralling finale of the Papal States.
Washington Theological Union

LEOPOLD GLUECKERT, O.CARM.

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Were the Popes against the Jews? Tracking the Myths, Confronting the
Ideologues. By Justus George Lawler. (Grand Rapids, MI: William B.
Eerdmans Publishing. 2012. Pp. xviii, 387. $35.00. ISBN 978-0-802-86629-5.)
Historian David Kertzer contributed constructively to our understanding
of one of the most infamous events in Catholic-Jewish history with his The
Kidnapping of Edgardo Mortara (New York, 1997). That incident, which
took place during the waning days of the Papal States in the pontificate of
Pius IX, ranks only slightly behind the Dreyfus affair in Jewish memory as a
precursor of the tragic events of the mid-twentieth century. Kertzer’s more
recent effort, The Popes against the Jews: The Vatican’s Role in the Rise of
Modern Anti-Semitism (New York, 2001), however, was a much more cursory
swing through history that, in essence, cobbled together all the negatives it
could find, exaggerated some facts, and ignored many others in what
amounted to a polemical indictment of the papacy as responsible for the rise
of racial antisemitism (which it opposed) and therefore for the Holocaust
itself. Justus George Lawler’s study, as its title indicates, takes on the serious
methodological flaws not only in Kertzer’s book but also in others of the
genre such as those by Daniel Goldhagen and John Cornwell. Lawler is both
correct and effective in surfacing and debunking the antipapal ideology that
lies behind such studies.
Lawler analyzes the sleight-of-hand rhetoric in which Kertzer engages to
draw his readers into unwarranted conclusions and, where appropriate, supplies necessary historical context and interpretation. Kertzer, for example,
presumes that the Jesuit journal La Civiltà Cattolica is on the same level of
presenting the official views of the Holy See as L’Osservatore Romano and
that all other Jesuit publications around the world mirror every article in it.
Although it is true that there were a handful of anti-Jewish articles in La
Civilta Cattolica at the turn of the twentieth century, the Jesuit publications
of France, England, and the United States such as America had a quite different and more positive approach when dealing with Jewish concerns. Lawler
quite helpfully rejects such misleading generalizations of Kertzer’s through
analysis and example.
Although Lawler’s book will be of interest to historians of the papacy and
its dealings with the Jews from the nineteenth through the mid-twentieth
century, it has its own serious flaws with regard to the history of CatholicJewish relations over the centuries and especially from World War II to the
present. He cites Rosemary Radford Reuther’s deeply flawed Faith and
Fratricide: The Theological Roots of Anti-Semitism (New York, 1974) as “pioneering and still indispensable” (p. 306), for example, when in fact its simplistic equation of the anti-Judaic polemics of the later strata of the New
Testament with the antisemitism of the Nazis ignored both the intervening
historical developments over the centuries and the distinction that must be
made between religious disputation and modern racism. Likewise on the

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same page he equates Ss. John Chrysostom and Augustine as making essentially the same “inevitably negative” judgment on Jews and Judaism, despite
the fact that the book he cites—Paula Frederiksen’s excellent Augustine and
the Jews: A Christian Defense of Jews and Judaism (New York, 2008)—
argues, and proves, the opposite.
Lawler similarly reprints on pages 288–97 his own 1965 negative review
of the truly pioneering and still indispensable study of Edward Flannery, The
Anguish of the Jews (New York, 1965), despite its substantially revised
second edition (New York, 1985), of which he is seemingly unaware. He
seems likewise to be unaware of the numerous official statements of the Holy
See, the popes, and the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops, as well
as those of other bishops’ conferences, issued since the Second Vatican
Council, which have significantly and carefully developed church teaching on
Judaism and the Church’s relationship with the Jewish people.
Saint Leo University

EUGENE J. FISHER

A People of One Book: The Bible and the Victorians. By Timothy Larsen.
(New York: Oxford University Press. 2011. Pp. viii, 326. $55.00. ISBN 978-0199-57009-6.)
In recent years, Timothy Larsen has published studies of Jesus’s preaching
(The Sermon on the Mount through the Centuries with Jeffrey P. Greenman
and Stephen R. Spencer, Grand Rapids, MI, 2007), religion and politics
(Friends of Religious Equality,Waynesboro, GA, 2007),“fundamentalism and
feminism” (Christabel Pankhurst, Rochester, NY, 2002), and nineteenth-century conversions from doubt to faith (Crisis of Doubt, New York, 2006).This
project is an examination of Victorian “biblicism,” of the ways in which the
scriptures permeated the thought and work of people of many denominations—and, somewhat paradoxically, of people who professed no faith at all.
Larsen takes roughly the same approach in each of the ten chapters in the
book. In the title, he names a religious tradition and identifies the man or
woman whom he sees as “a fitting representative” (p. 12) of that tradition:
E. B. Pusey of Anglo-Catholicism, Mary Carpenter of Unitarianism, and of
course C. H. Spurgeon of Baptists and “Orthodox Old Dissent” (three others—
Spiritualism, Judaism, and the Plymouth Brethren—could not be included in
the study proper, but are briefly surveyed in the conclusion). That person’s
commitment to the scriptures is then the primary—but not necessarily the
only—focus of the chapter itself, as Larsen often also provides a biographical
sketch, discussions of another important people, or an “excursus” into
“denominational history” (pp. 104, 138).
In many cases, Larsen helps us to see familiar people in unfamiliar ways.
For the purposes of this study, for example, Florence Nightingale, Charles
Bradlaugh, and T. H. Huxley are not significant, respectively, for their nursing

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during the Crimean War, the lawsuit that permitted an avowed atheist to take
his seat in Parliament in the 1880s, or scientific lectures and work as
“Darwin’s bulldog.” Rather, Larsen portrays them respectively as a liberal
preacher and author of the apologetic work Suggestions for Thought to the
Searchers after Truths; a man who once taught Sunday School and whose
“first freethinking work” followed all of the conventions of Victorian “biblical
commentary” (p. 71); and someone who advocated the study of the scriptures
while protesting, in the style of “an Old Testament prophet” (p. 206), what he
saw as the idolatry—and specifically the “bibliolatry” (p. 207)—that characterized Victorian Christendom.
What is not consistent is the way in which Larsen has organized the study.
He tells us in the introduction that “the order of the chapters is simply the
order in which they were researched” (p. 7). This leads to a somewhat disjointed sequence: we read about Anglicans in chapters 1, 5, and 9; Roman
Catholics in chapter 2; Methodists, Unitarians, and Quakers in chapters 4, 6,
and 7; Spurgeon in chapter 10; and atheists and agnostics in chapters 3 and 8.
This organizational scheme also makes it difficult to smoothly segue from one
topic to the next; most of the chapters seem to come to a rather abrupt end.
These may be rough edges, but they are not fatal flaws. Although A People of
One Book cannot be given an unqualified endorsement here, it is nonetheless
a worthwhile project by a prolific and insightful scholar. Many of us have
probably grown skeptical of the promotional language on dust jackets, but, in
this case, the claim that the book is a story of religious “diversity” told through
a “series of lively case studies” is not far off the mark.
Marshall University

ROBERT H. ELLISON

L’Archivio “Erik Peterson” all’Università di Torino. Saggi critici e
Inventario. Edited by Adele Monaci Castagno. [Collana di Studi del Centro
di Scienze Religiose, 1.] (Alessandria: Edizioni dell’Orso. 2010. Pp. viii, 247.
Paperback. ISBN 978-8-876-94260-0.)
In the English-speaking world, the German patristics scholar, exegete, and
theologian Erik Peterson (1890–1960) is known principally to specialists in
the study of early Christianity and ancient religion, particularly to those with
interests in liturgy, asceticism, martyrdom, and apocryphal literature. Some of
his most important contributions were reprinted a year before his death,
under the title Frühkirche, Judentum und Gnosis (Freiburg, 1959). More
recently he has become somewhat familiar to writers on political theology,
thanks to his classic monograph Monotheismus als politisches Problem
(Leipzig, 1935), which notoriously denied the possibility of any such thing as
a Christian political theology, and that on the basis of the orthodox Nicene
doctrine of the Trinity and of St. Augustine’s eschatological desacralization of
empire. His intimate friendship with the controversial Catholic legal scholar
(and sometime National Socialist) Carl Schmitt has also brought his name and
work into wider circulation.

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Superbly trained in the historical methods that dominated German
Protestant scholarship in the teens and twenties, Peterson nevertheless cultivated a stiffly independent theological consciousness that eventually drove
him out of the Protestant world altogether. His conversion to Catholicism in
1930 led him to resign his professorship at Bonn and to move to Rome, where
he married, raised a large family in near penury, and searched vainly for a suitable academic appointment in Rome and elsewhere (including an offer in
1942 of a new chair in patristics at The Catholic University of America—
which he turned down, to his regret, and which was then offered to Johannes
Quasten). His intensely eschatological Christianity, his austere reluctance to
write “big-picture” history or systematic theology, his rather angular personality, and his anomalous status as a historically-minded lay theologian in a
Catholic church that still regarded theology as a neo-Scholastic and clerical
enterprise ensured he would remain the “stranger in the world” that he
believed was the authentic Christian condition in via.
After his death, Peterson’s papers, including his near-legendary card index
of hundreds of thousands of notes from a lifetime of reading ancient sources,
came into the possession of the University of Turin, thanks especially to the
efforts of the late Franco Bolgiani. The present volume from the university’s
Center for Religious Studies presents the learned world with a thorough
inventory of Peterson’s Nachlass. Of special interest will be his correspondence with a who’s who of European theological and scholarly life over
nearly half a century, including Karl Barth and Adolf von Harnack, as well as
notables from the Catholic world such as Jacques Maritain; Cardinal Yves
Congar, O.P.; Cardinal Henri de Lubac, S.J.; Cardinal Jean Daniélou, S.J.; and
Hans Urs von Balthasar.
The book includes essays introducing Peterson and explaining the tortuous history of the Peterson archive. Most noteworthy is the contribution
of the indefatigable Barbara Nichtweiß, who, in the two decades since she
published her massive intellectual biography of Peterson (Erik Peterson:
Neue Sicht auf Leben und Werk [Freiburg, 1992]), has done so much to
rescue his legacy from obscurity. Her realization of the extent of Peterson’s
unpublished lectures, conferences, and letters prompted her to revise drastically the limited scope of her initial research project (p. 37). Along with
the help of an ecumenical and interdisciplinary team of scholars, she has
supervised the publication of a new edition of Peterson’s works that
reprints older publications but also includes much newly edited material
from the archives. Erik Peterson: Ausgewählte Schriften (Würzburg, 1994–)
now comprises thirteen volumes either already published or in preparation.
Her paper in the present volume has an instructive review of Peterson’s
relation to the cultural and religious world of his time, along with insightful
suggestions about the ongoing reception of his work, whose relevance lies
not in spite of, but precisely because of, its principled challenge to the
world as it is.

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The book is recommended for research libraries and for scholars interested in twentieth-century intellectual history and the renewal of contemporary theology.
University of St. Thomas, St. Paul

MICHAEL HOLLERICH

The Modernist as Philosopher: Selected Writings of Marcel Hébert.Translated
by C. J. T. Talar and Elizabeth Emery. Introduced and edited by C. J. T. Talar.
(Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press. 2011. Pp. x,
254. $64.95. ISBN 978-0-8132-1879-3.)
The papal condemnation of Roman Catholic modernism in 1907, the
establishment of vigilance committees to ferret out suspected modernists,
and the promulgation of the oath against “modernism” (in scare quotes to
signal that the reality of the phenomenon was quite other than the Vatican’s
depiction of it) did far more damage to the Church than the modernists ever
did. Having driven many of its best thinkers out of the Church or underground, the official Church failed to engage the intellectual movements of the
time. World War I interrupted the offensive against modernism and allowed
everyone to take a deep breath—e.g., Pope Benedict XV dismantled
Monsignor Umberto Begnigni’s secretive Sodalitium Pianum (or La
Sapinière), named after Pope Pius X—and to begin more soberly to appraise
modern thought and the Catholic Church’s posture toward it.
Since the progressive opening of Vatican archives (now open through the
pontificate of Pius XI), published works have been appearing based on these
archival materials, works that afford an “insider’s” view of events previously
known largely only from the outside. At the same time, it has become “safe”
to give wider exposure to modernist works that are little known because history had passed them by.
C. J. T. Talar has been a foremost contributor to this latter effort. In the present volume, he and Elizabeth Emery make available in accurate and graceful
translation some of the most important contributions of Marcel Hébert
(1851–1916), a modernist philosopher in tune with the development of
modern thought. Hébert, writes Talar in his superb introduction, “felt the
insufficiency of Scholasticism to speak to minds formed by modernity, to formulate an adequate response to the philosophical legacy of Kant” (p. 3),
whom church authorities regarded as the principal enemy of Catholic teaching. Indeed, the neo-Scholastic manualists regarded Kant and most other nonScholastics as enemies to be dismissed without trying to discover why they
were non-Scholastics and what truth their systems might contain that could
help the Church dialogue with modern thought. This is precisely what
Hébert attempted to do, especially with American and Anglo-Saxon pragmatism, which was attracting great interest among European thinkers. His effort
took him outside the Church.

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The first half of the Hébert collection covers the period when he was still
a priest in good standing and was most “symbolist.” The second half covers
1908, by which time he had left the Church and was engaging pragmatism,
but from a surprisingly “conservative” perspective: out of his symbolist belief
in ideals and their unchanging eternalist character, he argued that pragmatism
downplayed primacy of thought for “primacy of action” and ended in a
Platonist or Berkeleyan idealism (pp. 170–71).
One great value of publishing translations of Hébert’s works is that they
allow readers to assess his thought and judge for themselves the accuracy of
neo-Scholastic characterizations of it. Hébert was indeed a “symbolist,” but to
know what this means requires reading him on symbol and its function in
religion. This collection enables readers to give context, depth, and nuance to
Hébert’s thought and to see how, had he found hospitality within Roman
Catholicism, he might have been part of the effort to accommodate the truths
of non-Scholastic thought well in advance of les nouveaux théologiens, who
in their turn faced ecclesiastical censure.
This text is highly recommended for graduate courses to demonstrate that,
rather than proscribe those who disagree with us, it is far healthier to create
a hospitable environment in which to engage what seems “other” and so possibly to “baptize” it into the Church’s mission to preach the gospel to the
whole world.
Marquette University

DAVID G. SCHULTENOVER, S.J.

L’inconscient au paradis: Comment les catholiques ont reçu la psychoanalyse (1920–1965). By Agnès Desmazières. (Paris: Éditions Payot &
Rivages. 2011. Pp. 270. €21,50 paperback. ISBN 978-2-228-90666-1.)
In this significant work Agnes Desmazieres traces the ways in which some
of the leading mid-twentieth century Catholic European intellectuals and professionals struggled to find a place in Catholic thought for the emerging psychological constructs about the unconscious. Written in the style of a
European monograph, the author guides the reader through a terrain of cultural clashes as Catholic scholars encountered theories of the unconscious,
most notably expressed by Sigmund Freud’s psychoanalysis and Carl Jung’s
“depth psychology.” Desmaizières’s frequent use of subheadings proves
invaluable as she presents a series of controversies that illuminate the seeking of Catholics proponents for a foothold for the unconscious.
The book’s historical overview offers a who’s who of mid-twentieth-century Catholic European intellectuals. Desmazières, for example, mentions the
contributions by such clerical leaders as Louis Beirnaert (French Jesuit psychoanalyst), Bruno de Jésus Marie (French Carmelite psychoanalyst/theologian), Agostino Gemelli (Italian Franciscan psychologist), André Godin

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(Belgian Jesuit psychoanalyst), Grégoire Lemercier (Benedictine abbot), Marc
Oraison (priest/physician/theologian), Albert Plé (French Dominican psychologist/theologian), and Victor White (British Dominican theologian).
Desmazières also mentions the influence of lay Catholic thinkers such as
Rudolf Allers (Austrian philosopher), Marcy Choisy (French novelist and psychoanalyst), Roland Dalbiez (French philosopher), Joseph Nuttin (Belgian psychologist), and Anna A.A.Terruwe (Dutch psychiatrist). In addition, important
North American contributions to the discussion by Leo Bartemeier (American
psychoanalyst), Noël Mailloux (French Canadian Dominican, psychoanalyst),
and Gregory Zilboorg (Russian American psychoanalyst) are referenced.
For the purposes of revealing the Church’s ambivalence toward psychoanalysis, Desmazières discusses the influence of Gemelli in various parts of
her text. The founder of Sacred Heart University in Milan, Gemelli wielded
considerable influence with Popes Pius XI and Pius XII. His Thomistic training made him suspicions of both the scientism of Italian medical materialism
and the reductionism of Freud’s theories.
Not surprisingly, Pius XII figures prominently in the debates that the
Church had with psychoanalysis. Desmazières describes the pontiff as someone sympathetic to depth psychology, an approach to the unconscious less
hostile to religion than orthodox psychoanalysis. The pope was no doubt
aware of the important distinction developed by Dalbiez between psychoanalytical theory and its methods.
Desmazières also considers the Church’s suspicions toward some of the
works of Choisy, Oraison, Terruwe, and White. Her recounting of such criticisms reminds one of the authoritarian spirit that pervaded the Church
throughout the era.
Desmazières deems significant the 1953 International Congress of
Psychotherapy in Rome where Pius XII declared his support of psychotherapy. Among other notable events, the author notes the beginning of psychological testing for religious candidates by Plé. Building upon the work of the
American priest-psychologists Thomas Verner Moore and William Bier, Plé
promoted psychological testing for aspirants to religious life and helped to
engender psychological supports for religious. Plé’s influence led to the
incorporation of psychological training for theological students. Aspects of
such training were psychoanalytically oriented, which in effect represented a
significant step toward accepting psychoanalytical processes by the Catholic
magisterium.
In some places, more detail would have been welcomed about how moral
theological principles clashed with Freud’s psychoanalytical theories and
Jung’s analytic constructs. Also desirable would have been some appreciation

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of how psychoanalysis evolved through the decades and thus made it more
palatable for Catholic tastes.
Overall, this book represents an important contribution to the historical
literature of the Church’s relationship with the unconscious. One hopes that
Desmaizières’s presentation will one day be available to an English-reading
audience. Indeed, given the present-day controversies over clergy sexual
abuse, historical accounts such as those offered in this book add valuable perspectives of how the Church has promoted and prevented a greater understanding of the forces residing in the unconscious.
Loyola University Chicago

C. KEVIN GILLESPIE, S.J.

I “Fogli di Udienza” del Cardinale Eugenio Pacelli Segretario di Stato. Vol. I
(1930). Edited by Sergio Pagano, Marcel Chappin, and Giovanni Coco.
[Collectanea Archivi Vaticani, 72.] (Vatican City:Archivio Segreto Vaticano,
2010. Pp.xxv, 590. €45,00 paperback. ISBN 978-8-885-04266-7.)
The long-awaited publication of part of the notations made by then-cardinal Eugenio Pacelli following his meetings with Pope Pius XI in almost a
decade of service as secretary of state (1930–39) sheds considerable light on
the pope and his chief minister, particularly on their personal and political
relationship. In an introductory preface to the volume (pp. vii–ix), the current
secretary of state, Tarcisio Bertone, alludes to the wide range of subjects and
issues raised in the 1956 audiences that gave rise to the 2627 pages produced
by Pacelli during his secretarial tenure. These documents are carefully edited
and put into historical perspective by Bishop Sergio Pagano, prefect of the
Secret Vatican Archive; the Jesuit Father Marcel Chappin; and the lay historian
Giovanni Coco. Their role is crucial, for many of Pacelli’s reports and notations are short, sketchy, and provide little background, so that even the specialist would not necessarily be familiar with the issues raised without access
to a broader range of documents. Fortunately, the editors have provided copious notes that in most cases are far longer than Pacelli’s observations. Indeed,
in a number of instances this editorial commentary is more interesting and
informative than Pacelli’s report.
Pagano’s presentation of the volume (pp. xi–xxv) continues the introduction by focusing upon the nature of the fogli that did not take the form of a
diary but rather served as a summation of a series of sometimes daily discussions. The talks summed up by Pacelli have been divided into two categories
by the editors: pontifical discussions and private ones. The first were either
Pacelli’s personal talks with Pius XI or the pope’s talks with various dignitaries in his presence. The private talks described were those Pacelli held
with various political figures or church dignitaries. During 1930, his first year
as secretary of state, Pacelli reported on eighty pontifical audiences and
twenty-four private ones—or, more accurately, these are the reports that have

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been preserved (pp. xiv–xv). Precisely why they were written remains uncertain. Nor do we know why important and controversial issues such as Nazi
racism and antisemitism or fascist totalitarianism—which must have been discussed—are largely ignored in Pacelli’s fogli. Why was there no mention of
Mit brennender Sorge in all of 1937 also remains a mystery. Likewise, the failure to discuss the Nazi pogroms and Kristallnacht in November 1938 is disappointing and limits their historical usefulness. On the other hand, we must
remember that Pacelli did not draft these fogli for publication and kept them
in his possession until his death.
The reports in the first volume, which run from February 12, 1930, to
December 30, 1930 (pp. 147–383), offer no startling revelations, but they do
provide interesting information and insights on a number of less controversial
subjects. The volume also contains a large and useful biographical section (pp.
389–508) that provides vital information on the various individuals cited in the
documents. It is particularly important in identifying lesser-known figures
more than those who are well known. Thus in the first page of this informative directory (p. 389) the entry on Stanislaw Adamski will prove to be more
needed by most readers than the one on the more important and widely
known Konrad Adenauer. The biography is followed by a list of abbreviations
employed by the editorial team (pp. 509–11), which leads to a fairly comprehensive bibliography of works (pp. 511–27) that are largely Italian but includes
some English, French, and German studies. Finally, there are three indices: the
first provides archival sources; the second includes other names, places and
institutions; and the third lists newspapers and periodicals (pp. 529–91).
St. John’s University (Emeritus)

FRANK J. COPPA

Reason Fulfilled by Revelation: The 1930s Christian Philosophy Debates in
France. Edited and translated by Gregory B. Sadler. (Washington, DC: The
Catholic University of America Press. 2011. Pp. x, 336. $64.95. ISBN 978-0813-21721-5.)
Reflection on the relationship between faith and reason is a significant
indicator of the vitality of the Christian intellectual tradition. The robust
debates that occurred in France in the interwar period over the possibility
and nature of Christian philosophy are an extraordinary chapter in this tradition that makes this volume most welcome. Sadler has judiciously selected
and translated twelve contributions to these debates that are grouped in three
distinct phases that took place between 1931 and 1936. Sadler’s introductory
essay (96 pp.) is a salutary aid both for understanding the multiple historical
contexts of the debates and for sketching a thematic outline of the basic positions that were expounded.The chronologically arranged bibliography, spanning 1927–2010, is a boon for further multilanguage research pertaining to
the original debates and its subsequent echoes and expansions. Finally, there
is a combined onomastic and topical index.

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The major interlocutors included the secular rationalists Emile Bréhier and
Léon Brunschvicg who viewed Christian philosophy as an impossibility.
Bréhier contended that “one can no more speak of a Christian philosophy
than of a Christian mathematics or a Christian physics” (p. 127). In response
to these secular philosophers who ignited and then receded from the
debates, there was a variety of positions espoused by Catholic thinkers, many
of whom were influenced by the Thomistic revival sparked by Pope Leo
XIII’s encyclical Aeterni Patris (1879). Furthermore, it is not insignificant in
accounting for the vibrancy of these debates that several of the Catholic participants were laymen who were trained in secular academies.
Ironically, neo-Scholastic philosophers such as Fernand Van Steenberghen
also rejected the term Christian philosophy for calling into question philosophy’s rightful autonomy. In contrast, lay Catholic philosophers Étienne
Gilson and Jacques Maritain both defended the just prerogatives of philosophical reason and argued for the legitimacy of Christian philosophy, both as
an historical reality and as a theoretical desideratum. Gilson’s 1931–32 Gifford
lectures published as The Spirit of Mediaeval Philosophy (London, 1936)
made a compelling case, pace Bréhier, that revelation had been historically
generative of reason.
Overall, Sadler highlights the position of Catholic lay philosopher
Maurice Blondel by including four of his compositions. In contrast to the
Scholastic thinkers, Blondel sought to overcome modern philosophy’s selfsufficient rationalism by using the modern method of immanence. Blondel’s
“philosophy of action,” originally expounded in his magnum opus L’Action
(Paris, 1893) and reworked in a spate of publications that appeared in the
1930s, elaborated a philosophy of insufficiency that through a dialectical
ascent concludes to the exigency of a supernatural fulfillment that the
human spirit is powerless to effect on its own. Blondel adopted the term
Catholic philosophy to distinguish his approach from the others. According
to Blondel, the relationship between reason and faith, philosophy and revelation, nature and grace, is not an extrinsicist placage, or sheer juxtaposition,
but the philosophical quest as expounded in his “integral philosophy” establishes an “empty space” that is oriented to the supernatural fulfillment
offered by Christian revelation. Although Blondel’s critics argued that he
confused the natural and the supernatural orders, Blondel insisted on an
interpenetration without confusion that respected philosophy’s autonomy
and the gratuity of supernatural fulfillment.
The volume also includes pieces by Gabriel Marcel, to whom Sadler attributes a fourth Catholic position; Etienne Borne;Antonin Sertillanges; Bruno de
Solages; and Léon Noël. They offer rejoinders and nuanced appreciations of
the primary positions described above. Of particular interest are the efforts to
reconcile the positions of Blondel and Gilson such as de Solages’s piece. Not
included in the volume is the previously translated essay “On Christian

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Philosophy” by Henri de Lubac (see Communio, 19 [1992]: 478–505) that
also argues for a mediating position.
Loyola University of Chicago

PETER J. BERNARDI, S.J.

Die Katholiken und das Dritte Reich: Kontroversen und Debatten. Edited by
Karl-Joseph Hummel and Michael Kißener. 2nd edition. (Paderborn:Verlag
Ferdinand Schöningh. 2010. Pp. 318. €19,90 paperback. ISBN 978-3-50677071-4.)
Die katholische Kirche im Dritten Reich. Eine Einführung. Edited by
Christoph Kösters and Mark Edward Ruff. (Freiburg: Verlag Herder. 2011.
Pp 220. €19,95. ISBN 978-3-451-30700-3.)
After Germany’s defeat in 1945, German Catholics were strongly criticized
for failing to mobilize resistance against the Nazi regime. In the 1950s and
1960s they were even more bitterly criticized for their failure to prevent or
protest the persecution and mass murder of the Jews. In response, German
Catholic historians formed the Commission for Contemporary History and
published a large number of documentary and narrative volumes. The tone
was largely defensive. Now, eighty years after the Nazi rise to power, the time
has come for a summary of where the current debate stands. The two books
here under review, presumably sponsored by rival publishers, have remarkably similar titles and are collections of essays on very similar topics. No fewer
than four scholars are to be found in both books, with inevitable recapitulations and repetitions. All are, in fact, engaged in defending German
Catholicism from the kind of recurrent moralistic and anachronistic judgments such as those by Daniel Goldhagen or John Cornwell. But they are
aware that such sweeping attacks have to be met with scholarly integrity,
based on historically accurate analyses, which these books seek to provide.
The dilemma for these historians is that the standards of assessment have
been drastically raised. Making a convincing case for the Catholic political
choices during the Nazi era is no easy task even in the hands of these experienced scholars.
For instance, in their elucidation of the background of the 1933
Concordat, both Matthias Stickler in the first of these books and Heinz Hürten
and Rudolf Morsey in the second repeat their long-held views that this was
essentially a defensive measure, but say nothing about the widespread support for the new regime by most Catholics. Morsey states that the latest
research has conclusively proved that there was no connection between the
collapse of the Catholic Centre Party and the signing of the Concordat a
month later, thus refuting the earlier canard of a quid pro quo. He claims that
the Concordat provided an effective barrier against Nazi infiltration, but
ignores the fact that the Catholic hierarchy clung to its supposed safeguards
even after the Nazi anti-Catholic campaign was glaringly obvious. The bishops
have never admitted making a mistake.

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In both books Michael Kißener examines the polemical arguments about
whether Catholics can be seen as part of the anti-Nazi resistance. On the one
hand, numerous priests were imprisoned for trying to oppose Nazi encroachments and persecution. On the other hand, other critics assert that the church
leaders were only interested in preserving their own milieu and made no
efforts to resist the regime’s more virulent crimes. The heroism of the few
does not compensate for the complicity of the majority.
In both books Christoph Kösters and Thomas Brechenmacher take issue
with criticisms of the German bishops and the pope. They see such critics as
engaging in unwarranted expectations or wishful thinking about whether
these leaders could or could not have done more to stop the Nazi crimes. The
need now is to be more aware of the historical factors conditioning their
responses to the unprecedented circumstances they had to face.
In her chapter in the first of these books, Annette Mertens takes issue with
Gordon Zahn’s contention that the Catholic bishops had misled their followers to support the Nazi criminal war effort with religiously-based justifications. She points rather to the staunchly nationalistic and anti-Communist
views of most Catholics that had led them to support Hitler in the first place.
No bishop was prepared to challenge such views. Indeed, most of them
shared the same attitudes. A more justified censure would be to point to the
hierarchy’s failure to recognize that their earlier teachings about the conduct
of war no longer applied.
In the second book, Mark Ruff’s excellent chapter on the Catholic Church
and denazification after 1945 shows that the church leaders never accepted
any notion of collective guilt. They opposed the sweeping measures taken by
the American military government that deprived all Nazi Party members of
their livelihoods. The imposition by a foreign power of a set of rules with retrospective penalties was rightly seen as unjust. The Catholic clergy saw it as
their pastoral duty to support their parishioners, whatever their past. The
bishops were afraid that denazification would lead to further radical measures
against the Church, especially in the Soviet-occupied zone. In Ruff’s view,
their vigorous action was a means of regaining support and credibility for a
new beginning.
In both books, the final insightful essay by Karl-Josef Hummel deals with
questions of guilt—national, institutional, as well as personal. It was several
years before German Catholics were prepared to face up to their history. The
striking changes of recent decades have made the task of coming to terms
with their own past easier. New historical sources have enabled a more balanced approach rather than one looking for scapegoats. But the importance
of the issues can still arouse polemical debates. It is still too soon to say that
a consensus has been reached.
University of British Columbia

JOHN CONWAY

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«Cronache Sociali», 1947–1951. Edizione anastatica integrale. Edited by
Alberto Melloni. 2 vols. (Bologna: Istituto per le scienze religiose. 2007. Pp.
cii, 1104; 1105–1983, appendix v, with a DVD. €120,00. ISBN 978-8-89011073-3.)
Giuseppe Dossetti (1913–96)—member of the antifascist resistance, politician, canon lawyer, priest, peritus at Second Vatican Council, founder of a religious order, and monk—was one of the most important “public Catholics” in
Italy between World War II and the end of the century. In 1945, Dossetti
became vice-secretary of the Christian Democratic Party (Democrazia
Cristiana), the pivotal center of the political system immediately after the war.
In 1953, he founded the “Istituto per le scienze religiose” in Bologna with
Giuseppe Alberigo and Paolo Prodi, and served as the closest adviser of
Cardinal Giacomo Lercaro, archbishop of Bologna, from the Second Vatican
Council until early 1968, when Lercaro had to resign under pressure from
Rome for his criticism of the Vietnam War.
More than fifteen years after his death, Dossetti still is an inspiring figure
for many Italian Catholics, including those who are politically active. To
understand Dossetti’s contribution to Italian Catholicism and Italian politics,
it is necessary to go back to the journal he founded, Cronache Sociali. In the
long introduction (pp. XIII–XLIV), the editor, Alberto Melloni (now director
of the study center founded by Dossetti and based in Bologna), reconstructs
the prehistory of Cronache Sociali and Dossetti’s engagement in the reconstruction of Italian politics. This history begins in 1942, when Dossetti met
with colleagues from the Università Cattolica del Sacro Cuore in Milan. The
introduction follows step by step the short life of the journal, from its inception in 1947 (after the ousting of the leftists from Alcide De Gasperi’s administration at the outset of the cold war) to its closing in 1951 (when Dossetti
decided to withdraw from the leadership of the Christian Democratic Party
as well as direct political engagement and return to historical-theological
research).
The editorial of the first issue of the journal, published on May 30, 1947,
announced the mission of Cronache Sociali:
We do not want to escape from a commitment to give social and political
assessments, and indeed we make that commitment. But we do not interpret
this commitment as restricted to the analysis of petty politics, but rather concerned in finding the connections between politics and the living substance
of the problems of contemporary man.This research and evaluation is now, in
our opinion, the true and greater politics, a human politics. (n.p., emphasis in
original)

During those four and a half years, Cronache Sociali tried to capture and
transmit to politically minded Italian Catholics the movements and ideas
coming from Europe, especially from France and Germany; this approach
made Cronache Sociali a kind of Italian equivalent (although short-lived) of

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Emmanuel Mounier’s Paris-based journal Esprit or Walter Dirks’s Frankfurt
periodical Frankfurter Hefte. The sections of the journal included “national
politics,”“chronicles from Parliament,”“international affairs,” “economy,”“life of
political parties,”“workers unions,”“culture,” and “sociology.” Contributors to
Cronache Sociali included Vittorio Bachelet (a major leader of Catholic
Action in Italy), philosopher Augusto Del Noce, Giorgio La Pira (mayor of
Florence), patrologist Giuseppe Lazzati, Emmanuel Mounier, and David Maria
Turoldo. Their articles offer a very interesting window into post–World War II
Italy and especially the politically and theologically “progressive” Christian
Democratic Party that was therefore critical of De Gasperi’s caution toward
domestic politics and foreign policy, especially in matters pertaining to the
United States.
The last issue of Cronache Sociali, published on October 31, 1951, opened
with an editorial that was harshly critical of De Gasperi’s political action to
restore Italian political life:
At this moment, given the actual functioning of the executive branch, it
would be inaccurate to characterize the Italian Republic as a “parliamentary democracy” (given the special autonomy claimed by the executive
before the Parliament) or as a “parliamentary popular democracy” (as it is
in Great Britain). For now, we have to stop with this negative characterization . . . while we wait for a real restoration of a parliamentary democracy. (n.p.)
The journal closed not only because of Dossetti’s exit from politics but
also because of the growing tensions within its editorial staff.
The chronological index, subject index, and author index facilitate consultation of the articles. The two bulky volumes plus a DVD reprint all the articles published by the journal that tried to open new frontiers for a reform of
Italy, especially in the relationship among government, the economy, and
Catholic culture.
University of St. Thomas, St. Paul

MASSIMO FAGGIOLI

American
A History of the Catholic Church in the American South, 1513–1900. By
James M. Woods. (Gainesville: University of Florida Press. 2011. Pp. xviii,
498. $69.95. ISBN 978-0-813-03532-1.)
Citing James O’Toole’s The Faithful: A History of Catholics in America
(Cambridge, MA, 2008) as a recent example of Catholic historians who “have
tended to overlook their own denomination within the South” (p. xiii), James
Woods sets out to provide a concise, well-documented overview of Southern
Catholicism through 1900. Woods’s South extends beyond the eleven

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Confederate states to include Maryland, West Virginia, Kentucky, and
Tennessee. Southern Catholicism forms “a tapestry of faith. . . . a rich heritage
of Roman Catholicism that had been present in the southern region since the
sixteenth century” (p. xv).
Part 1, “The Colonial Context, 1513–1763,” explores Catholic origins in
Spanish Florida, Spanish Texas, French Lower Louisiana, and the English
Colonies. Part II, “American Republicanism and European Decline,
1763–1845,” examines Southern Catholics in the new American republic,
church and state as European empires erode, and the Church in the expanding South. Part III, “Resistance, Rebellion, Reconstruction and Regionalism,
1845–1900,” concludes with a chapter on growth, expansion, and the limited
role of Catholic immigrants compared to the North.
Woods, who has written extensively on Arkansas Catholicism, weaves his
tapestry from modern scholarship, census data, and original documents into
a readable narrative. The growth of the local church is interspersed with
numerous thumbnail sketches of the early bishops; of clergy such as Jeremiah
O’Neill (a priest of Savannah), Thomas O’Reilly (a Georgia priest who served
at the notorious Andersonville prison camp), and Abram Ryan (priest-poet of
the Confederacy); of religious men and women such as St. Katharine Drexel
of the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament, Mercy Sister Austin Carroll, and
Capuchin Father Antonio de Sedella of New Orleans; and of laity such as
Charles Carroll, Daniel Rudd (whose life is traced after the five national
Congresses of Colored Catholics), and William Joseph Gaston (called “the
most highly respected Catholic in antebellum North Carolina,” p. 247).
Woods’s narrative is enriched with frequent, interesting details such as
Bishop Dionisio Resino’s 1709 appointment as La Florida’s first resident
bishop and his rapid departure, the state-by-state expansion of religious freedoms in the early Southern colonies, the beginnings of Georgetown
University, the 1850 and 1860 status of Irish immigrants in the South, the fate
of the three Maryland Catholics associated with John Wilkes Booth, and the
Little Rock diocesan archives document explaining Bishop Edward Fitzgerald’s vote against papal infallibility at the First Vatican Council. He also
delves beneath the chronological narrative with analysis such as the negative
impact of the Spanish colonial practice of conscripted Indian labor on the
early missionary endeavor.
The author provides present-day landmarks for early locations and events.
The 1597 Guale Indian revolt against the Spanish began in the village of
Tolomato, “on the Georgia mainland near present-day Harris Neck near
Sapedo Island” (p. 12).
Modern scholarship is cited throughout the volume: Diana Meyers on the
role of women in seventeenth-century Maryland; Carl Brasseaux on Acadian
religious practices; Clyde Crews concerning Bishop Benedict Joseph Flaget’s

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reputation for tireless apostolic work and unfailing graciousness; and Thomas
Spalding’s assessment of the Second Plenary Council of Baltimore, among
many others.
The 1195 footnotes and forty-page bibliography of secondary sources provide a comprehensive window through which to view more than eight
decades of scholarship on the Catholic South, beginning with the 1920s
works by Claude Vogel, Peter Guilday, and Lawrence Hill, in addition to a few
earlier, familiar volumes by John Gilmary Shea, Benedict Webb, Francis
Parkman, Kate M. Rowland, and Reuben Gold Thwaites. Local historians will
note some needed additions. The related articles in The American Catholic
Parish: A History from 1850 to the Present, edited by Jay Dolan (New York,
1987), come to mind.
In such a vast overview, often relying on the scholarship of others, some
errors understandably appear. For example, the Catholic Church did not disappear in Natchez after the Spanish withdrawal; St. Bernard Civil and
Religious Parish, home to Canary Islanders, is below New Orleans, not
between New Orleans and Baton Rouge; Flaget was the third, not the second,
Catholic bishop in the South; and Salvatore Pizzati built St. Joseph School on
Tulane Avenue in New Orleans rather than the church.These do not detract
from the book’s overall reliability.
Woods has written a comprehensive, well-documented, and interesting
overview of the Catholic experience in the South through 1900. He has succeeded well in his objective of providing a solid resource on early Southern
Catholicism.
Long Beach, MS

CHARLES E. NOLAN

Making War and Minting Christians: Masculinity, Religion, and Colonialism in Early New England. By R. Todd Romero. (Amherst: University of
Massachusetts Press. 2011. Pp. xvi, 255. $80.00 clothbound, ISBN 978-1558-49887-7; $26.95 paperback, ISBN 978-1-558-49888-4.)
In 1629 the Massachusetts Bay Company chose as its seal the now-famous
drawing of a New England Native standing in a barren wilderness clutching a
bow and arrow and saying,“Come over and help us.” Lesser known, perhaps,
is an Indian peace medal from 1676 that similarly depicts a New England
Native standing alone in a barren wilderness holding a bow and arrow, but
the 1676 Native is speechless, has long hair, and two perfectly round breasts.
It is precisely the meaning of this gendered transformation that R. Todd
Romero wishes us to consider in Making War and Minting Christians.These
images represent English perceptions of Indians as increasingly un-manly
over the course of the seventeenth century, to be sure, but they also signal
another change wrought by colonialism, warfare, and evangelization: the
removal of the very things that allowed Indian men to live out either English

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or Indian masculine ideals in terms of subsistence, community leadership, and
spiritual values.
This book is largely structured around Native and Anglo-American understandings of masculinity, religion, and warfare between 1620 and 1676.
Although Native and English societies “shared some cultural ground” on
these issues, “they rarely recognized such commonalities, often focusing
instead on differences” (p. 20). Drawing from a seemingly exhaustive and
close reading of English print sources, a number of material objects, and a
variety of Indian oral traditions, Romero argues that “Native and AngloAmerican conceptions of masculinity unfolded in counterpoint over the
course of the seventeenth century and were central to the development of
colonialism” (p. 7). To make his case, Romero draws from an impressive
number of episodes and exchanges that illustrate the various colonial and
Native approaches to the issues at hand. Natives demonstrated masculinity
through strenuous physical games like hubbub, particular modes of speechmaking, hunting, and warfare. For English colonists, manliness was demonstrated through patriarchy, particular kinds of labor (like farming), and warfare. Colonial officials sought to bend Native gender roles—particularly
related to masculinity—to a thoroughly European ideal, even as they praised
the few ways in which Indian masculine ideals already met English standards. Through colonial legislation and especially through the evangelization
process and the resultant praying towns, John Eliot and other English missionaries and leaders tried to reshape Indian men and boys by curbing
Indian games, encouraging them to grow gardens instead of fishing and hunting, cutting their hair short, attending church, observing the Sabbath, praying, accepting Christianity, wearing English clothes, providing spiritual leadership in their households, and fighting more like English men. “Manliness
remained an important measure of the success of missionary efforts and colonization,” Romero observes, because, in the words of the English minister
Thomas Shepard, “it was necessary for the English to ‘make men’ of the
Indians before they could ‘make them Christians’” (p. 74, emphasis in original). Ultimately, however, this project failed, and Indian men—especially
praying Indian men—found that by the 1680s they had been stripped of the
resources necessary (like land) to live as men by either English or Indian
standards.
As a whole, this book is a nuanced and lively rereading of a time period
that can often feel well traveled. As Romero convincingly shows, gendered
language appeared everywhere, from the opening moments of English colonization of New England through King Philip’s War and even beyond (that
Cotton Mather devoted a whole treatise to the topic of “Manly Christianity” in
1711 is just one such nugget). And there can be no doubt that Romero is right
that Europeans constantly measured Indian cultures against their own
(including manliness) and found them lacking. But in other cases the encounters that Romero proposes as “obviously gendered” (p. 5) are not so self-evi-

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dent or convincing such as the opening few pages describing Giovanni de
Verrazano’s journey in 1524 or the 1622 exchange between the Narragansett
sachem Canonicus and the Plymouth settlers that involved a snakeskin full of
arrows (the snakeskin was returned with powder and shot). Although readers will be convinced that notions of manliness were important elements of
these encounters and contestations, it is not always clear what these gendered exchanges meant to seventeenth-century participants, how these ideas
about manliness were central to the development of English colonialism, or
that gender was the “primary means of understanding the developing colonial
world and its various peoples” (p. 20). It also would have been helpful to contextualize, even if briefly, this gendered New England language within the
larger literature of New World colonization (as in the opening chapters of
Kathleen Brown, Good Wives, Nasty Wenches, and Anxious Patriarchs
[Chapel Hill, NC, 1996]).
Nonetheless, there is much to learn from Romero’s careful and detailed
analysis, and readers who have interest in gender history, masculinity, Native
American history, and colonial America will surely find this to be an informative and delightful read.
Brown University

LINFORD D. FISHER

Papist Patriots: The Making of an American Catholic Identity. By Maura
Jane Farrelly. (New York: Oxford University Press. 2012. Pp. xi, 305. $35.00.
ISBN 978-0-19-975771-8.)
Every so often a book comes along that presents a dramatically different
interpretation of known historical facts in a way that is, well, convincing.This
is one of those books. Maura Jane Farrelly confronts one of hoariest historiographical issues in the study of American Catholicism: Can one be a good
Catholic and simultaneously a good American? It was an issue that rose to the
forefront of American religious scholarship in the nineteenth century, given a
historiographical predisposition (at the time) to see Protestantism, Puritanism
in particular, as giving rise to American democracy. After all, given the perfect
fit seen to exist between Protestantism and American democracy, it only made
sense to ask if Catholics could be good Americans—and the answer, of course,
was usually “no.” Although it is common to suggest that such a blatant antiCatholic bias is no longer in evidence, the question (in my view) continues to
shape work of many Catholic writers (like Jay Dolan, quoted on the back
cover of Farrelly’s book) who still seem concerned with demonstrating that
good Catholics can be good Americans.
Farrelly begins by pointing out that pre-existing scholarly attempts to
address the good Catholic/good American issue have focused on Catholics
(mainly Irish American and Italian American Catholics) in the nineteenth and
twentieth centuries. She argues that we need to leap-frog over these groups

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and confront a question about the Colonial period—why was it that Maryland
Catholics were such staunch supporters of the American Revolution despite
the fact that so many of their Revolutionary compatriots were virulently antiCatholic? The answer to that question lies in how Catholics in the late-eighteenth century perceived the earliest days of the Maryland colony. Basically,
those early days were seen as a Golden Age in which religious toleration had
been the norm. Farrelly is careful to note that there was not really as much
toleration in the early Maryland colony as later generations of Maryland
Catholics likely imagined, but also that it did not matter. What mattered was
only that for Catholics in the late 1700s, their Catholic forebears had once
lived in a tolerant society that was distinctively “American,” not “British,” and
that this Golden Age had been brought to an end by Britain.The only way to
restore that Golden Age, then, was to sever ties with Britain and once again
develop a distinctively American society founded on toleration. Farrelly, of
course, fleshes all this out with a detailed consideration of life in Maryland in
the centuries before the Revolution, but this is her core argument, and for her
it explains the strong support that Maryland Catholics provided the
Revolution. It is also explains, Farrelly argues, why Catholic leaders like John
Carroll, archbishop of Baltimore, tried to obtain more independence from
Rome for the American Church.
The book is based on Farrelly’s 2002 PhD dissertation for Emory
University, and there are sections that should likely have been excised or
revised by her editor. The relevance of an early section on Catholicism in preReformation England, for example, is unclear and in any event does not really
take account of the revisionist and postrevisionist scholarship over the last fifteen years that establishes, far more clearly that Farrelly allows, that English
Catholicism was thriving on the eve of the Reformation.There are also a few
(but only a few) sections where discussion of the genealogical connections
amongst the political leaders who shaped life in Maryland is simply mindnumbing and adds little to her core argument.
Still, these are minor flaws in a book that will become a standard reference
work on the history and historiography of American Catholicism.
Wilfrid Laurier University
Waterloo, Canada

MICHAEL CARROLL

Religious Liberties: Anti-Catholicism and Liberal Democracy in NineteenthCentury U.S. Literature and Culture. By Elizabeth Fenton. (New York:
Oxford University Press. 2011. Pp. xii, 178. $65.00. ISBN 978-0-195-38409-3.)
Few scholars of anti-Catholicism have tried to understand the role of religious discrimination in shaping a uniquely American liberalism. In Religious
Liberties, Elizabeth Fenton shows how “U.S. conceptions of religious pluralism and its corresponding ‘right of conscience’. . . drew their force from anti-

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Catholicism” (p. 1). From the Quebec Act of 1774 to Reconstruction, with a
brief afterword on the role of anti-Catholicism in the politics of the 1960s,
Fenton shows how popular American writers from Thomas Paine to Mark
Twain exploited the ideology of a tyrannical—and thus inherently antidemocratic—Catholicism that functioned to construct an American political
consensus, positioning “Protestantism as the guarantor of religious liberty”
(p. 18).
To preserve political representation and “deliberative democracy,” defined
as “a political mode that promotes a public sphere in which citizens engage
in rational debate with one another” (p. 12), religious freedom had to be
restricted if not fully denied,“sacrificing democracy in the name of deliberation” (p. 63). This revealed the paradox of deliberative democracy. AntiCatholicism was used, Fenton argues, as a negative contrast to the freedoms
inherent in a Protestant political establishment, revealing how deliberative
and representative democracy was also “fraught with tension and uncertainty” (p. 84). Regardless of Catholicism’s effort to participate in “representative governance,” especially given the political reform efforts of Pope Pius IX
in Italy or the revolutionary accomplishments of Haitian Catholics, a politically driven Protestantism could never recognize the possibility that nonProtestant could participate in a religiously plural society.
Research on this topic is limited, especially in the number of historians
engaged in it, making it somewhat disjointed. Fenton admits that “antiCatholicism did not fade from public discussion of democracy and difference
at the close of the nineteenth century . . . [but] persisted well into the twentieth century” (p. 143). Yet close to a century is missing from Fenton’s discussion of postbellum America in the last chapter and the anti-Catholicism of
the 1960s in the afterword. The question remains: if anti-Catholicism has been
a key element in creating a Protestant political establishment, how has it influenced religious tolerance today? Have the contemporary Catholic sex scandals been informed by earlier anti-Catholicism? Although anti-Catholicism has
had a long history, it seems to be an erratic—perhaps latent—phenomenon.
Scholars need to continue to explore the reasons for such historical gaps and
also the conditions that give rise to such phenomena.
The selection of literary works, which speaks to the author’s comprehensiveness, may also raise questions. Readers may wonder about the selection of
anti-Catholic works. For instance, Fenton does well in uncovering publications largely unknown in the contemporary context, such as George Bourne’s
Lorette (New York, 1833), but neglects more familiar works such as Maria
Monk’s Awful Disclosures (New York, 1836), Rebecca Reed’s Six Months in
a Convent (Boston, 1835), or Jemima Thompson Luke’s The Female Jesuit
(New York, 1851)—the latter a story about a Catholic girl who converted to
Catholicism but could never truly break the chains of popery, a narrative that
would have worked well in chapter 3.

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Notwithstanding these observations, Fenton has offered a much-needed
study of anti-Catholicism in particular and the limits of representative democracy in general. Religious tolerance is central to America’s national identity,
but, as Fenton has shown, such a commitment has required intolerance. This
bespeaks a sobering but important question. Can humans create truly tolerant societies?
Providence Christian College
Pasadena, CA

RYAN MCILHENNY

All the Way to Heaven: The Selected Letters of Dorothy Day. Edited by Robert
Ellsberg. (Milwaukee: Marquette University Press. 2010. Pp. xxiii, 456.
$35.00. ISBN 978-0-874-62010-0.)
Although Dorothy Day’s The Long Loneliness (New York, 1952) has served
as an autobiography, she stated that she had intended it to focus only on what
had led her to God. For a more comprehensive portrait of Day’s life and spirituality, one may turn to an outpouring of primary source anthologies and histories published since her death in 1980. One of the essential works is All the
Way to Heaven, a collection of her selected letters, edited by Robert Ellsberg.
Scholar, editor, and personal friend of Day, Ellsberg has produced an accessible and informative volume that will serve the needs of casual reader and serious researcher.
This well-designed volume begins with the editor’s revealing introduction
to Day as a letter writer. Each of the book’s six chronological sections is
organized around a broad theme. Ellsberg has written a brief introduction to
each part and throughout the volume provides notes for historical context
and identification.An index of personal names and book titles concludes the
volume.
The letters date from the 1920s to several months before her death.
Ironically, the anthology begins with a letter to Margaret Sanger that
expresses Day’s regret that the Birth Control League was unable to “afford a
regular publicity director” (p. 3). Other early letters discuss Day’s publication
agenda and document the evolution of her relationship with her domestic
partner, Forster Batterham. These colorful letters explore her social, emotional, and religious worlds. In particular, the graphic letters to him expose
the dimensions of her emotional torment over the nature of their relationship after her conversion. The love letters convey the story of a struggle
between equally stubborn partners and outline her turmoil as she alternately
tried to convince him to marry or to distance themselves from their powerful allure.
Following Peter Maurin’s chaste entry into Day’s life in 1932, her letters
begin to reflect a remarkable spiritual and emotional maturity as she faced
the challenges of leading the Catholic Worker movement and parenting a

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daughter whose interests seem so different from those of an already famous
mother. Many of the longer letters display the literary realism that Day earlier acknowledged as her style. Rich in detail about life and the Catholic
Worker, these letters explored tenets of her spirituality for which her devotees now remember her. In a 1934 letter she wrote of “spiritual hospitality”
and how “all those little frittering things which take up one’s time are quite
as important, may time more so in the sight of God, than answering letters
or keeping one’s files up to date” (p. 59), an insight that mirrored her devotion to St. Thérèse of Lisieux and underscored her distaste for turnstile charity. Other deeply personal letters document Day’s relationship with her
daughter and her anxiety for Tamar’s spiritual, emotional, and material wellbeing.
The bulk of the letters focuses on matters pertaining to the Catholic
Worker movement and its spiritual underpinnings. In these, Day sometimes
dreamt of new initiatives such as a retreat center for alcoholic priests and a
women’s bakery, which went unrealized.
This collection of letters, most of them previously unpublished, reveals a
spiritually grounded and witty woman who daily addressed thorny human
problems under the scrutiny of admirers and ready critics alike. The careful
reader will be rewarded with rich insight into the life and spirituality of the
last century’s most significant American Catholic layperson whose tremendous spiritual legacy has yet to be fully appreciated. This excellent volume
should become an indispensable source for researchers as well as a spiritual
classic.
ANNE KLEJMENT

University of St. Thomas
Latin American

Making a New World: Founding Capitalism in the Bajío and Spanish North
America. By John Tutino. (Durham: Duke University Press. 2011. Pp. ix,
699. $99.95 clothbound, ISBN 978-0-822-34974-7; $29.95 paperback, ISBN
978-0-822-34989-1.)
Despite the intense specialization that has fashioned historical research
over the last four decades, which has often produced monographs narrow in
scope and timid in conceptual reach, historians still relish big history that is
empirically sound, theoretically innovative, and lyrically rendered. For historians of colonial Mexico, John Tutino’s long-awaited book on the foundations
of early-modern capitalism in Spanish North America is precisely the kind of
big history that shifts the paradigm to such a degree that historians in other
fields—particularly world historians—will take notice and revisit the conventional wisdom that has shaped the direction of their own research.
Tutino’s book is that good.

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The author argues that the world became whole in the sixteenth century
just about the time Hernán Cortés had toppled the Aztec confederation and
Ming China developed a ferocious appetite for silver. Trade expansion linked
Europe, Asia, Africa, and the Americas, while European colonization of the
Western Hemisphere, coupled with the rise of the African slave trade, initiated a global dynamic that facilitated capitalism. American silver—especially
that which was mined in the Bajío region of Mexico, what Spaniards called
New Spain—was key to global trade between 1550 and 1810; the vast quantities of the metal fashioned a protean capitalist society in Spanish North
America composed of merchants, entrepreneurs, investors, miners, ranchers,
and farmers—an ethnically and racially diverse lot, to be sure—most of whom
looked to the Catholic Church for sanctifying power and grace. As Tutino
makes quite clear in his tome, Catholicism provided an ample arena where
religious piety comingled with debate and dissent, paving various pathways
for these social groups to adapt, modify, alter, or discard what disrupted production, exchange, and social relations. In short, Tutino’s colonial Mexico is
the corrective to an older Weberian model that explained change from an
Anglo-Protestant-capitalist perspective.
Tutino’s work also complements quite nicely a larger body of knowledge
that shows us that the Spanish colonial enterprise functioned primarily as a
judicial mediator, one that sought to resolve disputes and soften the impact
of colonialism on the indigenous and racially mixed populations, with an eye
toward fostering equity and the common good among local communities and,
in the process, maximize the revenues that come from stable commercial
relationships. Moreover, Tutino mined the archives in Mexico City and the
libraries at the University of Texas–Austin, and Washington State University,
Pullman, to uncover a wide-range of primary source materials that speak to
the commercial, political, social, and religious relationships that shaped, and
were shaped by, early-modern capitalism. Those relationships took place in
the breadbasket and mining center of New Spain—the Bajío—the most economically active and entrepreneurially savvy region of the colony where
Spaniards, Indians, and castas created an economic engine that allowed capitalism to roar loudly in North America.The crisis in the larger Atlantic world
following Napoleon’s rise to power, however, and the way it played out in
Mexico, particularly in the Bajío, would unleash a violent movement for independence from Spain that would transform the most capitalist society in the
Western Hemisphere into an insecure, inward-looking region devoid of entrepreneurial spirit and handsome profit margins.
Tutino’s book is indeed big history at its best. Compelling and provocative,
thoughtful and well written, Making a New World is required reading for
Mexicanists and world historians alike. Authors of world history textbooks
will find themselves revising subsequent editions of their texts after reading
Tutino’s persuasive arguments about the rise of early-modern capitalism and
the role played by Spanish North America in its maturation, not to mention

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the Catholic dimensions of that process. Graduate students should review the
author’s footnotes to see how he used certain primary sources to demonstrate a larger conceptual point.Tutino’s big history should give us pause to
appreciate both the forest and the trees.
University of Arizona

MICHAEL M. BRESCIA

Mujeres consagradas en el Buenos Aires colonial. By Alicia Fraschina.
[Temas de historia.] (Buenos Aires: Eudeba [Editorial Universitaria de
Buenos Aires]. 2010. Pp. 325. $16.00 paperback. ISBN 978-9-502-31750-2.)
In this day and age, when one thinks of Buenos Aires, images of a cosmopolitan city, referred to by some as the Paris of South America, come to mind.
Yet, during much of the colonial period, Buenos Aires was considered a dusty
town located on the outermost fringe of the Iberian Empire. This reality
quickly comes to the fore when one studies the foundation of religious communities in colonial Latin America. Places like Mexico City and Lima had collectively built dozens of convents by the end of the 1600s, whereas Buenos
Aires did not have any convents during that time period and established only
two in the second half of the eighteenth century.
Alicia Fraschina’s Mujeres consagradas en el Buenos Aires colonial sheds
light on the unique situation of religious women in Buenos Aires during the
colonial period. Her work, the outcome of her PhD dissertation from the
University of Buenos Aires (2007), is based on years of meticulous archival
research. The book offers information on the only two convents established
in Buenos Aires during the late 1700s, and it also provides a comprehensive
overview of beaterios (houses for religious laywomen) and beatas (religious
laywomen) in the capital of Argentina. In particular, Fraschina hones in on the
fascinating case of María Antonia de San José, a beata who considered herself
a Jesuit and became one of the Jesuits’ biggest advocates after their expulsion
from the Spanish Empire in 1767.
In addition to an introduction and conclusion, Fraschina has divided her
book into nine chapters. Chapter 1 examines the first beatas in the city, and
chapter 2 addresses the foundation of the only two convents: one for calced
Domincans and the other for strict discalced Capuchins. Chapters 3 through
6 explore life within these convents, touching on a variety of topics such as
the novitiate, daily routines, hierarchical structures, education, medical care,
religious festivals, and death within the cloister. Each of the three chapters
begins with an impressive historical overview of these topics in Europe and
the rest of Latin America and then relates each one back to the two convents
in Buenos Aires.
Chapters 7 through 9 shed light on Spain’s Bourbon reforms of the late
1700s and their effects on religious women in Buenos Aires. The last chapters

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contextualize the expulsion of the Jesuits from the New World and analyze
the life and letters of the Jesuit beata María Antonia de San José. Most notably,
she founded a beaterio in Buenos Aires and a Casa de Ejercicios, a type of
ten-day religious retreat for both men and women to follow Saint Ignatius of
Loyola’s Spiritual Exercises.
Mujeres consagradas en el Buenos Aires colonial will appeal to two subgroups of scholars. The first will be anyone interested in women religious
during the colonial period, and the second will be those who study the expulsion of the Jesuits, especially from the Southern cone. The only small issue is
that it does not include an appendix transcribing some of the actual works
written by these women, specifically the letters penned by the beata María
Antonia. There are, however, three useful appendices outlining the prominent
citizens who supported the religious communities and the nuns and family
members associated with the two convents. The bibliography is very comprehensive and will not disappoint scholars interested in the unique situation
of religious women of colonial Buenos Aires.
College of Charleston

SARAH E. OWENS

The Rise of Charismatic Catholicism in Latin America. By Edward L. Cleary.
(Gainesville: University Press of Florida. 2011. Pp. xiv, 309. $74.95. ISBN
978-0-813-03608-3.)
This book offers a clear and straightforward assessment of a not very well
understood phenomenon: the rise of the Catholic charismatic movement in
Latin America since the 1970s. This book shows that charismatic Catholicism
has its own unique history and origins, partly as a competitive alternative in
the religious marketplace of the late-twentieth century, and partly spurred by
lay activism in the Church and vigorous community involvement in the
movement itself as well as by exceptional individual leaders such as Father
Marcelo Rossi in Brazil. As Edward L. Cleary points out in the introduction,
“[t]o the surprise of many observers, the fastest growing movement in the
Catholic Church in Latin America is the Catholic Charismatic Renewal
(CCR)” (p. 1).
Cleary’s analysis and account are largely from sociological and political-science perspectives. He draws in this book on several decades of research as
one of the major practitioners of religious studies of Latin America as well as
his own personal contact and interviews with members and leaders of the
CCR. The result is a well-documented, broad survey of a movement with more
than 70 million members in Latin America. He shows that Charismatic
Catholicism has some general broad defining characteristics: an emphasis on
community action, personal spiritual awakening, prayer groups, a dedication
to a religious life beyond the simple Mass, Bible study, and spiritual baptism
beyond sacramental baptism. In his view, the CCR has been instrumental in

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revitalizing the Catholic Church in Latin America, which he viewed as insufficiently instructed in basic tenets of the Catholic faith.
Cleary sees the growth of the CCR as largely the result of rational choice,
a response to the spectacular growth of the Pentecostal Protestant movement
in Latin America. Given the success in bringing former Catholics into the
Protestant Pentecostal fold, the CCR had to compete in the open marketplace
of ideas for Catholics to remain Catholic and to participate in a revitalized
Church, open to lay participation.
Following the introduction come individual chapters on countries where
the CCR has been especially successful: Bolivia, Colombia, Brazil, and Mexico.
There are other chapters as well on the Caribbean, Central America, and
Guatemala. Time and again, Cleary sees the emergence of the CCR in these
individual countries as a successful response to the growing competition
from various Protestant movements. For example, in the case of Brazil
“[c]ompetition with non-Catholic religious groups, particularly the
Pentecostals, seemed more like war than brotherly rivalries. But this competition has generated a vibrancy that is exceptional” (p. 130).Although the CCR
does not place as heavy an emphasis on speaking in tongues as does the
Pentecostal movement, it falls squarely in the tradition of charismatic religion,
spirited preaching, vigorous and enthusiastic worship, and a heavy reliance
on music in ritual—in the case of Brazil one of the CCR’s leading figures,
Rossi, also became a pop music star. Cleary also sees the CCR as explicitly
global. Charismatics have adapted various “outside influences” resulting in
“local adaptations” (p. 131). In a case like Mexico, it became one of the major
“exporters” of the CCR to the United States.
The book on the whole offers a broad, comprehensive treatment of the
rise, personalities, and traits of the CCR. Some questions are left unresolved.
For example, in the introduction, Cleary points out that CCR has generally
been viewed as a conservative response to liberation theology, but asks the
reader to consider whether his analysis offers a dichotomy between liberation theology liberalism and CCR conservatism. However, the reader is left
puzzled as to the answer provided by the book. Theology tends to take a
back seat to largely structural issues. For example, Cleary shows that the
CCR, like Pentecostalism, focuses on a kind of spiritual baptism apart from
any formal infant sacramental baptism. Isn’t this what the Catholic Church
long considered Anabaptism and therefore a heretical rejection of the sacrament of baptism?
In any case, this book is an excellent primer on a largely misunderstood
phenomenon in Latin American religion. It will have broad appeal for students of Latin America and religious sociology.
University of Miami

MARTIN NESVIG

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617

African
Coptic Christianity in Ottoman Egypt. By Febe Armanios. (New York: Oxford
University Press. 2011. Pp. xvi, 254. $74.00. ISBN 978-0-199-74484-8.)
This book explores the religious beliefs as identifying parameters of the
Coptic Christian community in Ottoman Egypt (1516–1798), mostly through
using unexploited church archives. It is a new research field, since the history
of the Copts during this intermediary period—although a pivotal one in the
shaping of modern Egypt—has scarcely been studied. In the decades following the Ottoman conquest, a sense of misfortune triggered an outpouring of
religious piety among all Egyptians, Muslims as well as Christians.The author
tries to examine how the Copts coped with this trend, exploring the ways in
which they used religion to define their identity.
Due to the fragmentary nature of sources, the book can only be a string
of “snapshots” of Coptic religious life under Ottoman rule. The first chapter
provides a general look on how the conquest affected the management of
the community, and mainly how the lay elite (the archons), as a result of
their links with the new rulers and of their growing wealth, supplanted the
clerical leadership, even the previously almost absolute authority of the
Patriarch.The second chapter investigates the popularity of the martyr Salib
(d. 1512), who perished for publicly defaming the Prophet of Islam.
Significantly, the martyrdom—a text of dynamic “communal remembrance”
from the late Mamluk and early Ottoman periods—carefully avoids antiIslamic controversy.The popularity of a more ancient martyr is scrutinized in
the third chapter: St. Dimyana, whose cult as a beneficent miracle-worker
was centered on springtime festivities in the Nile Delta and reveals complex
conceptions of the female ascetic ideal. Chapter 4 focuses on the modalities
of the annual Coptic pilgrimage from Cairo to Jerusalem through the lens of
eighteenth-century sources. This devout practice was connected to an
antique Christian tradition but also exposed commonalities with the annual
Moslem pilgrimage to Mecca. It emphasized how lay and clerical elites collaborated to ensure a Coptic presence in the Holy City. The last and fifth
chapter analyzes some sermons produced by Coptic higher clergymen
(especially Patriarch Yu’annis XVIII [1769–96] and Bishop Yusab [r.
1791–1826]), who were reacting against the aggressions of the “heretical”
Catholic missionary enterprises. The Coptic hierarchy responded by scorning all the heterodox practices, which were proliferating as a consequence
of intermarriage, socialization, or outright conversion.
Throughout the book, Febe Armanios shows how popular religion was the
glue that held Coptic believers together. She challenges some scholars such
as Bernard Heyberger and Molly Greene who tend to view religion as a minor
marker of identity among Ottoman dhimmis and the Christians as essentially
sharing the religious mentality of their Muslim neighbors. On the contrary,

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says the author, religion served as a conduit for articulating those irreducible
characteristics that shaped the distinct identity of the Copts.Thus, her work
improves our understanding of the Ottoman period. However, a greater
acknowledgment would have been welcome of the pacific coexistence
between the different religious communities and its effect on Egyptian society, at a time when conflicts between Protestants and Catholics in Europe
caused hundreds of thousands of deaths. Very interestingly, Armanios also
demonstrates that the resurgence of the patriarch’s authority in the second
part of the nineteenth century and the resultant opposition of the lay elite
reflected well-established trends from the eighteenth century. In this way, the
author’s remarkable study contributes to clarify the complexity of MuslimChristian relations and of the internal dynamics of the Coptic community not
only in the Ottoman period but also in contemporary Egypt.
Faculty of Theology
Catholic University of Lille

CHRISTIAN CANNUYER

Domesticating a Religious Import: The Jesuits and the Inculturation of the
Catholic Church in Zimbabwe, 1879–1980. By Nicholas M. Creary. (New
York: Fordham University Press. 2011. Pp. xviii, 339. $45.00. ISBN 978-0823-23334-2.)
Nicholas Creary’s book on the Jesuit mission during Zimbabwe’s colonial
period addresses an ecclesiastical audience as much as an audience of historians. An Africanist historian with a background of two years as a Jesuit
novice, Creary writes with a strong belief in the potential of the Church to
become inculturated—that is, adapted to the particularities of local cultures.
The term inculturation was popularized by Pedro Arrupe, the superior general of the Jesuit Order from 1965 to 1983. Drawing upon Arrupe’s language,
Creary writes with the conviction that “catholicity . . . allows for local cultures
to influence the church universal by taking elements of broader Christian culture and incorporating them into their respective cultural contexts, while
simultaneously offering their respective symbols to enrich the Christian context” (pp. 248–49).
While documenting the popularity of Catholicism among the VaShona
people of Zimbabwe, Creary writes with disappointment about the attitudes
of Jesuit leaders, who tended to be suspicious of grassroots religious innovations. Such innovations included the incorporation of marriage payments into
church practices; the adaptation of ancestral veneration into Catholic ritual;
and the use of Mwari, a deity with shrines throughout the region, as a legitimate name for God within Catholic liturgy. For Jesuits, problems of inculturation were crucially shaped by canon lawmaking. The book concentrates on
debates among the Jesuit leadership of Chishawasha Mission, the oldest
Catholic mission in Zimbabwe, about the legitimacy of religious innovations
under terms of canon law. In addition, Creary incorporates perspectives of

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members of the lay Catholic Association as well as of Mariannhill missionaries who established convents for women during the 1920s, a time when the
colonial government was making efforts to uphold local patriarchal authority.
Creary’s intent to study “the efforts of African Christians to shed the
European influences of an imported Christianity and transform it into an
African religious experience” (p. 17) is carried out most effectively in a chapter concerning controversies over kurova guva, rites of honoring ancestors.
These rites were banned for Catholic adherents in the 1890s by Jesuit missionaries, whose collective memory had been shaped by controversies during
the eighteenth century between Jesuits and Dominicans over comparable
Chinese rituals. Creary documents ongoing debates among Zimbabwean
Catholics over the value and significance of ancestral veneration. In the aftermath of the Second Vatican Council, African Catholic priests argued that
kurova guva fulfills the commandment to honor one’s father and mother, and
received permission from Rome to incorporate the rite into liturgy under the
term kuchenura munhu (to purify the person). Yet in 2007, the Southern
African Catholics Bishops’ Conference issued statements opposing the rite on
grounds that it is performed out of fear of ancestral curses. Creary disputes
this latter position, arguing that it overlooks commonalities between
kuchenura munhu and prayers to saints, and represents a step backward
from inculturation. Local ambivalence about ancestral demands is clearly a
significant component of popular Catholicism in Zimbabwe; yet the implications of this issue are obscured by the text’s emphasis on the degree to which
the Church has been inculturated.
Owing to the atmosphere of fear associated with political violence in
Zimbabwe since 2000, Creary was unable to conduct oral interviews that
might have enriched descriptions of popular religious practices such as pilgrimages to the shrine of Bernard Mizeki, an Anglican martyr revered by
Zimbabwean Christians of many denominations. In addition, the focus on
inculturation glosses over Catholic responses to colonial and postcolonial violence. What this book has to offer instead is a detailed account of how the
Jesuits’ own commitments to defining church law shaped their assessments
of the cultural practices of their parishioners.
FREDERICK KLAITS

Northern Kentucky University
Far Eastern

Mission to Tibet: The Extraordinary Eighteenth-Century Account of Father
Ippolito Desideri, S.J. Translated by Michael J. Sweet. Edited by Leonard
Zwilling. (Boston:Wisdom Publications. 2010. Pp. xxvi, 795. $34.95 paperback. ISBN 978-0-861-71676-0.)
Among the small number of Westerners who visited Tibet in the eighteenth century and before, most fascinating was Ippolito Desideri (1684–

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1733). This Italian Jesuit lived in Lhasa for about five years and was, by all
accounts, the first Westerner to learn Tibetan and understand deeply Tibetan
culture and religion. His Historical Notices of Tibet, which he wrote and
rewrote (in Italian) but never published in his lifetime, is a full account of
his experiences, including his slow and arduous journey to India, Nepal, and
finally Tibet; his years in those places; as well as his journey home after prematurely leaving Lhasa due to internal missionary disputes. It is a mix of
travelogue, history, cultural anthropology, and political analysis; a monument of missionary scholarship; and an early contribution to the study of
religions. As such, this new edition and translation will interest a wide range
of scholars.
The long book III,“Of the Unique Religion Observed in Tibet,” well illustrates Desideri’s approach to scholarship. In it, Desideri seeks after the origins
of the Tibetan religion and also the mechanisms of power and tradition by
which it took root among Tibetans and continued to flourish among them.
Throughout, he is the model scholar, committed to accuracy regarding the
people to whom he has been sent. He was attentive and subtle; for Desideri,
religion was a complex reality, inextricably intertwined with social and political realities, and possessed of a long and complicated history. Explaining a
religion, Desideri knew, is more than spinning tales and wished-for scenarios,
and requires arduous research. He rejects the widespread but fanciful theories about Tibet and the newly discovered Buddhism, and stayed as close as
possible to the facts as he could discover them. Toward the end of part 3, he
confesses his own errors in earlier letters he had written and likewise criticizes European scholars—including Athanasius Kircher, S.J. (1601–80), author
of the famed China Illustrata (Amsterdam, 1667)—for wholesale fabrications
or, more charitably, for gullibly accepting convenient and entertaining rumors
about the East.At the end of the entire treatise, Desideri devotes three important chapters to his plea for “the learning required by missionaries to the
Indies” (p. 555).
Yet Desideri, ever the missionary, does not approve of the religion he is
studying so carefully, for he judges it to be full of errors—notably two. First,
he describes at length the Tibetan view of metempsychosis (rebirth), including the role of good and bad actions, and the facts of the heavens and hells to
which the dead temporarily progress before returning to earth. He insists that
the Tibetans really believe in rebirth, even as he finds it to be an incredible
position to hold. Second, he describes Tibetan atheism and stoutly insists that
the Tibetans do not believe in a creator. Nor are they polytheists who merely
have a confused idea of God, failing to see the one in the many. Even the saints
(konchoks) Tibetans venerate are not true deities but only revered ancestors,
kings, and teachers. So, too, their rites, although busy with invocations of various beings, do not support the view that the invoked beings are gods in the
Western sense. At best one can find, Desideri suggests, obscure and scattered
hints at the mystery of the Trinity.

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Desideri is among the foremost of those missionaries insisting on the need
for accurate and deep knowledge of the newly discovered religions and cultures. In the Jesuit context, his great work can be compared only to works
such as the Historia Natural y Moral de las Indias (Seville, 1590) of José
Acosta and the Mœurs des Sauvages Ameriquains Comparées aux Mœurs
Des Premiers Temps (Paris, 1724) of Joseph François Lafitau. On another
level, the History is valuable, too, for its intimate insights into a man who combined a hard-won objectivity with a seemingly unalterable faith conviction.
Michael J. Sweet and Leonard Zwilling should be commended for their
splendid presentation of the text, their edition and translation, their abundant
notes, and their outstanding introduction to Desideri and his book.
Harvard University

FRANCIS X. CLOONEY, S.J.

Church Militant: Bishop Kung and Catholic Resistance in Communist
Shanghai. By Paul P. Mariani. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
2011. Pp. xvi, 282. $39.95. ISBN 978-0-674-06153-8.)
This book is the gripping blow-by-blow narrative of the tragic six-year conflict between the Chinese Communist Party and the Shanghai Roman Catholic
community in the 1950s. Mariani has skillfully portrayed the militancy of
Shanghai Catholics who—together with their bishop, Ignatius Kung (Gong)
Pinmei—preferred martyrdom and long prison sentences to co-option into
renouncing their allegiance to the pope and the universal Church.
After a detailed introduction retracing the deep roots of the Catholic presence in Shanghai, the author takes us through the successive phases of the
conflict. Chapter 1, “The Lines Are Drawn,” retraces the mounting tension
between the two sides soon after the entrance of the People’s Liberation
Army in Shanghai in May 1949. Chapter 2,“Targeted Attacks,” discusses how in
June 1951, the Communist Party began to strike against three main targets:
Archbishop Anthony Riberi, the pope’s representative and a staunch opponent of any organization aimed at separating Catholics from the Vatican; the
Catholic Central Bureau, the central coordinating and publishing arm of the
Church; and the Legion of Mary, the lay movement disseminating the bureau’s
publications and encouraging Catholics to remain faithful to the pope. The
chapter describes the constant pressures put on legionaries by the
Communists to resign and denounce the legion as a secret counter-revolutionary organization. It ends with the 1951 Chinese takeover of Catholic
schools, especially Aurora University, and the failure of the Communist Party
to turn many students against the Church and their former professors.
Chapter 3, “Arrests and Expulsions,” reveals the Communist Party’s early
attempts and failures to create divisions between the foreign and Chinese
clergy as well as among the Chinese clergy. From the night of June 15, 1952,
onward, the government therefore resorted to systematic arrests and incarcer-

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ations of leading clergymen and sisters, especially those most influential with
the Catholic youth. By July 1954, most foreign clergy and sisters had been
expelled, and their Chinese counterparts had been placed under house arrest
or in prison for refusing to confess they had been working with “imperialists.”
Chapter 4,“Assault,” narrates the massive roundup of September 8 and 9,
1955, when Kung; several dozen priests, sisters, and seminarians; and at least
300 leading Chinese Catholics were arrested. Denunciations and indoctrination sessions lasted for months and even years.The chapter also reveals how
some of those arrested in 1952 as well as during this latest assault cracked
under pressure. Mariani describes in particular the case of Monsignor
Fernand Lacretelle, whose confession after some 550 hours of interrogation
between June 1953 and July 1954 accused the bishop of being an imperialist
and implicated several priests by name. He writes also, but without details,
about the confession made by Jin Luxian, the present government-recognized
bishop of Shanghai.
Chapter 5,“Final Operations,” relates the March 1960 trial of Kung and thirteen Chinese priests who were found guilty of high treason. Their sentence
ranged from life in prison for Kung to five years for two of the co-defendants
who were said to have “showed some repentance” (p. 195).
The book ends with a twenty-seven-page epilogue on the Catholic Church
in China since the Cultural Revolution.This last section should be read with
caution because the author’s handling of sources and description of the
Church’s developments during the past fifty-five years is somewhat questionable. Mariani excels in portraying Kung and many priests and Catholic laypersons of the so-called “underground church” as heroic faith witnesses and
therefore great figures of the Chinese church. Yet when he describes the
other half of that divided church, there seems to be a definitive mistrust for
those so-called “official” or “patriotic” people. Moreover, as this reviewer
knows Jin personally and has had long conversations with him, it appears that
some of the bishop’s quotes are not put in their proper context.
This caveat apart, this book, based on recently declassified Chinese
sources, is a must to understand the deep faith of Shanghai Catholics, their
perseverance, and their steadfastness in the midst of terrible ordeals.
Beijing Center for Chinese Studies

JEAN-PAUL WIEST

623

BRIEF NOTICES
Duffy, Eamon. Ten Popes Who Shook the World. (New Haven:Yale University
Press. 2011. Pp. 151. $25.00. ISBN 978-0-300-17688-9)
This short, illustrated volume of captivating essays began as a series of
BBC radio programs in 2007. Eamon Duffy starts by declaring, “The papacy
is an institution that matters, whether or not one is a religious believer” (p.
9), and moves easily from Walter Ullmann’s determinism—even as Duffy tells
a more decentralized, messy tale—to Thomas Hobbes’s dismissal of the
papacy as “not other than the ghost of the deceased Roman Empire, sitting
crowned on the grave thereof” (p. 17). There follows quite a pleasant read
with all sorts of jewels—very few church historians could get away with calling Roman polytheism’s acceptance of other faiths “a sort of symbolic scalpcollecting” (p. 35) or the Holy Roman Emperor “God’s policeman” (p. 62)
without losing perspective and gravitas. Why these ten and not others?
Duffy states that he did not try to choose the “ten ‘best’ nor even the ten
most influential. . . . [E]ach of the men discussed here encapsulates one
important aspect of the world’s most ancient and durable religious institution” (p. 24). Much of his accessibility and appeal lies in the ability to take
what can be an insider’s history and place each pope on a broader canvas,
rendering compelling even familiar stories. The first six essays (on Peter, Leo
I, Gregory I, Gregory VII, Innocent III, and Paul III) function in this way as
episodes in a Western civilization survey course. Some might then find it
abrupt to jump between Paul III, the surprising sixteenth-century reformer,
to four popes of the nineteenth to twenty-first centuries: Pio Nono, Pius XII,
John XXIII, and John Paul II. Duffy captures well John Paul II’s essential paradoxes, which in a sense define the church’s intramural struggles and efforts
to remain a witness to the world today. CHRISTOPHER M. BELLITTO (Kean
University)
Frazee, Charles. Christian Churches of the Eastern Mediterranean.
(Placentia, CA: The Author. 2010. Pp. xi, 371. $18.99 paperback. ISBN 9781-456-32954-9.)
Over the years there have been many attempts to group and classify the
many and varied Eastern churches to facilitate a grasp of the wider picture. In
the past the most common method was to classify these churches according
to their liturgical rites. More recently, it has become common to group them
according to the four communions to which these churches belong.
Charles Frazee, professor emeritus of history at California State University,
Fullerton, has opted for a geographical approach and produced a book about
the churches of the eastern Mediterranean.The bulk of the book covers the
history of the four ancient eastern patriarchates of Constantinople,
Alexandria, Antioch, and Jerusalem and the various divisions that grew up

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within them. But he also includes chapters on the Assyrian Church of the East
and the Armenian Apostolic Church.
Frazee has published extensively on the churches in this region, especially
on Orthodoxy in Greece, and writes with confidence and accuracy. In view
of this background, it is surprising, however, that he provides so little information on contemporary developments in the Orthodox Church of Greece.
He also has a tendency to apply the term autocephalous in an undifferentiated way to Eastern churches throughout their history when in fact the term
has had a variety of meanings over the centuries. And he does not seem to
have a clear understanding of the nature and authority of the so-called
“Balamand Document” produced by the Catholic-Orthodox international dialogue on the question of uniatism in 1993.
Nevertheless, Frazee has produced a very useful overview of the churches
in this region, bringing together an enormous amount of research into a
coherent and highly readable narrative. It will serve as a valuable introduction
to the churches of the lands where Christianity originated and where its
future prospects are often perilous at best. RONALD G. ROBERSON, C.S.P.
(Secretariat for Ecumenical and Interreligious Affairs, United States
Conference of Catholic Bishops)
Tanner, Marie. Jerusalem on the Hill: Rome and the Vision of St. Peter’s in the
Renaissance. (London: Harvey Miller Publishers. 2010. Pp. 288. $174.00.
ISBN 978-1-905-37549-3.)
Marie Tanner seeks the intellectual roots of the building of the new St.
Peter’s in the cultural history of the Renaissance in this richly illustrated
volume. Italian architects and men of letters sought a historically regional
inspiration in the Etruscan heritage, but they cross referenced their study of
ancient remains with images of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in
Jerusalem. One conduit for humanistic ideas about Etruscan architecture was
the Basilica of Maxentius in Rome, which was confused by scholars with the
nearby Temple of Peace. Humanists also studied remains of other Roman
buildings, especially the Pantheon, baths, and mausoleums.The architects’ frequent emphasis on central plans (Greek crosses and circular structures, often
with domes), also tied these architectural studies to the Holy Sepulcher site
in Jerusalem. They annexed the triumph of Titus, depicted in his triumphal
arch on the edge of the Roman Forum, to Christianity, seeing the Roman ruler
as an avenger of Christ’s Passion.These learned influences can be found in the
early designs for the new St. Peter’s, although a more conservative approach
dominated much later, providing the church with a longer nave. The result
was not a Greek cross but a more traditional Latin cross, now hidden behind
Gian Lorenzo Bernini’s colonnade.
Tanner ties the efforts of Pope Julius II (r. 1503–13) and his architect,
Donato Bramante, to an earlier generation of humanistic architectural efforts,

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625

that of Pope Nicholas V (r. 1447–55). Nicholas employed the humanist Leon
Battista Alberti, one of the scholars most interested in Etruscan influences and
Roman remains; and he started important works at the Vatican, including a
new choir for old St. Peter’s. The pontiff apparently saw Rome as his own new
Jerusalem. Tanner looks at the designs of churches attributed to Alberti and
drawings by Bramante and others not usually available to the interested
reader. Many of these sites were in cities tied to Pope Nicholas’s Italic League,
intended to bring peace to Italy and act against external foes like the French
and the Ottoman Turks.
The reader should be aware of certain aspects of Tanner’s book. The argument is not always presented in a linear fashion, with important topics raised
late in the volume or repeated. Beginning with the discussions of Pope
Nicholas’s plans might be advisable, since Pope Julius and Bramante may have
been drawing inspiration from earlier ideas for the Vatican site. Alberti’s influence in Rome is not always accepted by everyone, and it has been inferred
where documents are vague or lacking. The humanist’s attitude toward
Nicholas is itself a topic of debate, especially since his Momus reads like a critique of papal ambitions. It is apparent, however, that Alberti looked for
Etruscan remains and drew inspiration from them. Other scholars, such as
Gianozzo Manetti, had different scholarly interests that focused on Jerusalem
or Rome. These interests came together in pontificates half of a century apart,
leading in the second period to the drafting of ambitious designs for St.
Peter’s, some of them executed in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.
THOMAS M. IZBICKI (Rutgers University)

NOTES AND COMMENTS
________
Conferences and Celebrations
The millennium of the founding of the Holy Hermitage of Camaldoli was
celebrated at the monastery on June 19.
An international conference on “Egidio da Viterbo, cardinale agostiniano,
tra Roma e l’Europa del Rinascimento” will be held in Viterbo on September
22–23, 2012, and in Rome on September 26–28. The following American
scholars will present papers: Daniel Nodes (Baylor University) on “Il dono
dello Spirito santo e l’Amore divino: l’encomio letterario di Egidio a conclusione del suo ‘Commentarium’”; John Monfasani (University at Albany, SUNY)
on “Giles of Viterbo and the Errors of Aristotle”; Nelson H. Minnich (The
Catholic University of America) on “Egidio Antonini da Viterbo, the Reform of
the Religious Orders, and Lateran V”; Ingrid D. Rowland (University of Notre
Dame) on “Egidio da Viterbo, il Neoplatonismo e Giordano Bruno”; Brian P.
Copenhaver (University of California at Los Angeles) on “Piety and
Pornorthography in Papal Rome: Egidio’s Book on the Hebrew Letters”; and
Meredith J. Gill (University of Maryland–College Park) on “Egidio da Viterbo,
his Augustine, and the Reformation of the Arts.” Further information may be
obtained from the Segreteria of the conference at rremail@fastwebnet.it.
The four-day symposium “Reform and Renewal:Vatican II after Fifty Years”
will be held at The Catholic University of America on September 26–29, 2012.
Cardinal William Levada, prefect emeritus of the Congregation for the
Doctrine of the Faith, will deliver the keynote address on the first evening.
There will be lectures and workshops on the principal pronouncements of
the Council. The preliminary program and general information may be
obtained at http://trs.cua.edu/vaticanII.
The Pontifical Committee for Historical Sciences, in collaboration with the
Centro Studi e Ricerche “Concilio Vaticano II” of the Pontifical Lateran
University, will present an international conference on the Second Vatican
Council that pertains to the archives of the Council Fathers; it will be held in
Vatican City on October 3–5, 2012. Representatives of more than twenty
countries, regions, and organizations will report on their respective documentary holdings; Tricia T. Pyne (Associated Archives of St. Mary’s Seminary
and University, Baltimore) and Gerald P. Fogarty, S.J. (University of Virginia),
will present a survey of papers in the United States.

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627

Causes of Saints
Cardinal Timothy Dolan, archbishop of New York, announced on Easter
Sunday, April 8, that Pope Benedict XVI, following the unanimous recommendation of the Congregation for the Causes of Saints in a decree on March
7, had approved the conferral of the title “Venerable” on Father Félix Varela y
Morales, whose “heroic virtues” had been recognized in the decree.The postulator of the cause is Brother Roberto Meoli, F.S.C.Venerable Varela was born
in Havana on November 20, 1788, and was ordained a priest at age twentythree. A year later he was appointed professor of philosophy, physics, and
ethics in the seminary of the capital. He had already distinguished himself, as
noted by the Archdiocese of Miami, as “a man of culture and profound learning” and had written a textbook on philosophy. He instituted the first physics
and chemistry laboratory in Cuba. In 1821 he was elected a representative
(diputado) of Cuba in the Spanish Cortes at Madrid. Among the laws he proposed were one to abolish slavery and another to grant self-rule to the
Spanish colonies in the Americas.After the restoration of royal absolutism he
had to leave Spain, and, unable to return to Cuba, he went into exile in 1823
and then worked for thirty years in the Diocese (later Archdiocese) of New
York, where he became vicar general and patron of the Irish immigrants. He
died on February 25, 1853, in St. Augustine, Florida. His remains were later
moved to the Aula Magna of the University of Havana, where they remain
today. In 1981 the government of Cuba created the Orden Félix Varela as the
greatest distinction of the country.
The causes of Mother Riccarda Beauchamp Hambrough (1887–1966) and
Sister Katherine Flanagan (1892–1941), both Bridgettines, have been submitted by the Archdiocese of Westminster to the Congregation for the Causes of
Saints. Mother Riccarda was the mother general of the Bridgettine Order in
Rome during World War II and saved the lives of at least sixty Jews by hiding
them in the motherhouse. Sister Katherine labored at opening Bridgettine
convents; she was the first prioress of new convents in Iver Heath,
Buckinghamshire, in Lugano, Switzerland, and in Vadstena, Sweden.
Publications
The international symposium “Varia et immensa mutatio 1310: Percorsi
nei cantieri architettonici e pittorici della Basilica di Sant’Antonio in Padova”
was held in that city on May 20, 2010.The proceedings have now been published in fascicle 2–3 of volume LI (2011) of Il Santo (pp. 307–536). Each article in Italian is followed by a summary in English. There are forty-one color
plates in appendix 1 and thirty-seven in appendix 2.
“Priests in the Catholic Community” is the theme of the fall 2011 issue
(vol. 29) of the U.S. Catholic Historian. It is articulated in four articles:“‘To
Work in the Field of the Lord’: Roots of the Crisis in Priestly Identity,” by

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Leslie Woodcock Tentler (pp. 1–18); “Research on Catholic Priests in the
United States since the Council: Modeling the Dialogue between Theology
and Social Science,” by Bryan T. Froehle (pp. 19–46); “Bishop P. Francis
Murphy Proposes the Ordination of Women Priests,” by Christopher J.
Kauffman (pp. 47–66); and “The Other Ministerial Priesthood: The Prophetic
Ministries of Religious Clergy,” by Paul J. Philibert, O.P. (pp. 67–86).
The Australian Catholic Record presents “Models of Christian Living”in its
issue for October 2011 (vol. 88, no. 4): Anne Hunt,“Immortal Diamonds: The
Lives of the Saints as Locus Theologicus” (pp. 387–400); Moira O’Sullivan,
“Mary Aikenhead: Inspiration for Now, a Woman for All Seasons” (pp. 401–11);
Christine E. Burke, “Mary Ward (1585–1645): ‘Half women are not for these
times’” (pp. 412–21); Pauline Smoothy,“Mother Mary Vincent Whitty: Woman
of Mercy” (pp. 422–32); Stephen Utick, “Charles O’Neill, the Engineer of
Charity” (pp. 433–46); and Clara Geoghegan, “Caroline Chisholm—A
Prophetic Voice in Church and Society” (pp. 447–61).
For the 200th (and 201st) number (vol. LVII, May–December 2011) of
Itinerarium, the periodical of the Portuguese Province of the Franciscan
Order, the editors have published several articles under the heading “Os
Franciscanos e a República,” as follows: “A controvérsia modernista entre
Franciscanos e Jesuítas nas vésperas da revolução republicana,” by José
Eduardo Franco (pp. 209–21); “Os Franciscanos de Varatojo e Montariol em
torno da Voz de Santo Antonio,” by Álvaro Cruz da Silva, O.F.M. (pp. 223–45);
“A «Voz de Santo Antonio». Génese e extinção,” by Manuel Pereira Gonçalves,
O.F.M. (pp. 247–61);“A República, fonte de alívio para a familia franciscana? O
valor do salvo conduto. Elementos de enquadramento de questões de
imprensa e pregaçào em Montariol,” by Antonio de Sousa Araújo, O.F.M. (pp.
263–72); and “Os Franciscanos e a República em Portugal—Testemunhos,” by
Henrique Pinto Rema, O.F.M. (pp. 373–542), which is followed by a
“Suplemento documental” (pp. 543–602).
Personal Notices
Cardinal Raffaele Farina, S.D.B., has retired from the office of archivist and
librarian of the Holy Roman Church, having reached the age limit. He has
been succeeded by Archbishop Jean-Louis Brugues, O.P., formerly secretary of
the Congregation for Catholic Education.
Agostino Borromeo (University of Rome “La Sapienza”), David D’Avray
(University College London), and Nelson H. Minnich (The Catholic University
of America) have been reappointed to the Pontifical Committee for Historical
Sciences for another five-year term. For the first time “correspondents” of the
committee have been appointed; among the twelve whose names were
announced at the plenary meeting in May are the following four Americans:
Paul F. Grendler (emeritus, University of Toronto, and Chapel Hill, NC); John
W. O’Malley, S.J. (Georgetown University); Kenneth Pennington (The Catholic

NOTES AND COMMENTS

629

University of America); and Tricia T. Pyne (Associated Archives of St. Mary’s
Seminary and University, Baltimore).
Amanda Bresie, a doctoral student in Texas Christian University, has been
appointed editor of Texas Catholic Historian, the newsletter of the Texas
Catholic Historical Society.
Alan J. Watt, a minister in the Southwestern Texas Synod of the Evangelical
Lutheran Church in America, was presented with the 2012 Foik Award of the
Texas Catholic Historical Society at its annual meeting on March 2 in Houston
for his book Farm Workers and the Churches: The Movement in California
and Texas, which was published by Texas A&M University Press in 2010.
Jared Wicks, S.J., has been appointed senior priest and scholar in residence
in the Pontifical College Josephinum in Columbus, Ohio. Besides interacting
with the professors and students of theology, Father Wicks will continue the
study, writing, and ecumenical work in which he has been engaged since he
retired from the Pontifical Gregorian University.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE
________
General and Miscellaneous
The Past in Hiding: Accessing Religious History. Peter Matheson. Pacifica, 25
(Feb., 2012), 23–36.
Eine kurze Geschichte der Institution der Buße. Paolo Prodi. Annali
dell’Istituto storico italo-germanico in Trento, XXXVI–XXXVII (2,
2010–11), 13–68.
Martyrs for Justice and the Process of Canonization. Robert Gascoigne.
Australasian Catholic Record, 89 ( Jan., 2012), 3–12.
Itinerari, Guide, Racconti, Tradizioni o Abitundini dei Pellegrini in Terra Santa.
Narcyz Klimas, O.F.M. Antonianum, LXXXVII ( Jan.–Mar., 2012), 93–144.
La influencia de Agustín de Hipona en el desarrollo de la teoría cristiana de la
guerra justa. Patrick Messina and Craig J. N. De Paulo. Avgvstinvs, LVII
( Jan.–June, 2012), 143–67.
«Per notizia dei posteri», un filo rosso tra i manoscritti provenienti dalla Badia
di S. Salvatore a Settimo Florentine dyocesis. Franca Traselli. Aevum,
LXXXV (Sept.–Dec., 2011), 839–908.
El reiterado conflicto sobre la jurisdicción eclesiástica entre el Obispo de
Ávila y el abad de Burgohondo (siglos XI–XIX). José Antonio Calvo Gómez.
Anthologica Annua, 51–52 (2004–2005), 247–434.
Rûmî, les derviches tourneurs et les chrétiens de Konya. Alberto Fabio
Ambrosio. Rivista di Storia e Letteratura Religiosa, XLVII (1, 2011),
113–25.
Las viudas consagradas en la Iglesia Occidental y su pervivencia en la península Ibérica: un ejemplo de continuidad. Julia Montenegro and Arcadio del
Castillo. Studia Monastica, 53 (2, 2011), 337–61.
Impresos oficiales de los benedictinos españoles (siglos XVI–XIX). Ernesto
Zaragoza Pascual. Studia Monastica, 53 (2, 2011), 363–431.
The Liturgy Legacy of Odo Casel O.S.B. Rose M. Beal. Worship, 86 (Mar., 2012),
98–123.
Wissenschaftliche Vernetzung in der Nachkriegszeit, Der Briefwechsel zwischen Stephan Kuttner und Martin Grabmann. Franz Kalde. Zeitschrift der
Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte, 128, Kanonistische Abteilung 97
(2011), 274–303.
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631

Ancient
The Literary Genre and Purpose of Justin’s Second Apology:A Critical Review
with Insights from Ancient Epistolography. Runar M. Thorsteinsson.
Harvard Theological Review, 105 ( Jan., 2012), 91–114.
Testimonianze di vita famigliare nelle catacombe romane. Daniela Calcagnini.
Rivista di Archeologia Cristiana, LXXXVI (2010), 243–63.
Brevi riflessioni sulle figure femminili nella produzione figurativa romana.
Daniela Calcagnini. Vetera Christianorum, 48 (1, 2011), 63–79.
Christian Use of Magic in Late Antique Egypt.Walter M. Shandruk. Journal of
Early Christian Studies, 20 (Spring, 2012), 31–57.
La topografia cristiana de Calagurris Iulia durante la Antigüedad tardía y la
alta Edad Media.Vega Arconada. Rivista di Archeologia Cristiana, LXXXVI
(2010), 177–94.
Monastic Witness II: The Context of Empire. Shawn Carruth, O.S.B. American
Benedictine Review, 62 ( June, 2011), 143–60.
Trat um das Jahr 328 ein unmündiges Kind entgegen dem elterlichen Willen
in das Kloster des Pachomius ein? Juristische Probleme in einer ägyptischen Mönchsvita. Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte,
128, Kanonistische Abteilung 97 (2011), 1–19.
La fuga de Atanasio de Alejandría. Una construcción apologética en torno a Mt
10, 23 y sus antecedentes patrísticos. Almudena Alba López. Studia
Monastica, 53 (2, 2011), 317–28.
Qualche osservazione sull’agiografia di San Nicola. Manlio Simonetti. Vetera
Christianorum, 48 (1, 2011), 115–26.
Die antike Sklaverei aus frühchristlicher Perspektive. Eine Diskursanalyse.
Heike Grieser. Theologische Quartalschrift, 192 (1, 2012), 2–20.
Los espectáculos del anfiteatro en san Agustín y sus implicaciones espirituales. Enrique Eguiarte. Avgvstinvs, LVII ( Jan.–June, 2012), 75–97.
Reassessing Salona’s Churches: Martyrium Evolution in Question.Ann Marie
Yasin. Journal of Early Christian Studies, 20 (Spring, 2012), 59–112.
Civitas interdicta monachis. Les moines présentèrent-ils un danger pour l’ordre public romain? Joanna Misztal-Konecka and Monika Wójcik. Revue
d’histoire ecclésiastique, 106 ( July–Dec, 2011), 423–38.
St. Jerome, Apostle to the Slavs, and the Roman Slavonic Rite. Julia
Verkholantsev. Speculum, 87 ( Jan., 2012), 37–61.
On Heresy in Modern Patristic Scholarship: The Case of Evagrius Ponticus.
Augustine Casiday. Heythrop Journal, 53 (Mar., 2012), 241–52.
Christendom Witnesses to the Martyrs: Modulations of the Acta Martyrum in
Prudentius’ Peristephanon, VI. Mark Glen Bilby. Journal of Ecclesiastical
History, 63 (Apr., 2012), 219–35.

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PERIODICAL LITERATURE

Matters (Un-)Becoming: Conversions in Epiphanius of Salamis. Andrew S.
Jacobs. Church History, 81 (Mar., 2012), 27–47.
Le sedi episcopali della Sardegna paleocristiana. Riflessioni Topografiche.
Philippe Pergola et Alii. Rivista di Archeologia Cristiana, LXXXVI (2010),
353–410.
Obedience in Egyptian Monasticism According to John Cassian. Jonathan
Morgan. St Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly, 55 (3, 2011), 271–91.
Le origini «Patriciano-Apostoliche» del monachesimo irlandese altomedievale
(secoli V–VII). Fausto Iannello. Studia Monastica, 53 (2, 2011), 283–316.
Sidonio Apollinare, poeta e vescovo. Joop Van Waarden. Vetera
Christianorum, 48 (1, 2011), 99–113.
The Debate about the Fall of Rome: Is an End at Last in Sight? Timothy Barnes.
Sewanee Theological Review, 55 (1, 2011), 46–65.
Presenza e attrazione del culto martiriale nei tituli romani. Alessandro
Bonfiglio. Rivista di Archeologia Cristiana, LXXXVI (2010), 195–242.
Sis Quoque Catholicis Religiosus Apex: The Ecclesiastical Patronage of
Chilperic I and Fredegund. Gregory I. Halfond. Church History, 81 (Mar.,
2012), 48–76.
Hagiografía, milagros y providencia: fundamentos teológico-históricos de la
Historia Francorum de Gregorio de Tours (siglo VI). Marcelo E. Aguirre
Durán. Teología y Vida, LII (4, 2011), 599–623.
Grégoire de Tours et Isidore de Séville historiens militaires. Philippe
Richardot. Latomus, 71 (Mar, 2012), 150–60.
Medieval
Renovatio Reconsidered: Richard Krautheimer and the Iconography of
Architecture. Catherine Carver McCurrach. Gesta, 50 (1, 2011), 41–69.
The bishop and the monk: Desiderius of Vienne and the Columbanian movement.Yaniv Fox. Early Medieval Europe, 20 (May, 2012), 176–94.
Men in pain: masculinity, medicine and the Miracles of St. Artemios. Anne P.
Alwis. Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies, 36 (1, 2012), 1–19.
Bede’s Sacred Order: Schemes and Tropes in the Historia Ecclesiastica: Part
II. David Allison Orsbon. American Benedictine Review, 62 ( June, 2011),
125–42.
Benedictus Levita und die Lex Baiuvariorum. Eine quellenkritische Studie.
Gerhard Schmitz. Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte,
128, Kanonistische Abteilung 97 (2011), 20–58.
The Lives of St. Samson. Rewriting the Ambitions of an Early Medieval Cult.
Richard Sowerby. Francia, 38 (2011), 1–31.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

633

La charte de Richer de Liège du 16 november 932 Une copie historique à
réhabiliter. Florence Close. Bulletin de la Commission royale d’Histoire,
177 (2011), 5–19.
Rogatrix atque donatrix: the silvercover of the Berta Evangeliary (Vatican, S.
Maria in Via Lata, MS 145) and the patronage of art by women in early
medieval Rome. Maria Laura Marchiori. Early Medieval Europe, 20 (May,
2012), 111–38.
The politics of remorse: penance and royal piety in the reign of Æthelred the
Unready. Catherine Cubitt. Historical Research, LXXXV (May, 2012),
179–92.
Die renovatio imperii Kaiser Ottos III. und die Antichrist-Erwartung der
Zeitgenossen an der Jahrtausendwende von 1000/1001. Hannes Möhring.
Archiv für Kulturgeschichte, 93 (2, 2011), 333–50.
Picturing the Treasury: The Power of Objects and the Art of Memory in the
Bernward Gospels. Jennifer P. Kingsley. Gesta, 50 (1, 2011), 19–39.
Die zwei Körper des Apostelfürsten. Der heilige Petrus im Rom des
Reformpapsttums. Jörg Bölling. Römische Quartalschrift, 106 (3–4, 2011),
155–92.
Liturgical Renewal in Two Eleventh-Century Royal Spanish Prayerbooks. Lucy
K. Pick. Traditio, 66 (2011), 27–66.
Poitevine Collections: Looking Behind the Manuscript Evidence. Kriston R.
Rennie. Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte, 128,
Kanonistische Abteilung 97 (2011), 59–75.
How reform began: ‘traditional’ leadership and the inception of monastic
reform in late-eleventh-century Flanders. Steven Vanderputten. Studia
Monastica, 53 (2, 2011), 261–81.
Crises of Cenobitism: Abbatial Leadership and Monastic Competition in Late
Eleventh-Century Flanders. Steven Vanderputten. English Historical
Review, CXXVII (Apr., 2012), 259–84.
Concorrenze religiose e signorili al confine fra i due antichi comitati di Torino
e Auriate. Massimo Cerrato. Bollettino Storico-Bibliografico Subalpino,
CIX (1, 2011), 5–37.
Il priorato cluniacense di Castelletto Cervo (Biella) nella documentazione
scritta: quadro storico e strutture materiali. Gabriele Ardizio and Eleonora
Destefanis. Bollettino Storico-Bibliografico Subalpino, CIX (1, 2011),
39–81.
A Letter to King Henry from Toulouse. Nicholas Vincent. Journal of
Ecclesiastical History, 63 (Apr., 2012), 331–45.
A Newly Discovered Text on Liturgical Reform from XII Century Halberstadt
and its Historical Context (Halberstadt, Domschatz, Inv.-Nr. 471). Patrizia
Carmassi. Rivista di Storia e Letteratura Religiosa, XLVII (1, 2011), 31–56.

634

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

Work in the Convents of the Paraclete: Echoes of RB 48.Terrence G. Kardong,
O.S.B. American Benedictine Review, 63 (Mar., 2012), 49–74.
Attunement to the Damned of the Conques Tympanum. Kirk Ambrose. Gesta,
50 (1, 2011), 1–17.
Aspetti della disciplina del feudo ecclesiastico nei secoli XII e XIII (parte II).
Maura Mordini. Studi Senesi, CXXIII (1, 2011), 52–157.
Celestial Divination and Arabic Science in Twelfth-Century England: The
History of Gerbert of Aurillac’s Talking Head. E. R. Truitt. Journal of the
History of Ideas, 73 (Apr., 2012), 201–22.
Liturgical Manuscripts, Liturgical Practice, and the Women of Klosterneuburg.
Michael L. Norton and Amelia J. Carr. Traditio, 66 (2011), 67–169.
The Distinctiones Cantabrigienses (Cambridge, UL Add. 3321.1): Authority,
Power, and Jurisdiction in a Twelfth-Century Commentary on Gratian’s
Decretum. Bruce Brasington. Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für
Rechtsgeschichte, 128, Kanonistische Abteilung 97 (2011), 112–42.
Alexander III. und der Schutz unheilbar Kranker. Zu einem Streit in Épernay.
Ludwig Falkenstein. Francia, 38 (2011), 33–60.
Ein unbeachtetes Zeugnis zum dritten Laterankonzil: Bernardo Maragones
Annales Pisani. Richard Engl and Atria A. Larson. Zeitschrift der SavignyStiftung für Rechtsgeschichte, 128, Kanonistische Abteilung 97 (2011),
357–68.
Early Joachimism and Early Franciscanism: Manuscript Evidence of a Common
Destiny. Fabio Troncarelli. Franciscan Studies, 69 (2011), 141–51.
The “Lesser Sisters” in Jacques de Vitry’s 1216 Letter. Catherine M. Mooney.
Franciscan Studies, 69 (2011), 1–29.
The City and the Cross: the image of Constantinople and the Latin empire in
thirteenth-century papal crusading rhetoric. Nikolaos G. Chrissis.
Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies, 36 (1, 2012), 20–37.
The Rule of St. Francis: What was Really Lost? Mark Weaver. Franciscan
Studies, 69 (2011), 31–52.
Jordan of Saxony and the Monastery of St. Agnese in Bologna. Maria Pia
Alberzoni. Franciscan Studies, 68 (2010), 1–19.
Gender Concerns: Monks, Nuns, and Patronage of the Cistercian Order in
Thirteenth-Century Flanders and Hainaut. Erin L. Jordan. Speculum, 87
( Jan., 2012), 62–94.
Presence of the Jewish people in medieval liturgy for Holy Week. Rubén
Peretó Rivas. Mayéutica, XXXVII ( July–Dec., 2011), 285–94.
Papal Attempts at a Commercial Boycott of the Muslims in the Crusader
Period. Sophia Menache. Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 63 (Apr., 2012),
236–59.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

635

The Montfortian bishops and the justification of conciliar government in
1264. Sophie Ambler. Historical Research, LXXXV (May, 2012), 193–209.
The Place of the Money Bag in the Secular-Mendicant Controversy at Paris.
Robert J. Karris. Franciscan Studies, 68 (2010), 21–38.
Preaching Precedes Theology: Roger Bacon on the Failure of Mendicant
Education.Timothy J. Johnson. Franciscan Studies, 68 (2010), 83–95.
Ein Drache in Würzburg. Die Reichssynode und der Hoftag von 1287. FranzReiner Erkens. Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte, 122 (2–3, 2011), 153–72.
Dante and the Frescoes at Santi Quattro Coronati. Ronald B. Herzman and
William A. Stephany. Speculum, 87 ( Jan., 2012), 95–148.
Beyond Naturalism in Art and Poetry: Duccio and Dante on the Road to
Emmaus. Gervase Rosser. Art History, 35 ( June, 2012), 474–97.
Moral Imperatives and Conundrums of Conscience: Reflections on Philip the
Fair of France. Elizabeth A.R. Brown. Speculum, 87 ( Jan., 2012), 1–36.
Poverty and Charity: Pope John XXII and the Canonization of Louis of Anjou.
Melanie Brunner. Franciscan Studies, 69 (2011), 231–56.
Zur Typologisierung und Normierung der liturgischen Gewandung. Das
Beispiel des Kölner Domordinarius aus der Zeit um 1322. Hanns Peter
Neuheuser. Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte, 128,
Kanonistische Abteilung 97 (2011), 174–98.
Ubertino da Casale dopo il 1325: un possibile itinerario. Alberto Cadili.
Franciscan Studies, 69 (2011), 257–83.
La prédication chrétienne sur les Juifs dans l’Espagne du bas Moyen Âge.
Moisés Orfali. Revue de l’histoire des religions, 229 ( Jan.–Mar., 2012),
31–52.
Der Paulinerorden in Deutschland. Ein Forschungsbericht. Elmar L. Kuhn.
Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 131 (2011), 137–64.
Negligence, greed and the operation of English charities, 1350–1603. Marjorie
K. McIntosh. Continuity and Change, 27 (May, 2012), 53–81.
The Poor Clares during the Era of Observant Reform.Attempts at a Typology.
Bert Roest. Franciscan Studies, 69 (2011), 343–86.
Reframing the Bible: Genesis and Exodus on Toledo Cathedral’s FourteenthCentury Choir Screen.Tom Nickson. Gesta, 50 (1, 2011), 71–89.
The Passion of the Jews of Prague: The Pogrom of 1389 and the Lessons of a
Medieval Parody. Barbara Newman. Church History, 81 (Mar., 2012), 1–26.
Die Stadt und ihr Patron. Konstituierung und Stabilisierung sozialer und politischer Ordnung im europäischen Mittelalter am Beispiel Braunschweigs.
Uwe Israel. Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte, 122 (2–3, 2011), 173–200.
Who Was Walter Brut? Maureen Jurkowski. English Historical Review, CXXVII
(Apr., 2012), 285–302.

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PERIODICAL LITERATURE

Die Verbrennung Johannes Grießers am 9. September 1411.Teil 2: Edition der
Predigten Nikolaus’ von Dinkelsbühl und Simons von Riegersburg. Karl
Ubl. Mitteilungen des Instituts für Österreichische Geschichtsforschung,
120 (1, 2012), 50–64.
Sanche Mulier (†1418): l’engagement d’un maître toulousain au défi du grand
schisme d’Occident. Hugues Labarthe. Revue des Sciences Religieuses, 86
(Apr., 2012), 163–82.
A Catalan Diplomat, Theologian and Preacher at the Council of Constance:
Master Felipe de Malla. Marco Pedretti. Revue des Sciences Religieuses, 86
(Apr., 2012), 143–61.
A Canon Lawyer’s Compilation from Fifteenth-Century Yorkshire. R. N.
Swanson. Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 63 (Apr., 2012), 260–73.
Il re, il vescovo ed il predicatore Giovanni da Capestrano a Cracovia,
1453–1454. Marcin Starzyński. Archivum Franciscanum Historicum, 104
( July–Dec., 2011), 485–518.
Mendicant order politics and the status of Christ’s shed blood. Antonia
Fitzpatrick. Historical Research, LXXXV (May, 2012), 210–27.
Forced vocation or not? The case of the abducted Poor Clare of Wamel
(1464). Jan Kuys. Franciscan Studies, 69 (2011), 387–402.
La constitución de la parroquia de Navaluenga, Ávila, en 1466. José Antonio
Calvo Gómez. Salmanticensis, 58 (Sept.–Dec., 2011), 513–57.
Libri di diritto civile e canonico nella biblioteca della famiglia Meli a Cremona
(1479). Emilio Giazzi. Aevum, LXXXV (Sept.–Dec., 2011), 689–713.
Ein cleins ringlein, an allen heilgen stetten angerürt. Zur materiellen Überlieferung der Heiliglandfahrten im 15. Jahrhundert. Folker Reichert.
Deutsches Archiv für Erforschung des Mittelalters, 67 (2, 2011), 609–23.
Sixteenth Century
Luthers Traktat »Von der Freiheit eines Christenmenschen« als Markstein des
Kirchen—und Staatskirchenrechts. Martin Heckel. Zeitschrift für
Theologie und Kirche, 109 (Mar., 2012), 122–51.
Bedeutung und Auswertungsmöglichkeiten der Konstanzer Investiturprotokolle des 16. Jahrhunderts. Dagmar Kraus. Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv,
131 (2011), 33–56.
Fausses apparitions et vraie supercherie: l’affaire des cordeliers d’Orléans
(1534–1535). Nicolas Balzamo. Bibliothèque d’Humanisme et
Renaissance, LXXIII (3, 2011), 481–96.
Canon Law in Juan Ginés de Sepúlveda’s «Democrates secundus». Xavier
Tubau. Bibliothèque d’Humanisme et Renaissance, LXXIII (2, 2011),
265–77.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

637

Die „libri collationum“ des Bistums Würzburg. Boris Bigott. Freiburger
Diözesan-Archiv, 131 (2011), 123–36.
François Vatable, so much more than a «name». Dick Wursten. Bibliothèque
d’Humanisme et Renaissance, LXXIII (3, 2011), 557–91.
Bronce dorado en El Escorial. Los Leoni y Jacome da Trezzo (I Parte). Manuel
Rincón Álvarez. La Ciudad de Dios, CCXXV ( Jan.–Apr., 2012), 53–94.
Christoph Metzler, 1548–1561 Bischof von Konstanz. Gertrud Weimar.
Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 131 (2011), 165–216.
Vier Theologen für Morone. Ein unbekanntes Gutachten im Prozess der römischen Inquisition gegen Kardinal Giovanni Morone (1555–1560). Stephan
Walther. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 106 ( July–Dec, 2011), 452–69.
Eretici al servizio del re cattolico. Mercenari protestanti negli eserciti spagnoli
(secc. XVI–XVII). David Maffi. Rivista Storica Italiana, CXXII (Aug.,
2011), 510–36.
Christopher Clavius (1537–1612), iniciador de la tradición científica de la
Compañía de Jesús. Agustín Udías, S.J. Razón y fe, 1362 (Apr., 2012),
339–49.
“Il nous faut acquérir de l’autorité sur les Japonais”. Le problème de l’adaptation de la hiérarchie jésuite aux conditions religieuses et sociales japonaises. Hélène Vu Thanh. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 106 ( July–Dec,
2011), 471–95.
Camilla Peretti, Sixtus V, and the Construction of Peretti Family Identity in
Counter-Reformation Rome. Kimberly Dennis. Sixteenth Century Journal,
XLIII (Spring, 2012), 71–101.
La ‘disseminazione’ dei libri salutari: il codice del sapere di Antonio Possevino.
Linda Bisello. Rivista di Storia e Letteratura Religiosa, XLVII (1, 2011),
57–87.
Paraphrase and Plagiarism. Peter Canisius’ Exposition of Psalm 51. Hilmar M.
Pabel. Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu, LXXX (II, 2011), 371–406.
Bernardino Malpizzi, a Late Mannerist Draftsman in Mantua. Stefano L’Occaso.
Master Drawings, L (Autumn, 2012), 79–90.
Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries
Youth, Religious Identity, and Autobiography at the English Colleges in Rome
and Valladolid, 1592–1685. Lucy Underwood. Historical Journal, 55 ( June,
2012), 349–74.
Los Infantes de Coro y El Colegio de S. Leandro 1600–1760 (I). Consuelo Prats
Redondo. Carthaginensia, XXVII ( July –Dec., 2011), 399–425.
Die Investitureinträge aus dem 17. Jahrhundert in den „libri ordinandorum“
des Bistums Chur.Albert Fischer. Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 131 (2011),
101–22.

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PERIODICAL LITERATURE

The Heraldry of the Twelve Tribes of Israel:An English Reformation Subject for
Church Decoration. Clare Tilbury. Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 63
(Apr., 2012), 274–305.
Rubens, der Kirche entrissen? Peter B. Steiner. Stimmen der Zeit, 137 (Apr.,
2012), 219–28.
Madonna Antea da Brissago. Tra le anime del Purgatorio e le corti italiane.
Notizia e brani di un manoscritto inedito del 1617. Daniele Bolognini.
Rivista di Storia e Letteratura Religiosa, XLVII (1, 2011), 157–72.
Catholic liturgy and the making of early modern French identity. Katherine J.
Lualdi. French History, 26 ( June, 2012), 164–81.
Aus dem Kloster hinaus in die Welt—zwei Mönche in der Zeit des
Dreißigjährigen Krieges. Wolfgang Treue. Archiv für Kulturgeschichte, 93
(2, 2011), 351–83.
A Brazilian Jesuit in Amsterdam. Anti-Spanish and Anti-Catholic rhetoric in the
early Dutch Golden Age. Michiel van Groesen. Archivum Historicum
Societatis Iesu, LXXX (II, 2011), 445–70.
Nicolas Caussin S.J., Boezio ed il teatro gesuitico. Margherita Belli. Archivum
Historicum Societatis Iesu, LXXX (II, 2011), 471–514.
The Ambiguities of the Holy: Authenticating Relics in Seventeenth-Century
Spain. Katrina Olds. Renaissance Quarterly, 65 (Spring, 2012), 135–84.
Dom Francisco de Castelbranco’s Great Ship from Macao and The Philippine
Martyrs of Nagasaki in 1637. Fidel Villarroel, O.P. Philippiniana Sacra,
XLVII (May–Aug., 2012), 639–57.
Passage to India: Jesuit Spiritual Economy between Martyrdom and Profit in
the Seventeenth Century. Ines G. Županov. Journal of Early Modern
History, 16 (2, 2012), 121–59.
Correspondence from Jean-Baptiste Devenet and Claude Prost, Book
Merchants of Lyon, to Fr Luke Wadding, O.F.M., 1647–1654. Benjamin
Hazard. Archivum Franciscanum Historicum, 104 ( July–Dec., 2011),
519–45.
The conservation, cataloguing and digitization of Fr. Luke Wadding’s papers at
University College Dublin. Benjamin Hazard. Franciscan Studies, 69
(2011), 477–89.
Le «Notizie Storiche» del P. Giancarlo Caputi and S. Barbara. Giancarlo Caputi.
Archivum Scholarum Piarum, XXXVI (71, 2012), 5–62.
The earliest phase of the Jansenist controversy among the Flemish Capuchins.
Part II: the cases of Augustinus of ’s Hertogenbosch and Fulgentius of
Maaseik. Gert Partoens. Augustiniana, 61 (3–4, 2011), 225–69.
Les galériens protestants (et condamnés pour aide aux protestants),
1680–1775. Pierre Rolland. Bulletin de la Société de l’Histoire du
Protestantisme Français, 158 ( Jan., Feb., Mar., 2012), 45–92.

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Forgetting the Repealers: Religious Toleration and Historical Amnesia in Later
Stuart England. Scott Sowerby. Past & Present, No. 215 (May, 2012),
83–123.
Ein großes Bündis der katholischen Dynastien 1688? Neue Perspektiven auf
die Entstehung des Neunjährigen Krieges und der Glorius Revolution.
Christoph Kampmann. Historische Zeitschrift, 294 (Feb., 2012), 31–58.
Wie Jean Mabillon dem römischen Index entging. Reliquienkult und
christliche Archäologie um 1700. Ingo Herklotz. Römische Quartalschrift,
106 (3–4, 2011), 193–228.
„Römische Bücherverbote“. Anmerkungen zu einer Edition. Herman H.
Schwedt. Römische Quartalschrift, 106 (3–4, 2011), 278–300.
Ortodossi nell’alto Adriatico e nella Dalmazia veneta durante il XVIII secolo:
spazi politico-sociali, culture e comunità. Angela Falcetta. Annali della
Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa, XLIV (2010), 95–130.
Virgins and Widows: Imperial Legislation and Practices of Admission to the
Novitiate and Profession in Ukrainian Women’s Monasteries (1722–86).
Liudmila V. Charipova. Slavonic and East European Review, 90 (Apr.,
2012), 262–87.
Taming “The Tyranny of Priests”: Hume’s Advocacy of Religious
Establishments. Ryan Susato. Journal of the History of Ideas, 73 (Apr.,
2012), 273–93.
Pomp or Circumspection: Glasgow’s Episcopalians and the uprising of 1745.
Roger Edwards. Records of the Scottish Church History Society, XLI
(2012), 1–30.
Physiocracy, patriotism and reform Catholicism in Jean-Baptiste-Louis
Gresset’s anti-philosophe Enlightenment. Marcia Platon. French History, 26
( June, 2012), 182–202.
A Visual Documentation of Fil-Hispanic Churches, Part VI: Parish Church of
Saints Peter and Paul, Calasiao, Pangasinan. Regalado Trota Jose.
Philippiniana Sacra, XLVII (May–Aug., 2012), 731–60.
Exclusive oratories and magnificent pagodas: the Anglican proprietary
chapels of eighteenth-century Bath. Daniel Cummins. Historical Research,
LXXXV (May, 2012), 254–64.
Vicente Requeno, S.J. (1743–1811). Un obsesionado por el mito de la perfección clásica (incl. Apéndice Bibliográfico). Antonio Astorgano Abajo.
Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu, LXXX (II, 2011), 407–44.
Zachary Macaulay (1768–1838): The Faith of an Abolitionist. Iain A. Whyte.
Records of the Scottish Church History Society, XLI (2012), 31–52.
Pio VI a Firenze: governo della Chiesa e difesa del papato nell’Italia in
Rivoluzione. David Armando. Rivista di Storia e Letteratura Religiosa,
XLVII (1, 2011), 89–112.

640

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries
L’éducation populaire chez les protestants au début du XIXe siècle. Anne
Ruolt. Révue Réformée, 262 (2–3, 2012), 83–113.
Resisting Conformity: Anglican Mission Women and the schooling of girls in
early nineteenth-century West Africa. Fiona Leach. History of Education,
41 (Mar., 2012), 133–53.
Offiziale und Assessoren im Bistum Trier seit 1802. Karl Heinrich Theisen.
Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte, 128, Kanonistische
Abteilung 97 (2011), 400–09.
Evangelist at the Gate: Robert Morrison’s Views on Mission. Fuk-Tsang Ying.
Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 63 (Apr., 2012), 306–30.
God and Freedom: Radical Liberalism, Republicanism, and Religion in Spain,
1808–1847. Genís Barnosell. International Review of Social History, 57
(Apr., 2012), 37–59.
Kirche und Staat vor 200 Jahren. Die „verspätete“ Säkularisation in
Regensburg im Jahre 1810. Hans-Jürgen Becker. Zeitschrift der SavignyStiftung für Rechtsgeschichte, 128, Kanonistische Abteilung 97 (2011),
199–218.
A Romantic Visionary among the Orthodox: Archbishop Avgustin and Russian
Messianism in the Napoleonic Wars. James N. Class. St Vladimir’s
Theological Quarterly, 55 (4, 2011), 381–404.
The Irish Question. Ian Garrett. History Review, 72 (Mar., 2012), 17–20.
Los jesuitas y el colegio hispánico de Bolonia: el juramento constitucional de
1820. Carlos Nieto Sánchez. Estudios Eclesiásticos, 87 (Mar., 2012), 51–66.
„ Das Volk will zum Besten gehalten sein“—Das Augustana-Jubiläum von 1830
im Großherzogtum Sachsen-Weimar-Eisenach. Johannes Hund. Zeitschrift
für Kirchengeschichte, 122 (2–3, 2011), 201–32.
P. Pompilio Ma Cassella de Santo Domingo Vicario General de la Orden de las
Escuelas Pías (1830–1836). Adolfo García-Durán. Archivum Scholarum
Piarum, XXXVI (71, 2012), 149–204.
Padre Pompilio e i Campioti attraverso gli Atti Notarili e le testimonianze al
processo di Canonizzazione. Tarcisio Arnesano. Archivum Scholarum
Piarum, XXXVI (71, 2012), 71–147.
‘Discord and Confusion...under the Pretext of Religion’: European Diplomacy
and the Limits of Orthodox Ecclesiastical Authority in the Eastern
Mediterranean. Jack Fairey. International History Review, 34 (1, 2012),
19–44.
Ministerial Stipends in the Free Church of Scotland: Edinburgh 1843–1900.
John W. Sawkins. Records of the Scottish Church History Society, XLI
(2012), 71–112.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

641

The Election of Bishops by Clergy and People: Antonio Rosmini’s Neglected
Solution. Luca Badini Confalonieri II. Theological Studies, 73 (Mar., 2012),
82–114.
La intervención militar española en la restauración de Pío IX (1848–50).
Negociaciones internacionales y opinión pública.Vicente Puchol Sanchio.
Anthologica Annua, 51–52 (2004–2005), 11–246.
William Holman Hunt: Layered Belief in the Art of a Pre-Raphaelite Realist.
Nancy Davenport. Religion and the Arts, 16 (1–2, 2012), 29–77.
Modernizing Orthodoxy: Russia and the Christian East (1856–1914). Denis
Vovchenko. Journal of the History of Ideas, 73 (Apr., 2012), 295–317.
‘The Apostolate of the Pen’: Mgr. de Ségur and the Mobilization of Catholic
Opinion in Second Empire France. Sophie Heywood. French History, 26
( June, 2012), 202–21.
Worte der Macht. Der Kolonialismus in Texten protestantischer Missionare
des späten 19. und frühen 20. Jahrhunderts. Yan Suarsana. Zeitschrift für
Kirchengeschichte, 122 (2–3, 2011), 233–56.
British Foreign Policy and the Italian Occupation of Rome, 1870. Owain
Wright. International History Review, 34 (1, 2012), 161–76.
Nueva Modernidad, nueva laicidad. La República francesa frente a lo religioso
(1880–2009). Philippe Portier. Estudos de Religião, 25 (Dec., 2011),
29–42.
Le combat des Réformés Evangéliques au XXe siècle. Daniel Bergèse. Révue
Réformée, LXIII (Apr., 2012), 43–69.
Between the Devil and the Cross: Religion, Slavery, and the Making of the
Anlo-Ewe. Meera Venkatachalam. Journal of African History, 53 (Mar.,
2012), 45–64.
The Centralization Process of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church. An
Ecclesiastical History of Ethiopia during the 20th Century. Stéphane Angel.
Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 106 (July–Dec, 2011), 497–519.
The Origins of Creationism in the Netherlands:The Evolution Debate among
Twentieth-Century Dutch Neo-Calvinists. Abraham C. Flipse. Church
History, 81 (Mar., 2012), 104–47.
The Educational Work of the De La Salle Brothers and popular education in
Gipuzkoa in the twentieth century. Paulí Davila, Luis Ma Naya, and Hilario
Murua. History of Education, 41 (Mar., 2012), 213–33.
Cloistering the Mission:Abbot Torres and changes at New Norcia 1901–1910.
Katharine Massam. Australasian Catholic Record, 89 ( Jan., 2012), 13–25.
United We Sing: Union Hymnals, Holiness Hymnody, and the Formation of
Korean Revivalism (1905–2007). William T. Purinton. Asbury Journal, 66
(Fall, 2011), 36–56.

642

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

Scotland and the World Missionary Conference, Edinburgh 1910. Brian Stanley.
Records of the Scottish Church History Society, XLI (2012), 113–32.
Changing Hands: Clara Bishop and the Transfer of Oversight of the
Koishikawa, Japan,Work in 1913. Jonathan Straker. Restoration Quarterly,
54 (2, 2012), 91–104.
Die russische Emigration in der Tschechoslowakei zwischen den beiden
Weltkriegen und die katholische Kirche. Emilia Hrabovec. Römische
Quartalschrift, 106 (3–4, 2011), 253–77.
Albert Schweitzer and Adolf von Harnack—an unlikely alliance. James
Carleton Paget. Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte, 122 (2–3, 2011),
257–87.
„Möglichst viele vollendete Tatachen schaffen“: Zur Geltung und Fortgeltung
des Bayerischen Konkordats von 1924. Martin Löhnig and Mareike
Preisner. Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte, 128,
Kanonistische Abteilung 97 (2011), 219–73.
Cordyon de Gide devant les tribunaux catholiques. Jean-François Amadieu.
Bulletin de la Société de l’Histoire du Protestantisme Français, 158 ( Jan.,
Feb., Mar., 2012), 93–119.
Speak of the Devil: Hubert Wolf on Pope Pius XI and the Vatican Archives.
Doris L. Bergen. Harvard Theological Review, 105 ( Jan., 2012), 115–21.
‘The Trash Who are Obstacles in Our Way’: The Italian Fascist Party at the
Point of Totalitarian Lift Off, 1930–31. Philip Morgan. English Historical
Review, CXXVII (Apr., 2012), 303–44.
The “Third Rome” of Fascism: Demolitions and the Search for a New Urban
Syntax.Aristotle Kallis. Journal of Modern History, 84 (Mar., 2012), 40–79.
Documentos de la Nunciatura Apostólica de Madrid. Sobre las apariciones
de Ezkioga (1931–1934). Antonio M.a Artola Arbiza. Scriptorium
Victoriense, LVIII ( July–Dec., 2011), 337–94.
Adam Black: A Political Dissenter (1784–1874). Christine Lumsden. Records of
the Scottish Church History Society, XLI (2012), 53–69.
„Wechsel in der Kampftaktik“? 75 Jahre nach Erscheinen der Enzyklika „Mit
brennender Sorge.” Hubert Wolf. Stimmen der Zeit, 137 (Apr., 2012),
241–52.
Eretici della Chiesa, della patria e della razza. Una reazione cattolico-fascista
agli scritti ereticali di Delio Cantimori. Lucio Biasiori. Rivista Storica
Italiana, CXXII (Aug., 2011), 622–33.
L’Église de Pie XI et l’antisémitisme fasciste. Valerio De Cesaris. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 106 ( July–Dec, 2011), 521–44.
‘The Unholy Mrs. Knight’ and the BBC: Secular Humanism and the Threat to
the ‘Christian Nation’, c. 1945–60. Callum G. Brown. English Historical
Review, CXXVII (Apr., 2012), 345–76.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

643

Reunion of Christendom or Ecumenism? Relations between Catholics and
Protestants Before Vatican II in the South African Magazine The Southern
Cross. Philippe Denis. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 106 ( July–Dec,
2011), 546–69.
El Vaticano II en el diario conciliar de Otto Semmelroth. Santiago Madrigal
Terrazas. Estudios Eclesiásticos, 87 (Mar., 2012), 105–66.
James William Gleeson, the Ninth Bishop of Adelaide (Sixth Archbishop):
Some Aspects of His Theology and Practice. Robert Rice. Australasian
Catholic Record, 89 ( Jan., 2012), 69–87.
Modern Scottish Catholicism: A Valediction, Forbidding Mourning. Owen
Dudley Edwards. Records of the Scottish Church History Society, XLI
(2012), 133–55.
The Virgin Made Visible: Intercessory Images of Church Territory in Egypt.
Angie Heo. Comparative Studies in Society and History, 54 (Apr., 2012),
361–91.
‘Cause is not Quite What it Used to Be’:The Return of Secularisation. [Review
article] Dominic Erdozain. English Historical Review, CXXVII (Apr., 2012),
377–400.
American and Canadian
The SPCK and the American Revolution: The Limits of International
Protestantism. Katherine Carté Engel. Church History, 81 (Mar., 2012),
77–103.
Sovereignty and Salvation on the Frontier of the Early American Republic.
Sam Haselby. Past & Present, No. 215 (May, 2012), 165–92.
The Liberty Women of Boston: Evangelicalism and Antislavery Politics. Julie
Roy Jeffrey. New England Quarterly, LXXXV (Mar., 2012), 38–77.
A New Look at an Old Document: German/English Edition of the 1847
Constitution of the German Evangelical Lutheran Synod of Missouri, Ohio,
and Other States. Jack D. Ferguson. Concordia Historical Institute
Quarterly, 85 (Spring, 2012), 30–61.
A Bavarian Missionary Monk in the “Land of Freedom”: Fr. Andreas Zucktrigel,
O.S.B. Warren Murrman, O.S.B. American Benedictine Review, 62 ( June,
2011), 202–16.
Father Drumgoole’s Catechetical Playland: Education as Refuge in NineteenthCentury New York. Patrick J. Hayes. American Catholic Studies, 123
(Spring, 2012), 25–49.
‘The Catholic Mahdi of the North West’: Louis Riel and the Metis Resistance
in Transatlantic and Imperial Context. Geoff Read and Todd Webb.
Canadian Historical Review, 93 ( June, 2012), 171–95.

644

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

Frank Vlasak and the Beginnings of Prague, Oklahoma. Philip D. Smith.
Chronicles of Oklahoma, LXXXIX (Winter, 2011), 430–43.
Making a Religion of Intergroup Education: The National Conference of
Christians and Jews, 1927–1957. Harold S. Wechsler. Journal of Ecumenical Studies, 47 (Winter, 2012), 3–40.
Drawing the Holy in the Ordinary: Ade Bethune, the Catholic Worker, and the
Liturgical Movement. Katharine E. Harmon. American Catholic Studies,
123 (Spring, 2012), 1–23.
A Eulogy for a Prep School: Concordia Milwaukee 1951–1957. John E. Helmke.
Concordia Historical Institute Quarterly, 85 (Spring, 2012), 20–29.
An Historical Perspective for Women and Sacrament:The American Deaconess
Movement in the Roman Catholic Church, 1964–1976. Katharine E.
Harmon. Studia Liturgica, 41 (2, 2011), 186–210.
Someone Watching Your Back: Guardian Angels in Michael Patrick
MacDonald’s All Souls. James Silas Rogers. American Catholic Studies,
123 (Spring, 2012), 51–65.
Latin American
El Vicariato san Alonso de Orozco de Argentina y Uruguay. Emiliano Sánchez
Pérez, OSA. Religión y Cultura, LVII (Oct.–Dec., 2011), 815–72.
La visita apostolica in America Latina di Giovanni Genocchi e la pubblicazione
dell’enciclica Lacrimabili statu indorum di Pio X. Claudio Bonizzi. Euntes
Docete, LXV (1, 2012), 173–98.
Cien declaraciones de las Asambleas Plenarias del Episcopado Chileno
(1962–2010): Notas para una hermenéutica teológica. Fernando Berríos
Medel. Teología y Vida, LII (4, 2011), 695–720.

OTHER BOOKS RECEIVED
________
Adams, Alison, Stephen Rawles, and Alison Saunders. A Bibliography of
Claude-François Menestrier. Printed Editions, 1655–1765. [Travaux du
Grand Siècle, No XL.] (Geneva: Librairie Droz S.A. 2012. Pp. LVIII, 518.
$122.40 paperback.)
Barnes, Steven A. Death and Redemption: The Gulag and the Shaping of
Soviet Society. (Princeton: Princeton University Press. 2011. Pp. xii, 352.
$35.00 paperback.)
Blanco, Luigi (Ed.). Dottrine e istituzioni in Occidente. [Fondazione Bruno
Kessler.Annali dell’Istituto storico italo-germanico in Trento, Quaderni, 83.]
(Bologna: Società editrice il Mulino. 2011. Pp. 256. €20,00 paperback.) Two
of the ten essays published in this volume are “Stato e chiesa: passato, presente e futuro del modello di cooperazione tedesco,” by Christof Dipper
(pp. 87–108), and “La chiesa cattolica in Germania dopo la secolarizzazione: una nuova identità gerarchica,” by Wolfgang Schieder (pp.
109–28).
Bowker, John. The Message and The Book: Sacred Texts of the World’s
Religions. (New Haven:Yale University Press. 2012. Pp. viii, 408. $30.00.)
Brown, Christopher Boyd (Ed.). Luther’s Works, Vol. 60: Prefaces II. (St. Louis:
Concordia Publishing House. 2011. Pp. xx, 386. $49.99.) This volume contains Luther’s prefaces to the works of others from 1532 to 1545.
Burns, J. Patout, Jr. (Ed. and Trans.). Romans: Interpreted by Early Christian
Commentators. [The Church’s Bible.] (Grand Rapids, MI: William B.
Eerdmans Publishing. 2012. Pp. xxviii, 428. $46.00.)
Caravale, Giorgio. Forbidden Prayer: Church Censorship and Devotional
Literature in Renaissance Italy. Translated by Peter Dawson. (Burlington,
VT:Ashgate Publishing. 2011. Pp. xii, 296. $124.95.) Originally published as
L’orazione proibita: Censura ecclesiastica e letteratura devozionale
nella prima età moderna by Leo S. Olschki in 2003 and reviewed by
Franco Mormando, ante, XC (2004), 790–91.
Curran, Robert Emmett (Ed.). John Dooley’s Civil War: An Irish American’s
Journey in the First Virginia Infantry Regiment. [Voices of the Civil War.]
Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press. 2012. Pp. xxxiv, 516. $59.00.)
Dane, Joseph A. What Is a Book? The Study of Early Printed Books. (Notre
Dame: University of Notre Dame Press. 2012. Pp. xvi, 278. $30.00 paperback.)
645

646

OTHER BOOKS RECEIVED

Gau, Maurizio (Ed.). L’Europa di De Gasperi e Adenauer. La sfida della
ricostruzione (1945–1951). [Annali dell’Istituto storico italo-germanico in
Trento, Quaderni, 84.] (Bologna: Società editrice il Mulino. 2011. Pp. 500.
€34,00 paperback.)
Hoberman, Michael. New Israel/New England: Jews and Puritans in Early
America. (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press. 2011. Pp. xvi, 280.
$28.95 paperback.)
Kinney, Angela M. (Ed.). The Vulgate Bible. Vol. IV: The Major Prophetical
Books. Douay-Rheims Translation. Introduction by Swift Edgar.
[Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library.] (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University
Press. 2012. Pp. xxxviii, 1130. $29.95.)
Lewis, Neil, and Rega Wood (Eds.). Richard Rufus of Cornwall: In Aristotelis
de Generatione et Corruptione. [Auctores Britannici Medii Aevi, 21.] (New
York: Published for the British Academy by Oxford University Press. 2011.
Pp. xxiv, 326. $135.00.)
Martin, Dale B. New Testament History and Literature. (New Haven: Yale
University Press. 2012. Pp. xiv, 448. $18.00 paperback.)
Miller, Keith. St. Peter’s. [Wonders of the World.] (Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press. 2012. Pp. xx, 232. $14.95 paperback.) Originally published by Profile Books, Ltd., London, in 2007.
Monter, William. The Rise of Female Kings in Europe, 1300–1800. (New
Haven:Yale University Press. 2012. Pp. xviii, 272. $38.00.)
Ondus, Sr. Bernadette Marie, SS.C.M. (Ed.). 2011 Dobry Pastier/Good
Shepherd. (Harrisburg, PA: Slovak Catholic Federation. 2011. Pp. 320.
Paperback.)
O’Rourke, William. The Harrisburg 7 and the New Catholic Left. 40th
Anniversary Edition. With a new afterword. (Notre Dame: University of
Notre Dame Press. 2012. Pp. xx, 322. $27.00 paperback, $19.00 e-book
available at http://undpress.nd.edu/ebooks/. Originally published in 1972.
Özertural, Zekine, and Jens Wilkens (Eds.). Der östliche Manichäismus.
Gattungs– und Werksgeschichte. Vorträge des Göttinger Symposiums
vom 4./5. März 2010. [Abhandlungen der Akademie der Wissenschaften
zu Göttingen. Neue Folge, Band 17. Schriften der Kommission
„Manichäische Studien,“ Band I.] (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. 2011. Pp. x,
238. €93,41.)
Pilkinton, Mark C. Washington Hall at Notre Dame: Crossroads of the
University, 1864–2004. (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press.
2011. Pp. xxvi, 420. $30.00 paperback.)

OTHER BOOKS RECEIVED

647

Ponso, Marzia. Una storia particolare: «Sonderweg» Tedesco e identità europea. [Fondazione Bruno Kessler. Annali dell’Istituto storico italo-germanico
in Trento, Monografie, 59.] (Bologna: Società editrice il Mulino. 2011. Pp.
600. €38,00 paperback.)
Rothenberg, Naftali (Ed.). Wisdom by the Week: The Weekly Torah Portion as
an Inspiration for Thought and Creativity. (New York and Jerusalem:
Michael Scharf Publication Trust of Yeshiva University Press and the Van
Leer Jerusalem Institute. 2011. Pp. xviii, 694. $39.50.)
Tonezzer, Elena. Il corpo, il confine, la patria: Associazionismo sportivo in
Trentino (1870–1914). [Fondazione Bruno Kessler. Annali dell’Istituto
storico italo-germanico in Trento, Monografie, 60.] (Bologna: Società
editrice il Mulino. 2011. Pp. 332. €26,00 paperback.) The sixth chapter,“Il
tempo libero dei cattolici” (pp. 251–78), deals with the Catholic society “Il
Giovane Trentino.”
Whalen, Brett Edward (Ed.). Pilgrimage in the Middle Ages: A Reader.
[Readings in Medieval Civilizations and Cultures: XVI.] (Toronto:
University of Toronto Press. 2011. Pp. xiv, 386. $42.95 paperback.) A historical introduction is prefixed to each of the seventy-two documents here
collected. Muslim pilgrimages are included.