THE CATHOLIC
HISTORICAL REVIEW
VOL. 104

SPRING 2018

NO. 2

Peter Damian and the Communication
of Local Reform
KATHRYN L. JASPER*
This essay focuses on the letters of Peter Damian to study the on-theground consequences of reform. In the context of one of the most
dynamic periods of the Middle Ages, the eleventh century, the analysis
explores how notions about monastic reform traveled through (Saint)
Peter Damian’s communication network. Putting his letters into conversation with the monastic charters reveals the extent of the circulation of ideas and practices. The article argues that personal relationships were central to expanding Damian’s reform program. Using
social network theory to identify points of contact out of which social
relationships developed, this study locates patterns of communication.
Keywords: Reform, Monasticism, Hermits, Eleventh Century, Peter
Damian, Fonte Avellana, Communication, Friendship

I

n 1062 Peter Damian sent a letter explaining eschatological interpretations to a hermit at Fonte Avellana.1 He sent a strikingly similar letter
on the subject to two of his sisters in that very year.2 Two years earlier
when Countess Blanche of Milan entered a monastery she had received the
same arguments in a letter, which Damian cites in the later communication
to his sisters.3 The fact that he reused his material indicates that the recip-

* Kathryn L. Jasper is Assistant Professor of History at Illinois State University. The
author wishes to thank Maureen Miller, Professor of History at UC Berkeley, and John
Freed, Professor Emeritus of History at Illinois State University, for their insightful and
essential comments on this essay.
1. Kurt Reindel, ed., Die Briefe des Petrus Damiani, [Die Briefe der Deutschen Kaiserzeit, Monumenta Germaniae Historica, 4], 4 vols. (Munich, 1983–93), Letter 92, 14–26.
2. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 3, Letter 93, 26–30.
3. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 2, Letter 66, 247–79.

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ients were at least as important as the content. What was Damian trying
to accomplish with these letters? In the context of his entire corpus, the
answer becomes clear: Damian recognized the utility of reform from the
bottom up. Historians speak about the interpretive shift in scholarship to
study local Church reform movements (reform “on the ground”), and
reformers understood this notion as well.4 Peter Damian built and maintained personal relationships through communications, and used those
friendships to affect reform.
Letter collections by a single author present an opportunity to identify
trends in communication.5 Damian’s communication network was primarily an Italian one. Even by conservative calculations (excluding recipients
whose locations remain unknown6), an astonishing 142 letters (78%) of the
total letters in the corpus (180) were addressed to recipients in Italy,
including the popes. This study focuses on letters to Italian recipients,
which represent the vast majority of the corpus, and the distribution rates
reveal patterns. Of those 142 letters written between 1040 and 1072,
Damian sent 59 (nearly 42%) to parties residing in northeastern Italy, the
area around Fonte Avellana (today the regions of Emilia-Romagna and
the Marches, and parts of northern Tuscany). Damian frequently contacted local bishops and sought the aid of both the pope and the emperor
to reform the region around the monastic network he founded.
Peter Damian’s career as a papal legate and reform polemicist overshadows his role as an advocate for local reform. Damian, a previously
unknown grammar scholar from Ravenna, became prior of his hermitage
and head of its congregation by the early 1040s. In 1057 he was made a

4. Leidulf Melve calls this historiographical shift “the pluralization of ecclesiastical
reform.” See L. Melve, “Ecclesiastical Reform in Historiographical Context,” History Compass
13 (2015), 213–221.
5. Admittedly, letter collections deliberately organized by the author (or a later editor)
complicate a view of reality. Julian P. Haseldine, “Friendship Networks in Medieval Europe,”
AMITY: The Journal of Friendship Studies 1 (2013), 69–88, here 75. No letters have been
found in the archives of his recipients, but Damian saved copies of his letters at Fonte Avellana. Fonte Avellana offered the ideal environment to compose his texts. He had a substantial
library and a secretary at his disposal to record his thoughts, and a number of other brothers
to aid in the copying and editing of the letters. He also asked two bishops around 1059 to
help in the editing and correcting of his letters and in 1064 his disciple, John of Lodi,
assumed this task. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 2, Letter 62, 219–20, and vol. 3, Letter 116, 314–16.
6. For example, unidentified individuals (“Bishop V” or “Nobleman G”), and the
Empress Agnes. Agnes moved between Rome and the German court before retiring to a
monastery in Rome. To be conservative this study excludes Damian’s letters to Agnes in these
calculations.

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199

FIGURE 1. San Pedro Damiani, Biblioteca Classense, RavennaItalia, Andrea Barbiani, 18th c., courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

cardinal bishop and member of the papal curia, from which point he
became an international figure with broader contacts. This study means to
take nothing away from his profound spirituality and theological brilliance
but argues that Damian owed his successes to skillful networking as well.
It shifts the focus away from Damian’s theology and polemic to consider
the strategy and concentrations of his communications. These data reveal
that from the time of his conversion to the eremitic life at Fonte Avellana
in 1035 and up to his death in 1072/73,7 Damian took advantage of conflicts and property disputes to create a social network based in and around
the congregation of Fonte Avellana. His network served to address numerous clerical transgressions such as simony and usurpation of ecclesiastical
property, but also secular lordship. Whereas his contemporaries, and
notably Hildebrand (later Pope Gregory VII), encouraged partisanship to
enforce papal directives, Peter Damian remained largely bipartisan. His

7. John Howe, “Did St. Peter Damian Die in 1073? A New Perspective on His Final
Days,” Analecta Bollandiana 128 (2010), 67–71.

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PETER DAMIAN AND THE COMMUNICATION OF LOCAL REFORM

connection to the Roman Curia placed him in a unique position to create
bridges between universal and local reform.8
His preferred methods of reform proved to be opportune intervention
and social networking building on these interactions. Damian frequently
served as adviser and mediator during conflicts and often followed up with
the parties involved to reaffirm associations. Among his primary objectives
was the retention of monastic lands. Social relationships proved essential
in protecting ecclesiastical property, and property itself created relationships. Barbara Rosenwein has already shown that land held special significance in the interactions between regional elites and the monastery of
Cluny. In her monograph, To Be the Neighbor of Saint Peter, Rosenwein
describes how landholders would donate property, later reclaim that same
piece of property, then quit the claim and subsequently re-donate the land.
Often the quitclaim would appear in the same document alongside the
donation.9 Through this process of gift-giving, elites established and later
solidified ties with the monastery. As Rosenwein argues, property was the
“glue” of social relationships around Cluny, and this was also the case
around Fonte Avellana.10
This study relies on social network theory in so far as it detects patterns
in social relationships through which various parties shared ideas about
reform.11 A social network as an interconnected system typically includes
parties that support one another.12 In Damian’s personal network the vari8. Damian’s role in wider papal reform has received more attention. For example, see
Giuseppe Fornasari, Medioevo riformato del secolo XI: Pier Damiani e Gregorio VII (Naples,
1996); Nicolangelo D’Acunto, “Lotte religiose a Firenze nel secolo XI. Aspetti della rivolta
contro il vescovo Pietro Mezzabarba,” Aevum 66 (1993), 279–312; H.E.J. Cowdrey, “The
Papacy, the Patarenes and the Church of Milan,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society
5/18 (1968), 25–48.
9. Barbara Rosenwein, To Be the Neighbor of Saint Peter (Ithaca, 1989), 49–77.
10. Rosenwein, Neighbor of Saint Peter, 13.
11. Ronald L. Brieger, “The Analysis of Social Networks” in Handbook of Data Analysis,
ed. Melissa Hardy and Alan Bryman (London, 2004), 505-26, here 505. On social networks,
see also Stephen P. Borgatti and Martin G. Everett, “The Notion of Position in Social Network Analysis,” in Sociological Methodology, ed. Peter V. Marsden (London, 1992), 1–35;
Linton C. Freeman, “Social Networks and the Structural Experiment,” in Research Methods
in Social Network Analysis, ed. Linton C. Freeman, Douglas R. White, and A. Kimball
Romney (Fairfax, VA, 1989), 11–40; Noah E. Freidkin and Eugene C. Johnsen, “Social Positions in Influence Networks,” Social Networks 19 (1997), 209–22.
12. Sociologists would characterize Peter Damian’s network as a partial social network
because the context of the data includes not a set of interconnected individuals, but rather the
communications of one individual (Damian) to groups or persons in the set that seemingly
did not communicate with one another. See Brieger, “Analysis of Social Networks,” 508;

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201

ous parties involved were notionally and pragmatically incompatible. Moreover, these parties exchanged communications only with Damian. There is
no evidence that they communicated among themselves. The nature of the
evidence prevents a fuller analysis of the structure of the network or its
interconnectivity with additional networks, although the source material
here is not limited to letters. The charters of Fonte Avellana, the charters of
its daughter houses, and various vitae of eleventh-century saints supplement
the information in the corpus and help to reconstruct Damian’s network.13
It is not the goal of this article to discover the “true” nature of
Damian’s friendships or to distinguish between spiritual and pragmatic
friendships;14 rather, through case studies the article uncovers how relationships began and, when possible, how Damian helped them to evolve in
the interest of reform. Damian’s communications anticipated the friend-

Edward O. Laumann, Peter V. Marsden, and David Prensky, “The Boundary Specification
Problem in Network Analysis,” in Applied Network Analysis: A Methodological Introduction, ed.
Ronald S. Burt and Michael J. Minor (Beverly Hills, CA: 1983), 18–34; Peter V. Marsden,
“Models and Methods for Characterizing the Structural Parameters of Groups,” Social Networks 3 (1981), 1–27.
13. For example, see Paul D. McLean, The Art of the Network: Strategic Interaction and
Patronage in Renaissance Florence (Durham, NC, 2007). For a discussion of trends in the study
of medieval letters, see Walter Ysaebert, “Medieval Letters and Letter Collections as Historical Sources: Methodological Questions and Reflections and Research Perspectives (6th–14th
Centuries),” Studi medievali: Revista della Fondazione Centro Italiano di Studi sull’Alto Medioevo 50 (2009), 41–73. A good review of studies on friendship networks can be found in Julian
P. Haseldine, “Friendship Networks,” 69–88. See also, Margaret Mullett, “Power, Relations
and Networks in Medieval Europe,” Belgisch Tijdschrift voor Filologie en Geschiedenis/Revue
Belge de Phililogie et d’Histoire 83 (2005), 255–314, here 255–59.
14. Sir Richard Southern’s 1963 monograph on Anselm of Canterbury raised a crucial
question on medieval relationships: whether the language of medieval friendship corresponded to the nature of the friendship itself. Richard Southern, Saint Anselm and his Biographer (Cambridge, 1963); R. Southern, Saint Anselm: A Portrait in a Landscape (Cambridge,
1990). Southern argued against a connection concerning language and reality in Anselm’s letters. His student, Brian Patrick McGuire, argued precisely the opposite and perceived the
vocabulary of medieval Cistercians as rooted in authentic (not merely performed) emotion.
Brian Patrick McGuire, Friendship and Community: The Monastic Experience 350–1250 (1988;
repr. Ithaca, 2010). See also H.M. Canatella, “Friendship in Anselm of Canterbury’s Correspondence: Ideals and Experience,” Viator: Medieval and Renaissance Studies 38:2 (2007),
351–67. In terms of networks, this interest is crucial to locate social circles. If the application
of descriptors reveals the nature of the relationship, by extension contacts can be organized
into networks (political, institutional, social). On this issue, see Julian P. Haseldine, “Friends,
Friendship and Networks in the Letters of Bernard of Clairvaux,” Cîteaux: commetarii cistercienses 57 (2006), 243–79, here 248. See also, Julian P. Haseldine, “Understanding the Language of Amicitia: The Friendship Circle of Peter of Celle (c. 1115–1183),” Journal of
Medieval History 20 (1994), 237–60.

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PETER DAMIAN AND THE COMMUNICATION OF LOCAL REFORM

ship network of Gregory VII, described in the excellent article by I.S.
Robinson, which characterizes his network as one that relied on individual
ties to create support for papal reform.15 More recent studies of on-theground Gregorian reform focus on the role of Gregory’s legates, and in this
respect Damian was unique in that he served in some contexts as an agent
of the papacy and in others as an autonomous reformer.16 Robinson’s argument about the centrality of personal charisma in disseminating papal
reform rings as true for Damian as it did for Gregory.
Damian did not seek obedience and submission to the papacy with his
communications, but obedience to his vision of an ideal Christian society.
Patricia Ranft identifies the concept of witness as central to this vision and
to Damian’s theology. “Witness” also corresponded to his networking strategies.17 As Ranft writes, “[Witness] is an inclusive title used to express the
totality of [the Apostles’] faith and their social responsibility. Here is the historical significance of witness. It mandates a relationship joining the individual and the community. It is a relationship of communication and interdependence; to be saved one must save others.”18 The idea of witness was the
foundation of Damian’s ecclesiology; he understood the foundation of the
Church as the interdependence of the individual and the community.19

15. I.S. Robinson, “The Friendship Network of Gregory VII,” History 63 (1978), 1–22.
See also H.E.J. Cowdrey, Gregory VII 1073–1085 (Oxford, 1998); Kristine R. Rennie,
“Extending Gregory VII’s ‘Friendship Network’: Social Contacts in Late Eleventh-Century
France” History 93: 312 (2008), 475–96.
16. For example, on Peter Damian and the Florentine bishop Peter Mezzabarba, see
William D. McCready, Odiosa Sanctitas: St Peter Damian, Simony, and Reform, [Studies and
Texts 17, Mediaeval Law and Theology, 4], (Toronto, 2011).
17. Patricia Ranft, The Theology of Peter Damian: ‘Let Your Life Always Serve as a Witness’ (Washington. DC, 2011), 8–11. See also P. Ranft, The Theology of Work: Peter Damian
and the Medieval Religious Movement (Washington. DC, 2006).
18. Ranft, Theology of Peter Damian, 11.
19. The following works provide a good overview of Damian’s theology and ecclesiology: Nicolangelo D’Acunto, I Laici nella Chiesa e nella Società secondo Pier Damiani: Ceti
Dominanti e Riforma Ecclesiastica nel Secolo XI (Rome, 1999); André Cantin, Fede e dialettica
nell’XI secolo (Milan, 1996) and an earlier book, Les sciences séculières et la foi: les deux voies de
la science au jugement de S. Pierre Damien, 1007–1072 (Spoleto, 1975); Michel Grandjean,
Laïcs dans L’Église regards de Pierre Damien, Anselme de Cantobéry (Paris, 1994); Irvin M.
Resnick, Divine Power and Possibility in Saint Peter Damian’s De Divina Omnipotentia
(Leiden, 1992); Jacques Leclercq, San Pierre Damien, Ermite et Homme d’Eglise (Rome, 1960);
Jean Gonsette, S. Pierre Damien et la culture profane (Louvain, 1956); Fridolin Dressler, Petrus
Damiani. Leben und Werk (Rome, 1951); Owen J. Blum, Saint Peter Damian: His Teaching on
the Spiritual Life (Washington DC, 1947); Joseph Anton Endres, Petrus Damiani und die
weltliche Wissenschaft, [Beiträge zur Geschichte der Philosphie des Mittelalters, vol.
7/3], (Münster, 1910).

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Damian built his paradigm of the Church on the idea of a Christian
community, in which both lay people and ecclesiastics participated and
collaborated in the reform of the Church. His letters stand as a testament
to his repeated attempts at cooperation with lay and ecclesiastical magnates
in Italy. Damian also promoted the acceptance of monastic practices in lay
piety.20 While he acknowledged that life in the world required some modifications to monastic observance, performing penance and engaging in
contemplation were possible expressions of lay devotion.21 In his vita of
Saint Romuald of Ravenna, Damian wrote that he wanted Romuald’s life
to serve as a model people could emulate.22 For Damian, monasteries represented the foundation of reform. In the 1040s and 1050s Damian put his
words into action when he founded several daughter houses.
Damian did not stop at constructing a network of daughter houses
dependent on Fonte Avellana.23 From the time of his conversion he emulated the Romualdian approach: he spent time at other monasteries for the
sake of reform. The following examples of contact and communications
among monasteries around Fonte Avella show that Damian deliberately
created connections among houses; that is, he built a monastic network.
Damian did not consistently have direct, tangible authority over these
houses, but he dispensed counsel and enacted reforms. He was a spiritual
adviser to the monastery of Saint Mary at Pomposa, and he lived there for
at least a year from 1040 until 1041.24 Damian’s decision seems strategic.

20. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 1, Letter 17, 155–167.
21. Peter Damian, Vita Beati Romualdi, ed. Giovanni Tabacco (Rome, 1957), Chapter
37, 78.
22. Vita Romualdi, ed. Tabacco, 171.
23. For further reading on the relationship between Gamogna and Acereta, see
Kathryn L. Jasper, “Reforming the Monastic Landscape: Peter Damian’s Design for Personal
and Communal Devotion” in Rural Space in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Age: The Spatial
Turn in Premodern Studies, ed. Albrecht Classen, [Fundamentals of Medieval and Early
Modern Culture 9] (Berlin, 2012), 193–207.
24. Johannes of Lodi, Vita Petri Damiani, in Studien zue literarischen Wirksamkeit des
Petrus Damiani, ed. Stephan Freund, [Monumenta Germaniae Historica] (Hannover, 1995),
chapters 5–6. On the relationship between Peter Damian and the monastery of Pomposa, see
Pio Laghi, “S. Guido, abbate di Pomposa,” Analecta Pomposiana 3 (1967), 7–107; Réginald
Grégoire, “Pomposa et la reforme de l’eglise au XI siecle,” Analecta Pomposiana 1 (1965), 3–
19; Benedetto Calati, “Il De perfectione monachorum di S. Pier Damiano ed il contributo di
Pomposa alla riforma monastica del secolo XI,” Analecta Pomposiana 1 (1965), 21–36; Antonio Samaritani, “Contributi di Pomposa alla storia del secolo XI,” Analecta Pomposiana 1
(1965), 37–72; Jacques Leclercq, “Cultura spirituale e ideale riformatore dell’abbazia di Pomposa nel secolo XI,” Analecta Pomposiana 1 (1965), 73–88; Ludovico Gatto, Studi mainardeschi
e pomposiani, [Collana di saggi e ricerche 4] (1969).

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The abbots of Pomposa participated in many reform councils and synods
held between 1014 and 1068. 25 Although the monastery remained loyal to
the German kings from the time Otto III declared the house a royal
monastery in 1001,26 during Damian’s lifetime, and especially at the time of
the schism involving Cadalus, the monks strove to balance their loyalty to
the emperor with their relationship with Damian and Pope Alexander II.27
Damian had been particularly close to Pomposa’s Abbot Guido, who
died in 1046, and Guido’s successors, the first and second abbots Mainard,
who inherited his friendship.28 In fact, he dedicated his well-known work,
De perfectione monastica, to the second Abbot Mainard.29 Of the three
abbots, Guido expressed the most interest in reform. He was also well connected; he counted Archbishop Gebhard of Ravenna among his friends
when he reached out to Damian.30 In 1041 Guido invited him to deliver
several lectures on Scripture to the community and to respond to specific
questions.31 Damian communicated with Pomposa’s monks in the early
1040s, and even sent a letter to a new brother on the eve of his conversion
to the monastic life. These letters were steeped in the language of friendship but not the term amicitia. Recent studies have shown that friendship
did not depend on the concept of amicitia in that, in fact, amicitia could
indicate a more formal or even an estranged relationship.32 In a letter written to the entire community in 1044, Damian’s address to the abbot and
his brothers began with “beloved father and lords” and continued, “my
heart is inflamed by the fire of your love.”33 He lamented the fact that he

25. Réginald Grégoire, “Pomposa,” 6–7.
26. According to Réginald Grégoire, during the schism created by Henry IV’s appointment of the antipope Clement III, all documents from Pomposa recognize Clement as the
only pontiff. Grégoire, “Pomposa,” 5–6, 18.
27. Calati, “Pier Damiano ed il contributo di Pomposa,” 58.
28. Giovanni Lucchesi, “Per una vita di San Pier Damiani. Componenti cronologiche
e topografiche” in San Pier Damiani nel IX centenario della morte (1072–1972), 3 vols. (Cesena,
1972). Hereafter cited as Vita, ed. Lucchesi. Lucchesi in his Vita, vol. 1 identifies two abbots
of Pomposa named Mainard (139). The second abbot Mainard was appointed by the regent
on behalf of Henry IV in 1063. Grégoire, “Pomposa,” 9.
29. Calati, “Il De perfectione monachorum,” 21. Calati states that although some debate
surrounds the identity of the letter’s intended recipient, it was absolutely Mainard and his
community. Grégoire agrees with Calati on this point. “Pomposa,” 15.
30. Grégoire, “Pomposa,” 7.
31. Vita S. Petri Damiani, ed. Stephan Freund, ch. 6.
32. Haseldine, “Letters of Bernard of Clairvaux,” 246.
33. Owen J. Blum, ed., The Letters of Peter Damian, [The Fathers of the Church:
Medieval Continuation], 7 vols. (Washington DC, 1989–2005), Letter 6, 95. The entire passage in Latin is as follows: “Dilectissimi patres et domini, qualiter cor meum vestrae karitatis

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was away from the monastery and asked that the monks regard him and
Fonte Avellana as their own “legal possession” (quasi proprii vestri iuris possessionem), which seems to be an honorary designation, but indicated deference to Pomposa.34 He referred to his own brethren “as [Pomposa’s] subjects and servants” (tamquam vestris subiectis atque domesticis), thereby
yielding the superior position in the relationship to Pomposa.35
Damian potentially provoked conflict with the monastery when he disparaged the behavior of its abbot in the early 1050s, but even in this letter
he employed the language of friendship. He criticized the first Abbot
Mainard for his fondness of fine garments.36 The abbot, as the head of
Pomposa, set the example for its behavior and by saying nothing, Damian
ran the risk of losing the entire house to the excesses of its prelate. He also
found avarice and pride particularly egregious sins. His words expressed his
exasperation; he had brought the subject to the abbot’s attention many
times but to no avail. He reminded the abbot of earlier conversations, a
strategy he often used in his letters to underline the gravity of the transgression; the transgressor, in this case the abbot, had already been made aware
of his sin multiple times and persisted in that sin with full knowledge of his
offense. Damian likened himself to a doctor caring for a feverish patient: a
doctor exhausts all his options before admitting failure. He had tried gentle
admonishments until at last he threatened hellish punishments.37 Near the
close of the letter Damian reminded the abbot of his friendship calling him
“dilectissime” (“dearest friend”) a term he reserved for closer relationships.38
Later in the 1050s he rebuked the monk Honestus for similar overindulgence (gluttony).39 Damian followed Pomposa’s spiritual progress closely as
he was remarkably aware of the failings of individual monks. He addressed
Honestus as “frater” in the first several paragraphs of a letter filled with
Scriptural passages condemning gluttony. Toward the close, he called Honestus his friend (“dilectissime”) and repeated the designation in his final
salutation.40 These communications were not strictly business-like but profoundly personal. Damian’s communications to Pomposa break off for
nearly a decade following this letter, perhaps not surprising considering his
incedio ferveat, quibus circa Pomposiae monasterium amoris facibus inardescat.” Reindel,
Briefe, vol. 1, Letter 6, 114.
34. Blum, Letters, vol. 1, Letter 6, 95; Reindel, Briefe, vol. 1, Letter 6, 114.
35. Blum, Letters, vol. 1, Letter 6, 95–96; Reindel, Briefe, vol. 1, Letter 6, 114.
36. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 1, Letter 24, 227.
37. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 1, Letter 24, 227.
38. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 1, Letter 24, 231.
39. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 1, Letter 27, 244.
40. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 1, Letter 27, 245.

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appointment to cardinal in 1057, but he did not forget the monastery. He
composed one final letter dated after 106741 in which Damian offered his
opusculum De perfectione monachorum (“On the Perfection of Monks”). He
continued to use the language of friendship, calling the monks his brothers
and “karissimi” (“dearest ones”).42 His text encouraged the brothers of Pomposa to ascend to the eremitic life.
In 1042 Damian stayed at the monastery of Saint Vincent in Furlo,43
very near to Fonte Avellana on the Via Flaminia, writing the Life of Saint
Romuald. He made an appropriate decision to write Romuald’s vita at
Saint Vincent. The saint had reformed the monastery years before.44 One
of his most famous disciples was its former abbot, Gaudentius.45 While in
residence, a conflict presented itself when retainers of the Margrave Boniface of Tuscany usurped the monastery’s property. Damian took advantage
of the situation. He interceded on the monks’ behalf with Boniface46 and
as a result initiated a relationship with the House of Canossa. Perhaps
Boniface would have been predisposed to cooperate. Already on good
terms with the monastery at Camaldoli, also a Romualdian foundation, it
was a happy accident that the monks at Pomposa received his confession
every year.47 Damian wrote to Boniface about temporal power in 1042. At
the close of the letter, he begged the margrave to “protect the monasteries
that lie in your area and not allow them to be plundered or molested by the
many [soldiers] under your command.”48 He requested that Boniface pay

41. The identification of the addressee of this later letter as the second abbot Mainard
and his community (containing the opusculum De perfectione monachorum) remains controversial. For a discussion on the subject, see Reindel, Briefe, vol. 4, Letter 153, 13n1.
42. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 4, Letter 153, 15.
43. Vita S. Petri Damiani, ed. Freund, ch. 6. The monastery of Saint Vincent is also
known as San Vincenzo di Petra Pertusa and San Vincenzo al Furlo or Badia del Furlo.
44. See Giovanni Benedetto Mittarelli and Anselmo Costadoni, eds., Annales Camaldulenses Ordinis Sancti Benedicti, vol. 2 (Venice, 1756), 333–34.
45. In this Vita of the saint, Damian recounts stories of the relationship between Gaudentius and Romuald. Vita Beati Romualdi, ed. Tabacco, ch. 57.
46. In both Reindel’s and Blum’s editions, the dating of Letter 2 remains disputed. See
Lucchesi, Vita, no. 203.
47. Donizo, Vita Mathildis, 1, 16, trans. Romano Marradi (Mantua, 2007), 136–37;
also discussed in Grégoire, “Pomposa,” 8. Donizo reported in the Vita Mathildis that when
Guido of Pomposa discussed the evils of simony with his friend Boniface, he eventually persuaded him not to sell any more churches. Donizo, Vita Mathildis, 1, 16, 136–37.
48. Blum, Letters, vol. 1, Letter 2, 85–6. It is worth quoting the entire passage in Latin:
“De monasteriis autem, quae nunc tibi vicina sunt, ex Dei parte depecor et humiliter peto, ut
manum illis tuae defensionis adhibeas et ab exercitus multitudine, qui tecum sunt, non
depraedari vel molestari permittas.” Reindel, Briefe, vol. 1, Letter 2, 104.

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particular attention to Saint Vincent and that he return to the monastery
its “legal control, [and] the estates held by usurpers.”49
Damian cultivated additional ties between Saint Vincent and local
magnates. In a letter to Landulf Cotta of Milan, he describes his efforts to
lure both a rich nobleman and the bishop of Fossombrone to the monastery.
Damian admitted he had pressured the lay aristocrat Ardoinus “with fawning and flattery,” but the noble had made numerous excuses and continually
delayed his conversion.50 (According to Damian the abbot of Saint Vincent
was simultaneously dissuading Ardoinus from entering the monastery
because the monks depended on his generous grants.) The phrase “fawning
and flattery” belied the persona of a straightforward humble hermit. One
could argue that for Damian, the ends justified the means, but here he
admitted to using skillful rhetoric to cause someone to take a particular
action. And indeed his letters prove that to be the case. In the end Ardoinus
fell ill and died before he could convert. Bishop Adam of the nearby see of
Fossombrone made constant excuses when Damian asked why he had not
yet fulfilled his promise to join the brothers at Saint Vincent. A devotion to
his see prevented Adam’s conversion, despite his willingness to resign. He
professed concerns that plunderers would overrun his diocese upon his
departure. In the end he also succumbed to illness and died a bishop.51
Damian exerted great spiritual influence over the brothers of Saint
Vincent. In 1066 he wrote that he had established a stricter regiment of
Lenten observances at the monastery including walking barefoot and
mutual chastisement using switches.52 Damian established similar reforms
in other nearby monasteries but worked through agents acting on his behalf.
Although no direct communications survive, traces of connections between
Fonte Avellana and the monasteries of Saint Mary in Sitria and Saint
Aemilianus in Congiuntoli can be found in the seventeenth-century vita of
Domenic Loricatus, and Damian’s own vita of the saint and once hermit of
Fonte Avellana. Damian desired Saint Mary in Sitria to return to its earlier
state when Romuald had resided at the hermitage he had founded. One of
49. Blum, Letters, vol. 1, Letter 2, 86. “Praedia, quae ab invasoribus detinentur, legali
sibi iure retituas et a cunctis mortalibus protectionis tuae scuto defendas.” Reindel, Briefe, vol.
1, Letter 2, 105.
50. Blum, Letters, vol. 3, Letter 70, 103. “. . . cevendo, blandiendo. . .” Reindel, Briefe,
vol. 2, Letter 70, 312.
51. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 2, Letter 70, 316–17.
52. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 3, Letter 142, 316–17. On the subject of monastic flagellation
and Peter Damian, see John Howe, “Voluntary Ascetical Flagellation: From Local to Learned
Traditions,” The Haskins Society Journal 24 (2012), 4l–61.

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Damian’s most important disciples, Leo of Sitria, lived at Fonte Avellana.
His friendship with Leo did not serve the reform of the monastery, however, because the epithet attached to his name indicates Sitria was an earlier
residence.53 But according to the vita of Domenic, Damian sent his brother
Domenic from his cell at Fonte Avellana to Sitria in the 1050s to act as its
prior.54 In so doing, Damian could affect change in the monastery from the
top down. Domenic then lived in a cell outside Saint Aemilianus in Congiuntoli, a monastery very near to Sitria, probably at Damian’s request. In
Damian’s vita of Domenic, he characterized the abbot of Saint Aemilianus
as “a young man, easygoing in manner and unaccustomed to giving spiritual
advice.”55 The abbot usually dispensed inappropriately light penances, but
in one case imposed a just and weighty penance (the chanting of thirty
psalters) on Domenic. Damian surmised that the presence of Domenic
brought about positive change at the monastery.
As Damian facilitated these connections among monasteries in the
Marches, during those same years preceding 1057 he directed nearly all his
correspondence to recipients in the Marches including bishops and lay
magnates. But he did not stop there. Damian acted as a bridge between
wider movements and local reform in his region.56 He first lamented the
deplorable state of the Marches in 104357 when he asked Lawrence of
Amalfi to bring to the pope’s58 attention the problematic bishops of Fano
and Pesaro. Two years later he wrote Pope Gregory VI directly on the
matter, and added the bishop of Castello59 to the list of errant clergy.

53. Damian had multiple disciples named Leo. Letter 28, including his minor work,
Dominus vobiscum, was possibly addressed to Leo of Sitria. See Annales Camaldulenses, vol. 2,
158. See Reindel, Briefe, vol. 2, Letter 44, 17–19, and Reindel, Briefe, vol. 3, Letter 110, 238.
54. Ludovicus Iacobillius, Vite de’Santi e Beati dell’Umbria, vol. 3 (Bologna, 1971
[1661]), 338; Ibid., vol. 2 (Bologna, 1971), 336–39. See also Ottavio Turchi, La Vita di S.
Domenico Confesore detto il Loricato erimita Benedettino di Santa Croce di Fonte Avellana tratta
dalli scritti di San Pier Damiani (Rome, 1749).
55. Blum, Letters, vol. 4, Letter 109, 224. “Ille autem erat iuvenculus, levis morbus et
consiliis spiritalibus insuetus. . .” Reindel, Briefe, vol. 3, Letter 109, 221.
56. As concerns correspondents outside of his immediate area, Damian wrote one letter
to Lawrence of Amalfi, seven letters to Rome, and two letters to Emperor Henry III before
1057.
57. Regarding the dating of this letter, Blum writes, “This letter must be dated after the
banishment of Archbishop Lawrence from Amalfi in 1039, and before the expulsion of Benedict IX from Rome (September, 1044).” Blum, Letters, vol. 1, Letter 4, 90n1.
58. Blum notes that Damian could refer here to Benedict IX or Gregory VI, but more
probably to Benedict. Blum, Letters, vol. 1, Letter 4, 91n5.
59. Blum argues that is bishopric is most likely that of Città di Castello, subject to
Rome. Blum, Letters, vol. 1, Letter 13, 132n17.

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Damian exhorted the pope to “overthrow the seats of the money-brokers
selling doves.”60 He described the bishop of Pesaro as an “adulterous,
incestuous, and perjured plunderer.”61 As one might expect, this letter
made a point to express great deference to the pope. Its opening lines “Reverendissime domine regi regum Christo gratias refero” (“Most Revered
Lord, I give thanks to Christ the King of Kings”)62 communicated respect
and formality. The remainder of the letter recounted the situation with
straightforward and pragmatic language; predictably, there was no discussion of friendship or any other personal relationship with the pope.
When Damian contacted the pope, this time Clement II in 1047, to
bring the problem of the unreformed local clergy to his attention his tone
retained its formality. In writing the pope, he claimed, he fulfilled the
request of Emperor Henry III, whom he had previously engaged in 1046
when supporters of the former archbishop of Ravenna had been petitioning the emperor on his behalf for the return of his see. In an earlier letter
Damian had praised the emperor for his expulsion of Widger, “The church
is rescued from the clutches of a wild plunderer, and your well-being is
hailed as the salvation of all the world.”63 Damian told Clement that the
emperor often wrote to discuss the dire condition of the church in the
Marches, “The invincible lord Emperor commissioned me, not once but
frequently, and, if I may dare say so, deigned to ask that I come to you. He
requested that I inform you both of what was happening in the churches
of our region and of what I deemed imperative for you to do.”64 Damian
remarked how often he had spoken with Henry on the subject, which conveyed to the reader that the relationship with Damian held some significance to the emperor, and that he had personally designated Damian to
intervene in his name. Damian addressed the emperor using the same lan-

60. Blum, Letters, vol. 1, Letter 13, 131–32. “Reparetur nunc aureum apostolorum
saeculum, et praesidente vestra prudencia aecclesiastica refloreat disciplina. Reprimatur avaricia ad episcopales infulas anhelancium, everantur cathedrae columbas vendencium nummulariorum.” Reindel, Briefe, vol. 1, Letter 13, 144.
61. Blum, Letters, vol. 1, Letter 13, 131–32. “. . . [Pensaurensis ecclesia] de manu illius
adulteri, incestuosi, periuri atque raptoris.” Reindel, Briefe, vol. 1, Letter 13, 144.
62. English translation here by the author of this article.
63. Blum, Letters, vol. 1, Letter 20, 195. “. . . aecclesia de manu violenti praedonis
eripitur et salus esse tocius mundi vestra incolomitas iudicatur.” Reindel, Briefe, vol. 1, Letter
20, 200.
64. Blum, Letters, vol. 1, Letter 26, 244. “. . . quia domnus invictissimus imperator non
semel sed depe mihi praecepit et, si dicere audio, rogare dignatus est, ut ad vos venire et, quae
in ecclesiis nostrarum parcium agerentur quaeque mihi necessaria a vobis fieri viderentur,
vestris auribus intimarem.” Reindel, Briefe, vol. 1, Letter 26, 240.

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guage as he had in the earlier letter to Pope Gregory VI, “We give boundless praise to Christ, the King of Kings, because of your royal majesty’s
holiness and virtuous gifts.”65
In the 1047 letter Damian greeted Pope Clement as “excellentissime
domine” (“Most Excellent Lord”) while he was merely “peccator
monachus” (“a sinner monk”).66 He argued that despite the papacy’s return
from “darkness” (high praise for the pope) the Marches remain abandoned
and locked in that same darkness (tenebris).67 He asked that the pope
employ the vast resources in his arsenal to bring to heel the errant bishop
of Fano, excommunicated yet still in office, and the bishop of Osimo,
“involved in so many and such unprecedented crimes.”68 Damian’s
repeated pleas lament a lack of action on the part of the papacy to address
these problems in the Marches, although the language of these letters
never strayed from respect and decorum. Damian never mentioned amicitia
or any other similar reference to friendship, but the crises in the Marches
allowed him to build political relationships with popes and the emperor.
The debacle of Widger granted Damian an opportunity to write to the
emperor, and the behavior of simoniac bishops in the Marches provided a
reason to contact the popes.
In the 1050s Damian stopped asking for help and took matters into
his own hands. In some cases, occasions for networking landed on his
doorstep. Around 1050 he became involved in a dispute over jurisdiction
between the bishops of Senigallia and Fossombrone. Pope Leo IX had
granted Damian a piece of land in a locality known as Massa Sorbituli
upon which he built a church. Both of the aforementioned bishops claimed
this particular area, and Damian feared he had added to the conflict by
having Bishop Benedict of Fossombrone consecrate the church. It is
impossible to know if Damian was already aware of the conflict when he
asked Benedict to consecrate the church. In any case, he later wrote to
Bishop Robert of Senigallia seeking the addressee’s forgiveness. He attributed his offense to misinformation: “I allowed this church to be consecrated by the bishop of Fossombrone, not as an act derogatory of your position, but because I heard from the inhabitants there that it was his
65. Blum, Letters, vol. 1, Letter 20, 194. “Immensas laudes regi regum Christo referimus, quia sanctitatem et virtutum dona. . .” Reindel, Briefe, vol. 1, Letter 20, 199.
66. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 1, Letter 26, 240.
67. Blum, Letters, vol. 1, Letter 26, 245. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 1, Letter 26, 241.
68. Blum, Letters, vol. 1, Letter 26, 246. “. . . tot et inauditis criminibus. . .” Reindel,
Briefe, vol. 1, Letter 26, 241–42.

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predecessor’s customary right, even though a recent one.”69 Damian then
declared his allegiance to Robert, owing to the fact he had thus far been
unable to maintain a friendship with the bishop of Fossombrone. He even
went so far as to describe the latter as his enemy (inimicus). He asked
Robert to protect this small parcel of land, which he declared indubitably
part of his diocese. Damian addressed Robert with respect but also called
him “dilectissime” as he had called the monks of Pomposa.70
Damian inserted himself into another dispute over property in 1051
that had consequences for monastic reform.71 A rift had occurred among
the canons of Fano, the majority of whom had chosen individual habitation over living in common, and the decision affected the shared patrimony. Damian urged them all to return to communal life in friendly discourse, but nonetheless scolded the canons for what he called an absurd
decision. He referred to the canons as “dilectissimi,”72 and “charissimi,”73
terms he reserved for more personal communications. His concern yet
again was the temptation of avarice and the dissolution of ordered monastic life, both resulting from a lack of shared property.
A few years later Damian responded to the bishop of Imola who had
asked him for advice in regards to a property case between two laypersons
that had nothing to do with ecclesiastical property.74 A man impatient to
claim his inheritance had wounded his benefactor and seized property that
he would inherit only upon the donor’s death. Damian declared that the
beneficiary had no further rights to the patrimony because he had violated
the original agreement by inflicting violence and that the owner would
retain possession as long as he lived. Damian cautioned that anyone acting
contrary to this decree would be subject to excommunication (presumably
he spoke for the bishop here). As regards the canons of Fano, Damian’s
intervention was unofficial and involved advice, not binding arbitration; in
69. Blum, Letters, vol. 1, Letter 34, 59. See 59n3 on the identity of Benedict. “Karissime pater, quod aecclesiam ab episcopo Simphronensi consecrari passus sum, testis est michi
conscientia, non causa vestrae derogationis feci, sed quia consuetudinem licet novam ab incolis sui decessoris audivi.” Reindel, Briefe, vol. 1, Letter 34, 335.
70. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 1, Letter 34, 336.
71. The letter dates to circa 1051. See Giovanni Miccoli, Chiesa Gregoriana. Ricerche
sulla riforma del secolo XI [Rome, 1999], 82; cited by Blum, Letters, vol. 1, Letter 39, 98n1.
72. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 1, Letter 39, 374, 384.
73. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 1, Letter 39, 379, 383.
74. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 2, Letter 42, 2–3. Augusto Campana dates this letter between
1053 and 1067. “Due lettere, nuove di S. Pier Damiani,” Revista di Storie della chiesa in Italia
1 (1947), 85–90. There is nothing in the letter to indicate that it was written after Damian’s
elevation to cardinal bishop.

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the second case, however, he dispensed a heavy penalty for violating his
decree. Both situations show that Damian considered himself a voice of
reason in the Marches, but the second indicates that at least one bishop
formally recognized that role as well.
Damian found the various crises in the Marches sufficiently compelling
to hold his attention until his death, though scholarship generally accepts
that he lost interest in local reform after his elevation to the papal curia in
1057. His later letters prove otherwise. Papal business allowed him to
broaden his communications as far as Constantinople,75 but after 1057 he
divided his focus between the Marches and Tuscany and wider concerns.
His reputation as arbiter remained intact. In one noteworthy example,
during Lent of 1067 Damian responded to the clergy and people of Faenza
and their request for a visit when their bishop, Peter, had died.76 In this
letter Damian explained that he was unable to come to Faenza due to a
recent illness.77 He did, however, promise a visit in the future and his counsel in the meantime. Damian obviously held some preeminence in Faenza;
the diocese sought his consent before taking action. He wrote, “So far as I
can gather, there was an agreement among you, a thing that has impressed
me deeply, and you were incited to follow unanimously what together you
determined to do, namely, not to elect a bishop until the arrival of the
king.”78 Damian approved the decision and encouraged the congregation to
request that the pope not invest a bishop but that the see remain vacant until
Henry IV could arrive. In the interim period, he recommended that they
find a suitable administrator, and if necessary he himself would come to
minister the sacraments until such an individual could be found.79
Though Damian had a relationship with Bishop Peter of Faenza, his
commitment to that diocese was not exceptional. He followed developments in the see of Gubbio closely throughout his career as well and even
after 1057. During Lent of 1069 or 1071, he wrote to Bishop Mainard of
Gubbio. As in his earlier correspondence to various bishops, he urged
Mainard to reject temporal wealth, but in this case, he was extremely crit75. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 3, Letter 91, 1–13.
76. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 3, Letter 147, 543–44.
77. Blum speculates that Damian refers here to the crisis in Florence, which he discusses in Letter 146. Blum, Letters, vol. 5, Letter 147, 167n2.
78. Blum, Letters, vol. 6, Letter 147, 167–68. “In quantum vero deprehendere possumus, unus spiritus fuit, qui et nostril cordis ingeniolum tetigit, et sanctam prudentiam vestram in id, quod inter vos pactum est atque conventum, unanimiter incitavit, videlicet ut non
eligatis episcopum usque ad regis adventum.” Reindel, Briefe, vol. 3, Letter 147, 543–44.
79. Blum, Letters, vol. 6, Letter 147, 168.

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ical of the prelate. He implored Mainard to recover church property
granted to laymen and to reform his practices and reproved him for allowing estates to fall into lay hands during his prelacy. He called Mainard his
brother (frater) and even “venerable” (venerabilis) brother, which could
mean that Mainard had formerly been a hermit at Fonte Avellana.80
Gubbio was the closest bishopric to Fonte Avellana, and other brothers of
the hermitage had also held the see before and after Mainard’s death.
Damian preferred more emotive language when he wrote to his other
brothers, but not in this letter. Mainard received hardly any salutation at
all, and Damian wasted no time in expressing his dissatisfaction: “Because
I know, brother, that you are not lacking in wisdom, I apply the discipline
of correction without fear and free from care.”81 Compared to an earlier
letter Damian wrote to his brother Stephen, the absence of affection
appears even more striking: “To my dear brother Stephen, a hermit out of
love for heavenly glory, Peter the least servant of the cross of Christ, send
greetings in the same mystery.”82 These greetings might differ because the
relationships between Damian and Mainard, and Damian and Stephen
differed. At the very least, Damian intended his rhetoric to sound more
intimate and pastoral in his letter to Stephen. In the letter to Mainard he
employed a strategy of emotional withholding. Damian withheld from
Mainard the friendly language that he shared with his other brothers.
Mainard, if he were a brother of Fonte Avellana, would have noticed. If he
were not a hermit but fellow bishop (episcopus frater), then the letter would
at the very least sound overly formal. At this point in his career nothing
compelled Damian to bend to Mainard or to soften his message. The
absence of fraternal caritas in this letter spoke volumes.
Damian never wrote to Italian clerics outside the Marches with the
same consistency he afforded Fonte Avellana’s neighbors. His letters to
outlying dioceses show he concentrated his reform outside of the region
primarily in times of immediate crisis for the papacy with few exceptions.
Indeed the two most significant interventions of Damian’s career as papal
80. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 4, Letter 157, 79–84. See n. 1 on 79 regarding the identity of
Mainard. See also Pompeo De Angelis, “I Vescovi Avellaniti a Gubbio,” in Gubbio e San Pier
Damiani: Atti del 13 Convegno del centro di studi avellaniti. Fonte Avellana-Gubbio, 1989 (Città
di Castello, 1991), 29–39.
81. Blum, Letters, vol. 7, Letter 157, 84. “Quia novi, frater, tibi non deesse prudenciam,
securus et absque formidine correpcionis adhibeo disciplinam.” Reindel, Briefe, vol. 4, Letter
157, 79.
82. Blum, Letters, vol. 2, Letter 50, 289. “Karissimo fratri Stephano, amore supernae
claritatis incluso, Petrus ultimus crucis Christi servus salute in idipsum.” Reindel, Briefe, vol.
2, Letter 50, 79.

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legate, the popular uprisings in Florence and Milan (Pataria), respectively,
over errant clergy, occurred in Italy as well. As mentioned above, he contacted Archbishop Lawrence of Amalfi to discuss deposing the bishops of
Fano and Pesaro in 1043.83 It is not until after 1058 that he contacts
another bishop outside the Marches.84
After 1057 when Damian was often away from the Marches his meddling extended to secular lordship. Beyond his ecclesiastical contacts
Damian acquired many prominent lay allies in the Marches. Even before
he became prior of Fonte Avellana he reached out to judges and magnates.85 Then the incident between the monastery of Saint Vincent and
Boniface of Tuscany opened a door to a relationship with his wife, Beatrice.
In 1057, several years after his letter to Boniface, he wrote his first communication to Boniface’s widow now married to Godfrey of Lower Lorraine.86 In the letter Damian responded to news received from Godfrey
that the two had decided to live in chastity. He had met Godfrey—in
person—in Rome where the duke had announced the couple’s intention,87
and shortly after Damian congratulated Beatrice on her good virtues and
likened the duchess to illustrious women who had lived in continence with
their husbands, including Sarah, wife of Abraham, and Galla, the second
wife of Theodosius I. To use Damian’s expression, his letter was full of
“fawning and flattery.”
Peter Damian’s approval of Beatrice’s husband gradually eroded by the
end of the 1050s. Damian concluded that Godfrey had mismanaged his
affairs so completely that he felt compelled to point out his failings. He
wrote Godfrey sometime between 1059 and 1063 to criticize his neglect of
Tuscany. He wrote, “I now repeat in my letter what I have often said to
you in person. I am saying, indeed, that I am greatly displeased that you
neglect this principality in which almost 100,000 people live, as if it were
some little country town, and do not turn it over to a governor who will

83. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 1 (1983), Letter 4, 108–11.
84. In one of the outstanding cases, he wrote to Archbishop Alfanus of Salerno in that
year to thank him for his assistance in the past and to explain the weight of pastoral responsibility now placed on Alfanus’ shoulders. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 2 (1988), Letter 59, 195–202.
85. He contacted the judge Bonushomo of Cesena twice on the same matter sometime
before 1047. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 1, Letter 21, 202–11, and Letter 23, 217–25. He later
advised the judge Moricus to avoid swearing oaths and to give alms to the poor. Reindel,
Briefe, vol. 4, Letter 170, 250–54.
86. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 2, Letter 51, 132–37.
87. See Lucchesi, Vita, nos. 175 and 203 on time Damian spent in Rome during the
synods convened by Pope Stephen IX.

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215

rule and administer it.”88 In short, if Godfrey could not adequately govern
his territory, he should find a suitable replacement to rule in his stead.
Damian emphasized one specific fault: Godfrey’s inability to punish criminals properly, which had led to a surge of violence in the region. He
reminded Godfrey of their many conversations in person. If Godfrey knew
his actions were sinful but had continued down that path regardless, then
ignorance was no excuse.
Damian spoke to Godfrey with respect, but also as a friend. He
expressed disappointment not anger. He explained how good lordship
should be a mutual interest between friends. Damian cited examples of
good judicial administration from history and scripture to persuade Godfrey
to change his ways. Apparently Godfrey failed to comply. Damian sent
another letter also around 1059-1063 on the same subject.89 The letter
implies several earlier communications: “[A]t least by badgering requests, a
matter that is highly important [can] be effected.”90 Because Godfrey maintained leniency in dispensing justice, Damian spoke for his subjects who
suffered the consequences of his poor decisions.91 Despite the content of the
letter, its tone retained all due respect. Godfrey was “Gotfredus excellentissimus dux” (“Most Excellent Duke Godfrey”) and “vir eminentissimus”
(“Most Distinguished Man”) in the first letter and “praecellentissimus”
(“The Most Excellent Duke”) by the second.92 Damian had no intention of
burning any bridges, but he also had the best interests of his monastic congregation in mind, which Godfrey’s judicial laxity would have affected.
Damian underscored the severity of Godfrey’s sin in both letters by referencing the many times he had brought the issue to the margrave’s attention.
Damian then took it upon himself at the beginning of 1066 to educate
Godfrey’s chaplains; that is, because of his relationship with Godfrey, he
reached out to his underlings. The overture indicates social networking.

88. Blum, Letters, vol. 3, Letter 67, 71. “Quod ergo vivis tibi sepe sermonibus protuli,
hoc nunc per epistolam replico. Fateor sane multum mihi displicet, quia monarchiam hanc,
in qua pene centum milia degunt hominum, tamquam rusticum quendam viculum neglegis,
eamque duci per quem regi et amministrari debeat, non committis.” Reindel, Briefe, vol. 2,
Letter 67, 281–282.
89. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 2, Letter 68, 289–97.
90. Blum, Letters, vol. 3 (1992), Letter 68, 79. “Sepe nuntius post nuntium mittitur, ut
res, quae nimis est necessaria, importunes saltim precibus impetretur.” Reindel, Briefe, vol. 2,
Letter 68, 290.
91. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 2 (1988), Letter 68, 290.
92. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 2, Letter 67, 280–81, and Letter 68, 290. The original Latin
text renders the exaggerated title of the second letter better than the English translation.

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Damian replied to three points made by the chaplains. First, the priests
argued that clerics could legally marry. Second, a cleric who had purchased
his ecclesiastical office could not be charged with simony, unless he has
paid also for the imposition of hands. Lastly, the chaplains accused
Damian of avarice. It would be difficult to find three other charges that
Damian would have considered more egregious, although he called the
final charge the least important of the three and informed his recipients
that their attack caused him only “minor distress.”93 Damian most likely
would not have responded to these chaplains’ accusations except that these
priests belonged to Godfrey’s entourage.
Damian’s relationship to Beatrice developed more smoothly. He never
attacked her person or her actions.94 Indeed the brothers at Fonte Avellana
inherited his friendship with Beatrice; she and her daughter Matilda
pledged to protect the hermitage and its dependents after Damian’s
death.95 Godfrey, on the other hand, frequently caused Damian distress.
He asked the couple during Lent of 1067 to fund a biblical lectionary for
the monastery of Acereta (a daughter house of Fonte Avellana).96 Damian
deliberately included Beatrice in this transaction because the gift of a lectionary would cement a relationship with two patrons. Damian apologized
for not visiting in person, blaming his advancing age. He also requested
that if Godfrey and Beatrice were sending a man to Germany, he would
deliver a letter to Empress Agnes. Damian took advantage of his relationship to the couple to send a letter, and at the same time he called attention
to a prestigious friendship.
Godfrey received a very different letter by the next year. The margrave
had voluntarily heard the pleas of Cadalus (Antipope Honorius II), and
Peter Damian lost no time expressing his dissatisfaction. He immediately
sent a “reprimand of fervent zeal.”97 Damian considered the decision to
communicate with Cadalus a personal affront. He wrote that Godfrey had
“pierced a broken heart as if with the most profound pain’s sharpest prick.”98

93. Blum, Letters, vol. 5, Letter 141, 113. “. . . quia michi pro minimo est. . .” Reindel,
Briefe, vol. 3, Letter 141, 489.
94. See Reindel, Briefe, vol. 3, Letter 141, 490, and vol. 4, Letter 154, 69.
95. Carte di Fonte Avellana, i Regesti degli anni 975–1139, vol. 1, eds. Celestino Pierucci
and Alberto Polverari, [Thesaurus Ecclesiarum Italiae, 9] (Rome, 1972), document 34, 88–90.
96. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 3, Letter 148, 488–502.
97. Blum, Letters, vol. 6, Letter 154, 72. “. . . zeli ferventis obloquium. . .” Reindel,
Briefe, vol. 4, Letter 154, 68.
98. Blum, Letters, vol. 6, Letter 154, 72. “. . . et tabefactum cor velut acutissimo doloris
intimi pugione transfodit. . .” Reindel, Briefe, vol. 4, Letter 154, 68.

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Although Godfrey had previously fought against Cadalus, whom Damian
called “the Antichrist” in this letter, he later chose to listen to the enemy.
He did not denounce Godfrey entirely but pled for his return to the side of
justice. Damian wrote distinctly different letters to his enemies. In letters to
Cadalus, for example, he never feigned camaraderie, nor did he express deep
disappointment with the bishop. Rather, he punitively berated the prelate
and openly declared his enmity. In his communication to Godfrey, he
avoided threatening the friendship. He described the pain Godfrey had
inflicted with his actions, but he stopped short of alienating the margrave
completely.
Damian later initiated a relationship with another noble couple,
Margrave Rainerius II of Monte Santa Maria, a dependent territory of
Tuscany, and his wife Countess Guilla. Damian approached Guilla first,
shortly before 1067, asking her to reform the “morally deficient” dynasty
into which she had married, placing the blame squarely on Rainerius’
shoulders. The responsibility to reform her house belonged to Guilla.99
Damian tended to have more successful relationships with noble women.
He spoke to her as a confessor, addressing her as “filia.”100 In Damian’s
eyes Rainerius, not unlike Godfrey, governed poorly. The letters to
Guilla and Ranerius were remarkably similar in tone and purpose to
those letters to Godfrey and Beatrice. Damian acknowledged the rank
and authority of the nobles and softened his criticisms of Rainerius with
praise for Guilla; there was no hint of enmity. Damian urged Guilla to
provide an example for her husband, who would surely not impede her
just governance, and described good lords of the past. As he had written
to Godfrey, Damian complained about Rainerius’ excessive obligations
and taxes that the margrave imposed upon serfs and his seizure of property belonging to the poor.101 He sought cooperation and used friendship
to accomplish action. Possibly due to Guilla’s influence, Rainerius confessed his sins to Damian in 1067.102
Damian, ever prone to tumultuous encounters with influential Tuscan
families, had difficulty with the Guidi counts as well. They were significant
benefactors to many of the monasteries in the countryside near Bologna as
99. Blum, Letters, vol. 5, Letter 143, 144. “. . . domum . . . male moratam. . .” Reindel,
Briefe, vol. 3, Letter 143, 522.
100. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 3, Letter 143, 522.
101. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 3 (1989), Letter 143, 522.
102. Damian dispensed a pilgrimage to Jerusalem as penance, but Rainerius feared the
perilous journey. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 4 [1993], Letter 151, 1–5.

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PETER DAMIAN AND THE COMMUNICATION OF LOCAL REFORM

a result of their association with Romuald.103 Damian credited Count
Tehtgrimus of the Guidi with the foundation of Saint John in Acereta.
Even before the foundation of that monastery, Damian wrote to a member
of the family in 1045 or 1046, possibly Tehtgrimus.104 That letter continued a previous conversation they had shared in person about the significance of the canonical offices.105 In this case, Damian reminded the count
of their conversation to deepen the relationship by giving it a history. The
reference also showed that he had thought about their time together and
considered their discussion important enough to continue in a letter; in
sum, theirs was not an insignificant or passing interaction. The letter’s
greeting, laden with respect, also called the recipient “dilectissime,” a term
he used repeatedly in the letter. Although this communication is the only
surviving letter sent directly to a member of the Guidi family, the counts
were nevertheless a part of Damian’s personal network based on their connection to Acereta. Their relationship with the monastery was far from
harmonious. In a letter sent in 1059106 to Hildebrand, Damian defended
himself against charges brought forth by the dependents of the Guidi that
he had constructed the monastery of Acereta on lands that they had given
to their serfs. Damian countered that the Guidi count, Tehtgrimus had
died without heirs and donated part of his lands and villas surrounding the
site.107 Damian’s opinion of the family was already tarnished before this
incident; he had described before 1045 one Guidi count, Lothar, as a tortured soul in hell.108
In a calculated move to resolve past conflicts, Damian asked Count
Guido and his wife to provide for the welfare of Gamogna and Acereta in
1060. A property dispute between the two daughter houses of Fonte Avellana, the hermitage of Gamogna and the monastery of Acereta, afforded
Damian the occasion to rebuild his friendship with the Guidi. Damian

103. See Damian’s Vita of the saint (ed. Tabacco), chapters 38 and 78. On the Guidi see
Lina Eckenstein, “The Guidi and Their Relations with Florence,” The English Historical
Review 14:55 (1899), 431–450; Yoram Milo, “Political Opportunism in Guidi Tuscan Policy,”
in I Ceti dirigenti Toscana nell’età precomuncale (Pisa, 1981), 207–22; Natale Rauty, Documenti
per la storia dei conti Guidi in Toscana: le origini e i primi secoli, 887–1164 (Florence, 2003).
104. For the date, see Lucchesi, Vita, vol. 2, 158. Blum, Letters, vol. 1, Letter 17,
145n1.
105. The letter names the recipient as the “illustrious” T., whom Giovanni Lucchesi
identifies as Tehtrgrimus of the Guidi. Lucchesi, Vita, vol. 2, 158. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 1,
Letter 17, 155.
106. This date is problematized in Reindel, Briefe, vol. 2, 221.
107. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 2, Letter 63, 223.
108. Reindel, Briefe, vol. 1, Letter 14, 148.

KATHRYN L. JASPER

219

arbitrated the conflict, and Count Guido and his wife Ermellina not only
witnessed the document recording the terms of the mediation, but also
consented to uphold Damian’s decision.109 Moreover, they promised that
in the event the hermitage became deserted (ad nichilum devenerit), they
would not gain rights or power over any church property.110 The 1060
charter is indicative of Damian’s attempt to broker relationships with local
magnates in the best interests of the congregation and his commitment to
sustain peace within his own community.
The role of the Guidi in the 1060 charter proves another example of
social networking, especially within the context of communication and
church reform. Damian relentlessly pressed the nobles living around the
monasteries of his congregation about perceived abuses of authority. He
attacked not only their spiritual transgressions, but also their temporal
administration because he saw both as contributing factors to successful
lordship. He defined success as the creation of the ideal Christian community, which required the upright participation of laypersons and clerics.
The means to reach both parties and to enact reform was communication,
in-person as well as epistolary. His approach was not innovative. Communication networks existed before Peter Damian. But interestingly, he preferred to contact individual clerics and nobles rather than to address an
office, monastery, or diocese, which implies that he intended friendship
and not merely formal interactions. These friendships served to protect
ecclesiastical property and to support religious life.
When Damian assumed his position as cardinal bishop, the Holy See
obligated him to resolve immediate crises in places like Milan and Florence, and outside Italy. These crises facilitated the expansion of his communication network throughout Northern Italy and over the Alps. In general after his elevation Damian sought more influential friends. Notable
among these was the Empress Agnes, and Monte Cassino’s Abbot
Desiderius, who only rarely deigned to respond to Damian’s supplications.111 Despite this shift, Damian still focused intensely on the region
around Fonte Avellana until his death in 1072/73. Through his role in the
papal curia, including his activities as papal legate, and his position as prior
over the congregation of Fonte Avellana, Damian could operate on both
the local and universal stages.

109. Carte di Fonte Avellana, i Regesti degli anni 975–1139, vol. 1, document 15, 38.
110. Carte di Fonte Avellana, i Regesti degli anni 975–1139, vol. 1, document 15, 38.
111. John Howe, “Peter Damian and Monte Cassino.” Revue bénédictine 107 (1997),
330–51.

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PETER DAMIAN AND THE COMMUNICATION OF LOCAL REFORM

The friends Damian chose and the motives behind these friendships
tells us much about how one eleventh-century reformer used friendship to
resolve disputes, to negotiate relationships of patronage, and to disseminate his reform agenda.112 His approach, writing letters, inspired an even
more widespread and coordinated campaign under Gregory VII to advance
papal reform. Damian had similar goals in mind, most prominently the
protection of ecclesiastical property, but his communications sought allegiance to those goals and not to the papal party. Gregory’s network focused
far more on securing political allegiance of individuals and especially in
moments of crisis. Like Damian, Gregory appreciated the importance of
personal charisma in forging relationships and historians have speculated
that his supporters and legates likely acquired their fervency for reform
while spending time with the pontiff in the Lateran.113
Into the twelfth century writing letters continued its usefulness in
making requests, dispensing advice, forging alliances, and brokering peace.
Certain individuals appeared to send letters for political or pragmatic purposes; the communications of Stephen of Tournai, for example, held a disproportionate amount of letters addressed to high-ranking prelates when
compared to the letter collections of his contemporaries John of Salisbury
and Peter of Celles.114 Bernard of Clairvaux offers a decent analogous
example to Damian. Roughly 500 of Bernard’s letters survived, and a large
percentage of those he addressed to non-Cistercian abbots at the head of
reforming centers. The community of La Grande Chartreuse, for instance,
often received his support, but he also exchanged letters with individual
monks after visiting the monastery.115 Among the letter collections of the
eleventh and twelfth centuries, Damian’s strategies and use of friendship
was not novel, but the directions and concentrations of communications
reveal an untold story of local reform.
Three points stand out in this story: First, the area around the hermitage of Fonte Avellana and its congregation remained a priority in the

112. Haseldine, “Friendship Networks,” 83.
113. Hugh of Die and Anselm of Lucca, for example, built a friendship together while
in Rome. For a discussion on their relationship see K. Rennie, “Extending Gregory VII’s
‘Friendship Network,’” 481.
114. W. Ysebart, “Medieval Letter-Collections as a Mirror of Circles of Friendship?
The example of Stephen of Tournai 1128–1203,” Revue belge de philology et d’histoire 83:2
(2005), 285–300, here 292, 295; Julian Haseldine, “Peter of Celles” (1994); John McLoulin,
“Amicitia in Practice: John of Salisbury (c. 1120–1180) and his Circle,” in England in the
Twelfth Century, Proceedings of the 1988 Harlaxton Symposium (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1990).
115. Haseldine, “Letters of Bernard of Clairvaux,” 257.

KATHRYN L. JASPER

221

reform agenda of Peter Damian even after 1057. Second, he understood
that reform legislation from above was insufficient. Early in his priorship his
frequent requests for assistance in the Marches went ignored. He witnessed
firsthand that ideas radiating outward from Rome achieved no practical end
without active enforcement. Lastly, personal relationships played a key role
in realizing reform. Friendship, for Damian, always served a purpose. He
used it to affect his will. He chose his friends deliberately; he sought out
individuals who affected monastic life in his region. In the case of his
monastic friendships, he created connections between houses and through
indirect evidence (vitae) the vestiges of a network emerge. There is evidence
he tried to replicate this process with the Guidi counts.
Friendship served as a tool to argue, request, and demand that specific
reform objectives be met. Patterns in Damian’s rhetoric prove that friendship could strengthen a petition for a particular course of action. His letters
used or withheld emotional language to signal a more intimate or even
estranged relationship. He also tended to reference previous conversations,
which established a history to the relationship and assigned more substantial culpability to the recipient’s transgressions. His primary target was the
sin of avarice and its many manifestations (overindulgence, simony,
usurpation of ecclesiastical property). He used friendship to mediate
between the vulnerable (the poor, monasteries) and lords.116 Just governance led to the protection of ecclesiastical property and provided a foundation for an ideal Christian society. When pressed, Damian chose sides,
and he asked his friends to do the same. Yet the side of reform was not
necessarily the papal party.
Like Damian, Pope Gregory VII notoriously guarded his own correspondence, which became part of his papal registers. Gregory established
an extensive friendship network across Europe through correspondence,
papal legates, and personal interactions whenever possible. The pope
maintained outposts of reform against local opposition.117 Just as later
twelfth-century correspondents Gregory’s friendship network launched a
coordinated effort through letter writing to place pressure upon the recipient toward a particular course of action necessary. Robinson claims that
Gregory followed Peter Damian’s practices in this respect. As he states,
“Gregory VII imitated the example of Peter Damian in this as in many
other aspects of his reforming practice. It is no exaggeration to say that his
116. E. Jamroziak, Rievaulx Abbey and its Social Context, 1132–1300 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2005).
117. Robinson, “Friendship Network,” 8.

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PETER DAMIAN AND THE COMMUNICATION OF LOCAL REFORM

chief instrument for the enforcement of reform was the political pressure
which he could exert through his friendship network and which he could
direct by means of letters.”118 Although Robinson highlights how communications buoy authority, the study of networks is by no means limited to
an analysis of power.119 Inspired by Damian, Pope Gregory VII built a
friendship network with the intent to extend Rome’s reform agenda even
further. Though Hildebrand did not always see eye-to-eye with Damian,
he recognized the utility of this particular strategy.

118. Robinson, “Friendship Network,” 9.
119. Karl Leyser examined the relationship between communication and power from
the ninth through the eleventh centuries in Western Europe within two volumes of his compiled works. In particular, his essay “The Crisis of Medieval Germany” explores how opponents of Gregory VII in Germany mobilized their supporters against the pope via letters sent
from pro-imperial ecclesiastical authorities. According to Leyser’s findings, imperial power
depended on a network of supporters, the construction of which hinged on the ability to communicate effectively with those supporters. Karl Leyser, “The Crisis of Medieval Germany,” in
Communications and Power in Medieval Europe, the Gregorian Revolution and Beyond, ed. Timothy Reuter (London, 1994), 21–49. Good recent introductions to the study of power in the
Middle Ages include Das Sichtbare und das Unsichtbare der Macht: Institutionelle Prozesse in
Antike, MIttelalter und Neuzeit, ed. Gert Melville (Cologne, 2005); Negotiating Secular and
Ecclesiastical Power: Western Europe in the Central Middle Ages, ed. A. J. Bijsterveld, Henk
Teunis, and Andrew Wareham (Turnout, 1999); Le Pouvoir au moyen âge: Idéologies, pratiques,
représentations, ed. Claude Carozzi and Huguette Taviani-Carozzi (Aix-en-Provence, 2005);
The Experience of Power in Medieval Europe, 930-1350, ed. Robert F. Berkhofer, Alan Cooper,
and Adam J. Kosto (Aldershot, 2005). See also Walter Ysebaert, “The Power of Personal Networks: Clerics as Political Actors in the Conflict between Capetian France and the County of
Flanders During the Last Decade of the Twelfth Century,” in Aspects of Power and Authority in
the Middle Ages, ed. Brenda Bolton and Christine Meek (Turnhout, 2007), 165–83.

Beyond Guadalupe: The Eucharist,
the Cult of Saints, and Local Religion in
Eighteenth-Century Mexico City
BRIAN R. LARKIN*
This article charts new ground within the historiography on colonial
Mexican piety by arguing that the Virgin of Guadalupe did not dominate devotions in Mexico City even in the late colonial period.
Rather, the single most important focus for pious attention was the
Eucharist. Even in terms of Marian devotions, Our Lady of Sorrows
figured as importantly as Guadalupe. Universal devotions like the
Eucharist and Our Lady of Sorrows have received scant attention in
scholarly literature on colonial Mexican piety, which has been guided
by the concept of local religion, an analytical lens that largely overlooks
the universal Church and its liturgy. This article calls upon scholars to
attend more closely to the Mass and liturgy.
Keywords: Eucharist, Virgin Mary, Cult of Saints, Popular Piety,
Our Lady of Guadalupe, Our Lady of Sorrows, Our Lady of the
Immaculate Conception, St. Joseph, Liturgy, Last Wills and Testaments, Colonial Mexico

T

he Virgin of Guadalupe unquestionably dominates the religious imagination of contemporary Mexican Catholics. Her importance extends
beyond the realm of the faithful, for Guadalupe has become a symbol of
Mexican identity.1 Because of her unique importance in present-day Mexican Catholicism and Mexican identity formation, she has understandably
captured the interest of scholars of Mexican religious history. Fine studies
of Guadalupe abound, and for some time historians have argued over the
dating of the birth of her cult, the rapidity and extent of its spread in colonial Mexico, and the social characteristics of her colonial devotees.2
* Brian Larkin is Professor of History at the College of St. Benedict/St. John’s University
in Minnesota, email: blarkin@csbsju.edu. I would like to thank Stafford Poole, Nelson H.
Minnich, and the three anonymous readers for commenting on earlier versions of this article.
1. For example, see Jeanette Rodriguez, Our Lady of Guadalupe: Faith and Empowerment among Mexican-American Women (Austin, 1994).
2. The historiography on the Virgin of Guadalupe is vast. The following represent a
mere sampling of the most important works. Jacques Lafaye, Quetzalcóatl and Guadalupe: The

223

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BEYOND GUADALUPE

Although no definitive consensus exists on these issues, it is undeniable that a small shrine at Tepeyac, the hill on the outskirts of colonial
Mexico City where according to pious tradition the Virgin appeared to the
Indian Juan Diego in 1531, dedicated to the Virgin of Guadalupe was
functioning in the mid-1550s. It is possible that Archbishop Alonso de
Montúfar, a devotee of Guadalupe, founded the shrine and installed the
now famous image of the Mexican Guadalupe in it. Moreover, it is clear
that some considered the image miraculous. But it is equally evident that
some impugned the devotion and that no contemporary documentation
mentioned the apparition story or suggested a miraculous origin for the
image.3 It is less clear how much devotion the shrine attracted and who frequented it. Stafford Poole contends that Guadalupe attracted at best moderate devotion in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries and that this
devotion was largely a Spanish phenomenon.4 William Taylor, on the
other hand, argues that Guadalupe attracted some, but not great, devotion
from residents, both Spanish and indigenous, of Mexico City and the
Valley of Mexico in the early seventeenth century.5
Historians agree that the first significant increase in Guadalupe’s fame
came in the mid-seventeenth century, when Miguel Sánchez and Luis Laso
de la Vega published the first recorded accounts, in 1648 and 1649, respecFormation of Mexican National Consciousness, 1531–1813, trans. Benjamin Keen (Chicago,
1976); Stafford Poole, C.M., Our Lady of Guadalupe: The Origins and Sources of a Mexican
National Symbol, 1531–1797 (Tucson, 1995); Solange Alberro, El águila y la cruz: Orígenes
religiosos de la conciencia criolla. México, siglos XVI–XVII (Mexico City, 1999), especially 120–
169; Miguel León-Portilla, Tonantzin Guadalupe: Pensamiento náhuatl y mensaje Cristiano en
el “Nican Mopohua” (Mexico City, 2000); D. A. Brading, Mexican Phoenix: Our Lady of
Guadalupe: Image and Tradition Across Five Centuries (Cambridge, 2001); William B. Taylor,
“The Virgin of Guadalupe in New Spain: An Inquiry into the Social History of Marian
Devotion,” American Ethnologist 14:1 (1987), 9–33; William B. Taylor, Shrines and Miraculous
Images: Religious Life in Mexico before the Reforma (Albuquerque, 2010), 97–161; William B.
Taylor, Theater of a Thousand Wonders: A History of Miraculous Images and Shrines in New
Spain (Cambridge, 2016), especially 173–82; Jeanette Favrot Peterson, Visualizing
Guadalupe: From Black Madonna to Queen of the Americas (Austin, 2014); for a brief introduction to the debate among scholars, see the exchange between Timothy Matovina and Stafford
Poole: Timothy Matovina, “The Origins of the Guadalupe Tradition in Mexico,” The
Catholic Historical Review 100: 2 (2014), 243–70; Stafford Poole, “A Response to Timothy
Matovina,” The Catholic Historical Review 100: 2 (2014), 271–83; Timothy Matovina, “A
Response to Stafford Poole,” The Catholic Historical Review 100: 2 (2014), 284–91. For a historiographical review, see Linda Hall, “Guadalupan Devotion in Mexico: A Historiographical
Consideration,” History Compass 7:1 (2009): 95–106.
3. Poole, Our Lady of Guadalupe, 49–68.
4. Poole, Our Lady of Guadalupe, 98–99.
5. Taylor, Shrines, 102–103, 109–14.

BRIAN R. LARKIN

225

tively, of the Virgin’s apparition.6 This publicity or invention of the apparition story initiated the slow and uneven expansion of her cult. The creole
(Spaniards born in the New World) clergy of New Spain seized on the story
and began to deliver numerous sermons to popularize her. Of course, they
were motivated by religious zeal, but also in part by creole patriotism. For, in
the apparition story they found evidence that God had favored Mexico to a
greater extent than Spain and a religious base for pride in their homeland.
Thus, the Virgin of Guadalupe allowed creole priests to articulate a story that
countered Spanish peninsular (Spaniards born in the Iberian Peninsula) discourse that denigrated the American environment and belittled the capacity
and achievements of both creole and indigenous Americans.7 Despite the
clergy’s promotion, Guadalupe continued to attract mostly local devotion,
mainly from Mexico City, in the late seventeenth century.
It was not until the second third of the eighteenth century that
Guadalupe’s cult flowered and spread rapidly. In 1737, Mexico City suffered a matlazáhuatl plague. The city at first resorted to its standard
recourse, a procession of the Virgin of Remedies, the capital’s most venerable image, from her home in Naucalpan to the Cathedral on the city’s main
plaza. But Remedies failed to stem the plague. Only then did the city’s dignitaries turn to Guadalupe. They arranged a procession of her image from
Tepeyac to the Cathedral, and according to contemporary opinion, this
supplication of the Virgin halted the epidemic. From this moment reverence for Guadalupe burgeoned. Although Mexico City remained the bastion of her cult, the Mexican faithful, particularly in areas north of Mexico
City, began to venerate her. During the plague, the archbishop proclaimed
her patroness of the city and in 1746 the Mexican Church named her
patroness of the entire viceroyalty. In 1754 the papacy formally recognized
Guadalupe’s status as the patroness of New Spain and two years later, upon
receiving notice of papal recognition, the populations of Mexico City and
other towns held celebrations in honor of Guadalupe’s new status.8 Eventually, Miguel Hidalgo de Castillo, the father of Mexican independence,

6. For an English translation and analysis of Laso de la Vega’s work, see Lisa Sousa,
Stafford Poole, and James Lockhart, The Story of Guadalupe: Luis Laso de la Vega’s Huei
tlamahuiçoltica of 1649 (Stanford, 1998).
7. Poole, Our Lady of Guadalupe, 100–26; Taylor, Shrines, 106–14; Brading, Mexican
Phoenix, 73–77, 119–20. On the other hand, Cornelius Conover disputes the importance of
creole nationalism in the spread of Guadalupe’s cult before the 1750s: “Reassessing the Rise
of Mexico’s Virgin of Guadalupe, 1650s–1780s,” Mexican Studies/Estudios Mexicanos 27: 2
(2011), 251–79.
8. Taylor, Shrines, 98–99; Taylor, “The Virgin of Guadalupe,” 12–14; Poole, Our Lady
of Guadalupe, 175–87; Brading, Mexican Phoenix, 119–39.

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BEYOND GUADALUPE

would proclaim her patroness of his insurgent campaign in 1810. This association with Mexican independence appears to have been the most significant step in growth of Guadalupe’s cult. For in the nineteenth century,
Guadalupe’s creole associations declined. She no longer was the Virgin of
choice just among Mexican creoles; she became the pre-eminent advocation
of Mary among the indigenous populations of Mexico as well.9
Guadalupe certainly attracted much devotion in Mexico, especially in
the eighteenth century, and thus has deservedly drawn historians’ attention.
But her present-day preeminence has obscured as much as it has illuminated the history of Mexican devotions. We have many fine studies of the
growth and possible meanings of Guadalupe’s cult in colonial Mexico, but
this attention has concealed the importance of other focuses of colonial
devotions.10 Historians have not entirely ignored other holy figures in the
history of Mexican devotions. They have examined other important advocations of the Virgin, such as Our Lady of Remedies, and other Mexican
saints and beatos (unofficially recognized holy people). Mexican martyrs,
like Felipe de Jesús, prominent ecclesiastics, like Juan de Palafox, ascetic
hermits, like Gregorio López, and female mystics, like Francisca de los
Ángeles, all gained important followings during and after their lifetimes and
thus have received some scholarly attention, especially by historians interested in uncovering religious manifestations of creole patriotism.11 But we
9. Taylor, “The Virgin of Guadalupe,” 16–24. Taylor argues that even into the 1840s
Guadalupe was more popular among the Spanish than indigenous population. He also points
out that the Virgin of Guadalupe was not at first unambiguously associated with the Mexican
independence movements. José María Morelos’s insurgency unequivocally appropriated
Guadalupe, but the “natural” connection between insurgency and Guadalupe appears to have
formed only after independence.
10. In an insightful article based on readings of Mexico City’s town council minutes
and its corporate sponsorship of public religious celebrations, Cornelius Conover argues along
the same lines, “Reassessing the Rise of Mexico’s Virgin of Guadalupe.”
11. For instance, see Linda A. Curcio-Nagy, “Native Icon to City Protectress to Royal
Patroness: Ritual, Political Symbolism and the Virgin of Remedies,” The Americas 52:3
(1996), 367–91; Antonio Rubial García, La santidad controvertida: hagiografía y conciencia criolla alrededor de los venerable no canonizados de Nueva España (Mexico City, 1999); Antonio
Rubial García, “Las santitas del barrio: ‘Beatas’ laicas y religiosidad cotidiana en la ciudad de
México en el siglo XVII,” Anuario de Estudios Americanos 59:1 (2002), 13–37; Antonio Rubial
García, “Imágenes y ermitaños: un ciclo hierofánico ignorado por la historiografía,” Anuario
de Estudios Americanos 66:2 (2009), 213–239; Ronald J. Morgan, Spanish American Saints and
the Rhetoric of Identity, 1600–1810 (Tucson, 2002); Pierre Ragon, “Los santos patronos de la
ciudades del México central (siglos XVI y XVII),” Historia Mexicana 52: 2 (2002), 361–389;
Rosario Inés Granados Salinas, “Mexico City’s Symbolic Geography: The Processions of Our
Lady of Remedios,” Journal of Latin American Geography 11 (2012), 145–173; Paul Ramírez
and William B. Taylor, “Out of Tlatelolco’s Ruins: Patronage, Devotion, and Natural Disas-

BRIAN R. LARKIN

227

know surprising little about other focuses of colonial Mexican devotion.
Given that Guadalupe became an important advocation throughout Mexico
beginning only in the eighteenth century, we must ask: what other advocations of Mary were prominent among the Mexican faithful beforehand?
Did Guadalupe even dominate Marian devotions in Mexico City, the
center of her cult, during the eighteenth century? What other holy figures
commanded attention? What place did Christocentric devotions have in
colonial Mexican Catholicism? Did devotions to Mexican beatos outweigh
veneration to more universal Catholic saints in New Spain?
This article provides preliminary answers to these questions through
an examination of pious bequests contained in last wills and testaments
written in Mexico City during the eighteenth century. This is precisely the
period when devotion to the Virgin of Guadalupe surged in New Spain’s
capital and spread beyond it. This geographical and temporal focus therefore offers a particularly appropriate site to gauge the growth of
Guadalupe’s popularity in the center of her cult. This investigation of
Mexican devotions is based on a corpus of 1,722 wills written by the population of Mexico City from 1696 to 1813. This sample includes every
extant will written in Mexico City during seven sample years: 1696, 1717,
1737, 1758, 1779, 1796, and 1813. It therefore represents as much as possible all the notarial clientele networks, and thus the many different urban
micro-communities, of Bourbon Mexico City. Although people from
many social categories wrote wills, paupers and non-Spaniards did so infrequently. Therefore, this essay analyzes the devotional practices of the
Spanish (both creole and peninsular) populace of eighteenth-century
Mexico City.12
Last wills and testaments offer important insights into devotional
practices because of their dual secular and religious character before the late
nineteenth century. In them, testators not only distributed property to kith
and kin; they also sought to set their relationships with God in order by
issuing a variety of pious directives, such as requesting Masses for their
souls and bequeathing gifts to the poor and religious institutions. By tracking these voluntary pious directives historians can trace shifts in religious
culture over time. More significant, wills allow historians to investigate

ter at the Shrine of Our Lady of the Angels, 1745–1781,” Hispanic American Historical Review
93:1 (2013), 33–65; Taylor, Theater.
12. For an in-depth discussion of the sampling technique, see Brian Larkin, The Very
Nature of God: Baroque Catholicism and Religious Reform in Bourbon Mexico City (Albuquerque,
2010), 16–20.

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how a wide range of people performed their devotions. Wills thus reveal
the pious inclinations of a broad population rather than those of a few
prominent individuals and influential institutions. This is important in
terms of the cult of saints because studies that rely on sources such as devotional treatises, sermons, and religious iconography may tell us more about
the attitudes and preferences of zealous promoters and religious orders
than they do about which holy figures the faithful in general approached
for celestial aid and guidance. On the other hand, wills were inserted into
the rites of dying in colonial Mexico City (the majority of testators wrote
wills while ill and fearing death) and thus likely privilege devotions aimed
at securing salvation. In this sense, wills likely underplay pious activities
oriented at gaining miraculous aid for the concerns and trials of this world.
Nonetheless, last wills and testaments from Mexico City’s eighteenth-century testators offer one important vantage point from which to view their
interactions with saintly intercessors.
This study uses the perspective offered by wills to build on an insight
that scholars of Mexican devotions have recently presented—that Christ
figured as importantly as the Virgin in the piety of colonial Catholics.
William Taylor most clearly articulates the centrality of Christocentric
piety. He reminds us that the colonial Mexican faithful, in addition to representations of the Virgin, were devoted to images of Christ. Local shrines
dedicated to miraculous Christ images, particularly crucifixes, dotted the
Mexican landscape and rivaled in number those that housed miraculous
Marian representations.13 Edward Osowski, in a study of indigenous religion in and around Mexico City, makes a similar claim. He demonstrates
that urban indigenous populations venerated a number of “Christ images”
and enthusiastically celebrated Christocentric feasts, particularly Corpus
Christi and Holy Week as vehicles for promoting community cohesion
and expressing ethnic leaders’ authority.14 Expanding on this line of argument, this study contends that the Spanish faithful of colonial Mexico City
devoted much attention to Christ. But it differs in arguing that Spanish
urban Catholics directed much reverence to Christ’s sacramental presence
in the Eucharist. This insight runs counter to the historiography on colo-

13. Taylor, Shrines, especially 30–31 and 64–65; William B. Taylor, “Placing the Cross
in Colonial Mexico,” The Americas 69:2 (2012), 145–178; and Taylor, Theater, especially 198–
214 and 454–501. Jennifer Scheper Hughes makes a similar claim in her fascinating study of
the Cristo Aparecido. See her Biography of a Mexican Crucifix: Lived Religion and Local Faith
from the Conquest to the Present (New York, 2010), especially 7–8.
14. Edward W. Osowski, Indigenous Miracles: Nahua Authority in Colonial Mexico
(Tucson, 2010), especially 13 and 193-98.

BRIAN R. LARKIN

229

FIGURE 1. “Our Lady of the Waters that is venerated in the Royal Convent of Jesús
María,” an image of Our Lady of Sorrows located in Mexico City. Published in
Joseph Julian Parreño, SJ, Novena en honra de Nuestra Señora de los Dolores, que con el
renombre de las Aguas, venera el religiosísimo convento real de Jesus María de esta ciudad
de México. . . (Mexico City, 1794). Courtesy of the Nettie Lee Benson Latin American Collection, University of Texas Libraries, the University of Texas at Austin.

nial Mexican devotions that largely ignores the Eucharist or downplays its
significance.15
This article also seeks to expand the historiography on saintly advocations, particularly those of the Virgin Mary. It argues that the Virgin of
Guadalupe, although an important recipient of devotion, was not the predominant Marian advocation in Mexico City during the late colonial
period. Over the entire long eighteenth century, Guadalupe was only one
15. Nancy Farriss, “Introductory Essay: The Power of Images,” Colonial Latin American
Review 19:1 (2010), 14–15. Scheper Hughes argues against the characterization of Mexican
Catholicism as “non-Eucharistic.” She argues on the contrary that it is Eucharistic, but she
locates the Eucharistic presence in miraculous images of Christ rather than in the offerings of
the Mass. Biography of a Mexican Crucifix, 148–149.

230

BEYOND GUADALUPE

of three important Marian advocations in the city and, in fact, was not the
most popular. Mexico City’s testators showed greater devotion to Our
Lady of Sorrows. Furthermore, this study argues that, although local beatos
attracted attention, the faithful of Mexico City understandably showered
much greater devotion on saints of more venerable tradition, particularly
the universal advocations of Saint Joseph and, more unexpectedly, Saint
Anthony of Padua.
The importance of devotions directed toward Christ in the Eucharist,
Our Lady of Sorrows, and universal advocations like Saint Joseph leads to
a critique of the historiography on colonial Mexico piety. William Christian’s concept of local religion has guided much historical investigation of
piety in colonial Mexico. In his classic study of religion in sixteenth-century
Castile, Christian posited that local religion stood in tension with universal
Catholicism. Local religion was composed largely of devotions to saints and
their images, relics, and shrines and was manifested through vows, pilgrimages, and processions, which sought celestial aid for the trials of this world,
like disease and drought. On the other hand, universal Catholicism mainly
consisted of the sacraments, other rites, and the liturgical calendar of the
Church that were directed toward eternal salvation. Although Christian did
not deny the importance of universal Catholicism, he focused his study on
the facets of local religion.16 This analytical focus has greatly influenced historical inquiry into religion in colonial Mexico (and Latin America more
broadly).17 But the prominence of the Eucharist and other universal devotions in the devotional life of the faithful of Mexico City suggest that historians must attend more closely to the liturgy and the universal saints of the
Catholic Church to present a fuller picture of colonial Mexican religion.
Colonial Mexicans certainly venerated local images and beatos and made
pilgrimages to local shrines for cures and other forms of aid for the ills of
this world. But the religious practices, particularly of the urban faithful, also
consisted of participation in various aspects of the liturgy and quotidian
devotions to images located in churches close to home. Evidence from the
last wills and testaments of Bourbon Mexico City reveals that these devotions generally revolved around universal rites and advocations of the
Catholic Church and most were aimed at gaining salvation.

16. William A. Christian, Local Religion in Sixteenth-Century Spain (Princeton, 1981).
17. The works are too numerous to list fully here. Some of the best include William B.
Taylor, Magistrates of the Sacred: Priests and Parishioners in Eighteenth-Century Mexico (Stanford, 1996), especially 47–73 and 265–300; Taylor, Shrines; Taylor; Theater; the many fine
essays in Martin Austin Nesvig, ed., Local Religion in Colonial Mexico (Albuquerque, 2006);
and Scheper Hughes, Biography.

BRIAN R. LARKIN

231

Last wills and testaments provide a window into these intimate, daily
devotions. In them, testators left many clues about their favored holy figures. They left gifts to images and the Eucharist, donated images to religious institutions, ordered votive Masses in honor of their favorite advocations, founded public liturgical celebrations to commemorate their
celestial patrons, and requested burial near images of their preferred intercessors. Table 1 lists the frequency with which testators in Mexico City
included each of these five types of pious directives in their wills over the
long-eighteenth century.18 Clearly gifts to images, requests for votive
Masses, and foundations of liturgical celebrations were the most popular
of these good works.
The testators of Mexico City included these pious directives in their
wills for many reasons, but primarily to ensure their salvation and reduce
the time their souls languished in purgatory. In the baroque religious culture of the time, Catholics understood that they must pay restitution for
their sins in the purifying torments of purgatory before God admitted their
souls into glory. Although they recognized that the path to salvation,
except for the saintly few, led through the fires of purgatory, the faithful
did not know how much time their souls must dwell there.19 They
believed, however, that good works performed in this world and the sup-

18. Readers may note two differences between the figures presented in Table 1 and
those contained in my book, The Very Nature of God. First, Table 1 shows that 76 testators
requested burial by an image or altar, whereas the book indicates that 93 did (159). The difference stems from the fact that for this article I counted only testators who requested burial
by a saint’s image or altar. In the book, I also counted testators who requested burial by
other sacredly charged locations in the church, such as the baptismal font, the Epistle or
Gospel side of an altar, etc. Second, Table 1 reveals that testators gave 99 images to religious institutions, whereas the book states (264n28) that they gave 77 such gifts. The divergence arises from different counting methods. For the book, if a testator gave more than
one image to a single religious institution in a single clause within the will, I counted the
directive as one gift. For the article, I counted each image separately. I, however, decided
not to include one bequest of images to religious institutions in Table 1. María Josepha de
Abendaño y Orduña included an extraordinary gift in her 1717 will. In the twenty-ninth
clause, she declared that she had an oratory (private chapel) in her home and bequeathed
its over 70 images to the parish church of San Miguel. Inclusion of this remarkable gift
would have skewed data in Table 1 so that it would have reflected the devotional practices
of an individual rather than the larger testator population. Most of the images were of universal saints (not the Virgin or Christ) not popular among other testators. Archivo General
de Notarías del Distrito Federal, Mexico City [hereinafter AN] Notary #254, vol. 1664,
n.f., Mexico City, 18 Sept. 1717.
19. For an introduction to conceptions of the afterlife in the colonial Mexican context, see Gisela Von Wobeser, Cielo, infierno y purgatorio durante el virreinato de la Nueva
España (Mexico City, 2011).

232

TABLE 1. Pious Directives
1717

1737

1758

1779

1796

1813

Total

Gifts to Images and Eucharis
Number
Percentage of Testators
Average/Testator

29
5.2%
1.6

36
11.1%
1.9

47
5.9%
2.5

16
5.3%
1.6

31
11.7%
1.2

24
6.9%
1.7

30
5.2%
2.1

213
7.0%
1.8

Gifts of Images to Religious Institutions
Number
Percentage of Testators
Average/Testator

10
1.5%
2

14
4.7%
1.8

12
2.5%
1.5

7
3.7%
1

23
4.5%
2.3

18
5.9%
1.5

15
2.6%
2.1

99
3.3%
1.7

Votive Masses
Number
Percentage of Testators
Average/Tesator

19
2.6%
2.1

9
3.5%
1.5

47
5.6%
2.6

48
6.3%
4.0

26
4.1%
2.9

12
3.0%
2.0

19
5.2%
1.4

180
4.3%
2.4

Feast Day Foundations
Number
Percentage of Testators
Average/Tesator

19
3.8%
1.5

37
6.4%
3.4

32
6.5%
1.5

15
5.3%
1.5

33
7.7%
1.9

18
7.9%
1.1

24
4.4%
2.0

178
5.8%
1.8

Burial Altar/Image
Number
Percentage of Testators

23
6.7%

5
2.9%

10
3.1%

3
1.6%

8
3.6%

17
8.4%

10
3.7%

76
4.4%

BEYOND GUADALUPE

1696

BRIAN R. LARKIN

233

plications of heavenly intercessors could shorten their stays. For this
reason, Catholics in colonial Mexico City spent lavishly on pious works,
spending mundane currency to purchase goods in the “spiritual economy.”20 Pious works did not have to refer to a saint. In fact, most did not.
For example, the most common pious directives contained in wills,
requests for Low Masses and bequests to the poor, usually did not reference saints. But a significant minority of pious works did. Works performed in honor of holy figures were particularly powerful in the quest for
salvation because they functioned as a double suffrage. Not only was the
pious directive itself a good work that accrued spiritual merit; it also
prompted the holy figure honored to advocate before God on behalf of his
or her devotee. Performing pious works toward holy figures then were
doubly efficacious. Of course, testators may have issued pious directives for
other reasons: to promote veneration of their favored saint, to repay a debt
they had previously incurred to their intercessor, to plead for earthly aid
such as a cure for illness, and/or to enhance their earthly prestige by
demonstrating their wealth and largess. Nonetheless, accumulation of
grace for salvation significantly motivated these suffrages.21
Each of these five types of pious bequests followed general patterns. In
terms of gifts to images and the Eucharist, testators most often bequeathed
gifts of light in the form of wax, oil, lamps, or candlesticks. Light was a
popular gift because it was relatively inexpensive and could serve to honor
a painting, statue, or the Eucharist equally well. Testators also gave clothing and jewelry, but these gifts could only be used for statues. Last, testators often donated money (or fungible parts of their estates) to an image or
the Eucharist so that its caretaker or the church’s sacristan could purchase
items necessary for its care and adornment. María Mariana de la Encarnación y Lorenzana, a free mulata who wrote her will in 1696, provides an
example of a typical gift granted to an image. Unlike most testators, however, she explained the purpose of her offering:
Because of the great devotion that I have always had and have for her and
through whose intercession I hope for the salvation of my soul, I order to
Our Lady of the Rosary that is in her chapel in the royal monastery of
Santo Domingo of this city some enameled gold and pearl earrings and

20. The phase “spiritual economy” is borrowed from Kathryn Burns, Colonial Habits:
Convents and the Spiritual Economy of Cuzco, Peru (Durham, 1999), see especially 3–4.
21. For a fuller discussion of the types of pious bequests contained in the wills of Bourbon Mexico City and their wide range of functions and meanings, see Larkin, Very Nature of
God, 28–92.

234

BEYOND GUADALUPE
each one with four red stones so that they may serve her in the adornment of her dress.22

María bestowed her gift on the Virgin for three specific reasons: to demonstrate her long-term devotion to Our Lady of the Rosary, specifically the
image housed in Mexico City’s Dominican monastery; to beseech the
Virgin to intercede and win salvation for her; and to adorn the image and
contribute to its majesty. As her bequest reveals, a gift to an image could
perform many functions at once.
Testators also commonly bequeathed images that they kept within
their homes to religious institutions: churches, monasteries, and confraternities. In most cases, they donated the image to enhance the baroque
splendor of the recipient church or chapel and to promote public reverence for the advocation that they had venerated in the privacy of their
home. For instance, in 1779 Cristóbal Mariano de Leon donated a statue
of Our Lady of Sorrows along with its “adornment” to the Capuchin convent of Mexico City so that “it may have the adoration and veneration that
it merits.”23
Testators employed votive Masses as another means to glorify holy
figures and spur them into heavenly advocacy. Votive Masses were usually
Low Masses celebrated in honor of a holy person. Like most Low Masses,
a priest would have normally celebrated them at one of the many collateral
altars that lined the naves of the more than eighty churches of Bourbon
Mexico City. During the morning hours, priests at separate collateral altars
must have simultaneously celebrated numerous Low Masses in the city’s
large churches. Most testators who requested votive Masses did so to aid
their souls. Catarina de Velasco, who wrote her will in 1758, clearly articulated the eschatological aims of the 150 Masses she requested. She
ordered that twenty-five be said at the altar of Our Lord of Grace (a Christocentric advocation) in the monastery of La Merced “in satisfaction of
those penitences that I . . . may have not entirely completed,” twenty-five
Masses to Our Lady of Guadalupe “for those failures [faltas] I may have
had in the spiritual things that I have done,” twenty-five to the “holy
22. AN Notary # 122, vol. 793, fols. 280–284, Mexico City, 2 Sept. 1696. “Manda a
Nuestra Señora del Rosario que esta en su capilla del convento real de Santo Domingo de esta
ciudad unas sarcillos de oro y perlas esmaltados y con quarto piedras coloradas cada uno para
que les sirvan en el adorno de su vistido por la mucha devocion que siempre le he tenido y
tengo y por cuya intercesion espero la salvacion de mi alma.”
23. AN Notary # 350, vol. 2307, fols. 340–341, Mexico City, 6 Oct. 1779. “. . . para
que en el [convento] tenga la adoracion, y culto qe merese.”

BRIAN R. LARKIN

235

Christ” in the convent of Santa Teresa la Antigua “for all that by which I
may have aggrieved my neighbors,” twenty-five to St. Joseph “so that he
makes an offering of such a great sacrifice to the Most Holy and Most
Beloved Trinity for all that I may have failed in the fulfillment of my state
[of wife] by omission or other means,” twelve to her guardian angel “so that
by this means he presents my soul to the same Most Sacred Trinity,” thirteen to St. Anthony of Padua “so that in the divine presence he will be my
advocate and intercessor,” and the remaining twenty-five “in honor and
glory of the virginal purity of Our Lady, the Virgin Mary.”24
The devout of Mexico City also honored saints through the foundation of public liturgical celebrations on feast days. Feast-day foundations
centered on the Mass. But unlike votive Masses, feast-day foundations
supported the perpetual, elaborate celebration of public, High Masses. In
short, these Masses were not performed largely for the sole eschatological
benefit of the commissioner, but also for the good of the community that
participated in the public liturgy financed by the foundation. These feastday foundations were naturally fewer in number than votive Masses
because of their significant expense.25 Whereas a votive Low Mass could
cost as little as four reales (one-half peso), a feast-day foundation required
significant capital. This capital was invested, and its annual return was then
used to fund the liturgy in honor of a holy person. In this way, the feastday foundation contributed to the splendor of baroque Mexican Catholicism. In their endowments for feast-day liturgies, testators often explicitly
stated how the Masses they commissioned should be embellished. In 1717
Beatriz de Figueroa, an elderly doncella (maiden), set aside 1,000 pesos as
a capital fund to support the feast-day liturgy in honor of Our Lady of
Remedies in the Franciscan convent of Santa Clara. She wanted the nuns
to use the fifty pesos of annual interest to finance the celebration with a
“Mass, wax, flowers, perfumes and additional things for the just brilliance”
of the performance.26
24. AN Notary # 509, vol. 3416, n.f., Mexico City, 4 Aug. 1758. “en satisfaccion de
aquellas penitencias que yo la testadora enteramte no huviere cumplido” “por aquellas faltas
qe huviere tenido en las cosas espiritualaes que he exercitado” “al Sn Christo” “por todo aquello en que yo huviere hecho agravio a mis proximos” “para que haga oferta de tan alto sacrificio
a la Sma amabilissima Trinidad por todo aquello qe huviere faltado en el cumplmto de la
obligacion de mi estado por omiscion o en otro modo” “para que por este medio presente mi
alma a la misma Beatisima Trinidad” “para qe en la divina presencia sea mi abogado e yntercessor” “en honra y Gloria de la virginal pureza de Nuestra Señora la Virgin Maria”
25. Testators who commissioned votive Masses usually requested multiple Masses.
26. AN Notary # 13, vol. 76, fols. 210–212, Mexico City, 21 March 1717. “misa sera
flores olores y demas cosas agregadas a el devido luzimiento”

236

BEYOND GUADALUPE

The last way that Catholics reverenced saints in their wills was to
request burial in proximity to an image or altar on which an image stood.
Burial close to an image served as the ultimate plea for aid. Testators
requested such burials to call upon the perpetual advocacy of the saint. The
interred body functioned as a permanent reminder to the saint and
prompted the holy person to advocate on behalf of his or her devotee’s soul
at the moment of judgment and as it languished in purgatory. The request
for such a burial was universally laconic. For example, in 1696 Mariana
Núñez de Rojas simply requested that her corpse be buried “in the church
of Santísima Trinidad under the altar of the Holy Christ of the Blacks,”
giving no explanation for her choice.27 Similarly, Antonia de Sosa Altamirano in 1717 requested burial by “the altar of Our Lady of Pardon” in the
Cathedral of Mexico City.28 Regardless of the exact reasons that influenced
a testator’s choice of burial location, the request for interment close to an
image reflected ties of devotion between devotee and patron.
Catholics in Bourbon Mexico City had many ways to demonstrate
their devotions to holy figures in their wills. But whom did they favor?
Tables 2 through 6 list the advocations reverenced by the testators of
Mexico City in each of the seven sample years. Each table is categorized
into Marian, Christocentric, and saintly devotions with the more popular
advocations in each category listed individually. In the case of gifts of
images to religious institutions and burial requests—the two least popular
pious directives—an advocation is listed separately if it received at least two
pious directives; in the case of the other three directives, an advocation is
disaggregated if it received at least three. Each table lists the percentage
and number (n) of pious directives each advocation received in each sample
year and the total percentage and number (n) each advocation received
overall. For example, Table 2 shows that Our Lady of Guadalupe received
3.4 percent (one directive) of all gifts to images and the Eucharist
bequeathed in 1696 and that she also received 8.5 percent (eighteen directives) of all such gifts in the entire sample (213 directives). Some caution
should be used when reading the tables for changes in devotional practices
over time. In most cases, the number of pious directives made in reference
to advocations was few. For instance, Table 2 reveals that testators gave
gifts to images of the Crucified Christ only in 1737, 1758, and 1779 for a
total of 1.4 percent of all such gifts (and a total of only three such gifts).
27. AN Notary # 453, vol. 3109, fols. 44–46, Mexico City, 22 Oct. 1696. “en la yglesia
de la SSma Trinidad debajo del altar del Sto Christo de los Pardos”
28. AN Notary # 665, vol. 4506, fols. 41–42, Mexico City, 6 Nov. 1717. “el altar de
Nuestra Señora del Perdon”

TABLE 2. Gifts to Images and the Eucharist
Marian
Angels
Guadalupe
Immaculate Conception

Remedies
Rosary
Solitude
Sorrows
18 Other Advocations
Virgin (Not Specific)
Marian Total

1717

1737

1758

1779

1796

1813

Total

0.0%
n=0
3.4%
n=1
3.4%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
17.2%
n=5
6.9%
n=2
0.0%
n=0
6.9%
n=2
6.9%
n=2
13.8%
n=4
58.6%
n=17

0.0%
n=0
2.8%
n=1
5.6%
n=2
2.8%
n=1
2.8%
n=1
16.7%
n=6
0.0%
n=0
5.6%
n=2
8.3%
n=3
5.6%
n=2
50.0%
n=18

0.0%
n=0
19.1%
n=9
0.0%
n=0
4.3%
n=2
2.1%
n=1
2.1%
n=1
2.1%
n=1
2.1%
n=1
10.6%
n=5
8.5%
n=4
51.1%
n=24

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
18.8%
n=3
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
50.0%
n=8
6.3%
n=1
75.0%
n=12

3.2%
n=1
12.9%
n=4
6.5%
n=2
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
6.5%
n=2
3.2%
n=1
6.5%
n=2
0.0%
n=0
9.7%
n=3
48.4%
n=15

4.2%
n=1
8.3%
n=2
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
16.7%
n=4
8.3%
n=2
8.3%
n=2
4.2%
n=1
50.0%
n=12

3.3%
n=1
3.3%
n=1
3.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
3.3%
n=1
10.0%
n=3
26.7%
n=8
6.7%
n=2
13.3%
n=4
70.0%
n=21

1.4%
n=3
8.5%
n=18
2.8%
n=6
2.8%
n=6
3.3%
n=7
5.6%
n=12
4.2%
n=9
8.0%
n=17
10.3%
n=22
8.9%
n=19
55.9%
n=119

237

(continued on next page)

BRIAN R. LARKIN

Loreto

1696

238

TABLE 2. (continued)
1717

1737

1758

1779

1796

1813

Total

0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0

2.1%
n=1

6.3%
n=1

3.2%
n=1

0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0

1.4%
n=3

Eucharist

13.8%
n=4

25.0%
n=9

8.5%
n=4

0.0%
n=0

16.1%
n=5

20.8%
n=5

13.3%
n=4

14.6%
n=31

Nazarene

3.4%
n=1

0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0

3.2%
n=1

8.3%
n=2

0.0%
n=0

1.9%
n=4

8 Other Advocations

3.4%
n=1

2.8%
n=1

6.4%
n=3

0.0%
n=0

6.5%
n=2

4.2%
n=1

3.3%
n=1

4.2%
n=9

Christ (Not Specific)

6.9%
n=2

5.6%
n=2

6.4%
n=3

0.0%
n=0

6.5%
n=2

0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0

4.2%
n=9

Christocentric Total

27.6%
n=8

33.3%
n=12

23.4%
n=11

6.3%
n=1

35.5%
n=11

33.3%
n=8

16.7%
n=5

26.3%
n=56

0.0%
n=0

8.3%
n=3

0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0

3.3%
n=1

1.9%
n=4

Anthony

0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0

4.3%
n=2

0.0%
n=0

3.2%
n=1

0.0%
n=0

3.3%
n=1

1.9%
n=4

James

0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0

6.4%
n=3

0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0

1.4%
n=3

Christocentric
Christ Crucified

Saintly
Anne

(continued on next page)

BEYOND GUADALUPE

1696

TABLE 2. (continued)
1717

1737

1758

1779

1796

1813

Total

Joseph

0.0%
n=0

2.8%
n=1

0.0%
n=0

12.5%
n=2

0.0%
n=0

8.3%
n=2

0.0%
n=0

2.3%
n=5

18 Other Advocations

13.8%
n=4

5.6%
n=2

14.9%
n=7

6.3%
n=1

9.7%
n=3

8.3%
n=2

6.7%
n=2

9.9%
n=21

Saintly Total

13.8%
n=4

16.7%
n=6

25.5%
n=12

18.8%
n=3

12.9%
n=4

16.7%
n=4

13.3%
n=4

17.4%
n=37

Not Specific

0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0

3.2%
n=1

0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0

0.5%
n=1

100%
n=29

100%
n=36

100%
n=47

100%
n=16

100%
n=31

100%
n=24

100%
n=30

100%
n=213

Grand Total

BRIAN R. LARKIN

1696

239

Marian
Guadalupe
Immaculate Conception
Light

Purification
Sorrows
4 Other Advocations
Virgin (Not Specific)
Marian Total
Christocentric
Christ Child
Christ Crucified

1696

1717

1737

1758

1779

1796

1813

Total

10.0%
n=1
20.0%
n=2
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
30.0%
n=3

0.0%
n=0
14.3%
n=2
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
14.3%
n=2
14.3%
n=2
0.0%
n=0
21.4%
n=3
64.3%
n=9

8.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
8.3%
n=1
8.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
25.0%
n=3

14.3%
n=1
14.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
28.6%
n=2

4.3%
n=1
13.0%
n=3
8.7%
n=2
13.0%
n=3
0.0%
n=0
17.4%
n=4
8.7%
n=2
0.0%
n=0
65.2%
n=15

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
11.1%
n=2
0.0%
n=0
11.1%
n=2
5.6%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
27.8%
n=5

13.3%
n=2
6.7%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
26.7%
n=4
0.0%
n=0
6.7%
n=1
53.3%
n=8

6.1%
n=6
9.1%
n=9
2.0%
n=2
5.1%
n=5
2.0%
n=2
13.1%
n=13
4.0%
n=4
4.0%
n=4
45.5%
n=45

10.0%
n=1
0.0%
n=0

14.3%
n=2
0.0%
n=0

16.7%
n=2
8.3%
n=1

14.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0

5.6%
n=1
16.7%
n=3

20.0%
n=3
0.0%
n=0

10.1%
n=10
4.0%
n=4

(continued on next page)

BEYOND GUADALUPE

Loreto

240

TABLE 3. Gifts of Images to Religious Institutions

TABLE 3. (continued )
Nazarene
7 Other Advocations
Christ (Not Specific)
Christocentric Total

John Nepomucene
Joseph
14 Other Advocations
Saintly Total
Trinity
Not Specified
Grand Total

1737

1758

1779

1796

1813

Total

10.0%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
20.0%
n=2

0.0%
n=0
7.1%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
21.4%
n=3

8.3%
n=1
16.7%
n=2
0.0%
n=0
50.0%
n=6

0.0%
n=0
14.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
28.6%
n=2

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
4.3%
n=1
4.3%
n=1

0.0%
n=0
5.6%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
27.8%
n=5

0.0%
n=0
13.3%
n=2
0.0%
n=0
33.3%
n=5

2.0%
n=2
7.1%
n=7
1.0%
n=1
24.2%
n=24

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
40.0%
n=4
40.0%
n=4
0.0%
n=0
10.0%
n=1
100%
n=10

7.1%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
7.1%
n=1
14.3%
n=2
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
100%
n=14

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
16.7%
n=2
16.7%
n=2
8.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
100%
n=12

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
14.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
14.3%
n=1
14.3%
n=1
14.3%
n=1
100%
n=7

4.3%
n=1
8.7%
n=2
4.3%
n=1
13.0%
n=3
30.4%
n=7
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
100%
n=23

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
22.2%
n=4
22.2%
n=4
44.4%
n=8
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
100%
n=18

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
6.7%
n=1
6.7%
n=1
100%
n=15

2.0%
n=2
2.0%
n=2
6.1%
n=6
14.1%
n=14
24.2%
n=24
3.0%
n=3
3.0%
n=3
100%
n=99

241

1717

BRIAN R. LARKIN

Saintly
John the Evangelist

1696

Marian
Angels
Carmen
Guadalupe

Loreto
Remedies
Rosary
Solitude
Sorrows
8 Other Advocations
Virgen (Not Specific)
Marian Total

1696

1717

1737

1758

1779

1796

1813

Total

5.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
5.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
5.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
15.8%
n=3
31.6%
n=6

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
11.1%
n=1
11.1%
n=1
11.1%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
11.1%
n=1
44.4%
n=4

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
6.4%
n=3
4.3%
n=2
4.3%
n=2
2.1%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
8.5%
n=4
4.3%
n=2
4.3%
n=2
34.0%
n=16

6.3%
n=3
0.0%
n=0
8.3%
n=4
8.3%
n=4
0.0%
n=0
2.1%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
2.1%
n=1
4.2%
n=2
6.3%
n=3
6.3%
n=3
43.8%
n=21

0.0%
n=0
3.8%
n=1
15.4%
n=4
0.0%
n=0
7.7%
n=2
3.8%
n=1
7.7%
n=2
3.8%
n=1
15.4%
n=4
3.8%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
61.5%
n=16

8.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
8.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
25.0%
n=3
0.0%
n=0
8.3%
n=1
8.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
58.3%
n=7

0.0%
n=0
10.5%
n=2
15.8%
n=3
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
5.3%
n=1
21.1%
n=4
52.6%
n=10

2.8%
n=5
1.7%
n=3
8.9%
n=16
3.3%
n=6
2.2%
n=4
1.7%
n=3
3.3%
n=6
1.7%
n=3
7.2%
n=13
4.4%
n=8
7.2%
n=13
44.4%
n=80

(continued on next page)

BEYOND GUADALUPE

Immaculate Conception

242

TABLE 4. Votive Masses

TABLE 4. (continued)
Christocentric
Blood of Christ
10 Other Advocations
Christ (Not Specific)

Saintly
Anne
Anthony
Augustine
Francis (of Assissi)
Ignatius
Joseph
Michael

1717

1737

1758

1779

1796

1813

Total

0.0%
n=0
10.5%
n=2
5.3%
n=1
15.8%
n=3

0.0%
n=0
11.1%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
11.1%
n=1

0.0%
n=0
6.4%
n=3
0.0%
n=0
6.4%
n=3

0.0%
n=0
12.5%
n=6
8.3%
n=4
20.8%
n=10

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0

8.3%
n=1
8.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
16.2%
n=2

10.5%
n=2
0.0%
n=0
5.3%
n=1
15.8%
n=3

1.7%
n=3
7.2%
n=13
3.3%
n=6
12.2%
n=22

5.3%
n=1
10.5%
n=2
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
10.5%
n=2
5.3%
n=1

11.1%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
22.2%
n=2
0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0
8.5%
n=4
6.4%
n=3
4.3%
n=2
2.1%
n=1
10.6%
n=5
4.3%
n=2

0.0%
n=0
6.3%
n=3
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
8.3%
n=4
0.0%
n=0

3.8%
n=1
3.8%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
3.8%
n=1
3.8%
n=1
77.7%
n=2
0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
8.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
5.3%
n=1
10.5%
n=2
0.0%
n=0

1.7%
n=3
5.6%
n=10
1.7%
n=3
1.7%
n=3
1.7%
n=3
10.0%
n=18
1.7%
n=3

243

(continued on next page)

BRIAN R. LARKIN

Christocentric Total

1696

12 Other Advocations
Saintly Total
Souls of Purgatory

Other
Grand Total

1696

1717

1737

1758

1779

1796

1813

Total

15.8%
n=3
47.4%
n=9
5.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0
33.3%
n=3
11.1%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0

8.5%
n=4
44.7%
n=21
4.3%
n=2
4.3%
n=2
6.4%
n=3

6.3%
n=3
20.8%
n=10
6.3%
n=3
4.2%
n=2
4.2%
n=2

7.7%
n=2
30.8%
n=8
0.0%
n=0
3.8%
n=1
3.8%
n=1

0.0%
n=0
8.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
8.3%
n=1
8.3%
n=1

5.3%
n=1
21.1%
n=4
0.0%
n=0
10.5%
n=2
0.0%
n=0

7.2%
n=13
31.1%
n=56
3.9%
n=7
4.4%
n=8
3.4%
n=7

100%
n=19

100%
n=9

100%
n=47

100%
n=48

100%
n=26

100%
n=12

100%
n=19

100%
n=180

BEYOND GUADALUPE

Trinity

244

TABLE 4. (continued)

TABLE 5. Feast Day Foundations
Marian
Assumption
Guadalupe
Immaculate Conception

Solitude
Sorrows
5 Other Advocations
Virgen (Not Specific)
Marian Total
Christocentric
Christ Child
Eucharist

1717

1737

1758

1779

1796

1813

Total

0.0%
n=0
10.5%
n=2
10.5%
n=2
5.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
5.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
31.6%
n=6

5.7%
n=2
0.0%
n=0
5.7%
n=2
2.9%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
5.7%
n=2
5.7%
n=2
0.0%
n=0
25.7%
n=9

2.9%
n=1
11.8%
n=4
8.8%
n=3
0.0%
n=0
5.9%
n=2
8.8%
n=3
0.0%
n=0
2.9%
n=1
41.2%
n=14

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
6.7%
n=1
13.3%
n=2
20.0%
n=3

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
3.0%
n=1
3.0%
n=1
9.1%
n=3
0.0%
n=0
6.1%
n=2
21.2%
n=7

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
5.6%
n=1
5.6%
n=1
11.1%
n=2
5.6%
n=1
5.6%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
33.3%
n=6

0.0%
n=0
8.3%
n=2
4.2%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
16.7%
n=4
4.2%
n=1
8.3%
n=2
41.7%
n=10

1.7%
n=3
4.5%
n=8
5.1%
n=9
2.2%
n=4
2.8%
n=5
7.9%
n=14
2.8%
n=5
3.9%
n=7
30.9%
n=55

0.0%
n=0
5.3%
n=1

2.9%
n=1
8.6%
n=3

2.9%
n=1
5.9%
n=2

6.7%
n=1
0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0
6.1%
n=2

0.0%
n=0
5.6%
n=1

4.2%
n=1
0.0%
n=0

2.2%
n=4
5.1%
n=9
245

(continued on next page)

BRIAN R. LARKIN

Rosary

1696

Blood of Christ
7 Other Advocations
Christ (Not Specific)
Christocentric Total

Anthony
Barbara
Gertrude
John Nepomucene
Joseph
Nicholas

1696

1717

1737

1758

1779

1796

1813

Total

0.0%
n=0
5.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
10.5%
n=2

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
5.7%
n=2
17.1%
n=6

0.0%
n=0
2.9%
n=1
2.9%
n=1
14.7%
n=5

0.0%
n=0
13.3%
n=2
13.3%
n=2
33.3%
n=5

0.0%
n=0
6.1%
n=2
0.0%
n=0
12.1%
n=4

11.1%
n=2
5.6%
n=1
5.6%
n=1
27.8%
n=5

8.3%
n=2
4.2%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
16.7%
n=4

2.2%
n=4
4.5%
n=8
3.4%
n=6
17.4%
n=31

0.0%
n=0
5.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
10.5%
n=2
0.0%
n=0

8.6%
n=3
2.9%
n=1
2.9%
n=1
2.9%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
5.7%
n=2
8.6%
n=3

0.0%
n=0
8.8%
n=3
5.9%
n=2
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
5.9%
n=2
0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
6.7%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
6.7%
n=1
0.0%
n=0

3.0%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
3.0%
n=1
12.1%
n=4
12.1%
n=4
0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
5.6%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
16.7%
n=3
0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0
4.2%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
4.2%
n=1
8.3%
n=2
0.0%
n=0

2.2%
n=4
3.4%
n=6
1.7%
n=3
2.2%
n=4
2.8%
n=5
9.0%
n=16
1.7%
n=3

(continued on next page)

BEYOND GUADALUPE

Saintly
Anne

246

TABLE 5. (continued)

TABLE 5. (continued)
Peter
22 Other Advocations
Saintly Total
Holy Trinity

Other
Grand Total

1717

1737

1758

1779

1796

1813

Total

5.3%
n=1
26.3%
n=5
47.4%
n=9
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
10.5%
n=2

2.9%
n=1
17.1%
n=6
42.9%
n=15
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
5.7%
n=2

0.0%
n=0
8.8%
n=3
29.4%
n=10
5.9%
n=2
5.9%
n=2
2.9%
n=1

0.0%
n=0
26.7%
n=4
40.0%
n=6
6.7%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0

3.0%
n=1
18.8%
n=6
48.5%
n=16
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
15.2%
n=5

0.0%
n=0
11.1%
n=2
18.2%
n=6
5.6%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0
12.5%
n=3
29.7%
n=7
4.2%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
8.3%
n=2

1.7%
n=3
16.3%
n=29
38.8%
n=69
2.8%
n=5
1.1%
n=2
6.7%
n=12

100%
n=19

100%
n=35

100%
n=34

100%
n=15

100%
n=33

100%
n=18

100%
n=24

100%
n=178

BRIAN R. LARKIN

Souls of Purgatory

1696

247

Marian
Guadalupe
Immaculate Conception
Pardon

Rosary
Sorrows
4 Other Advocations
Virgin (Not Specific)
Marian Total
Christocentric
Farewell (Despedimiento)
Nazarene

1696

1717

1737

1758

1779

1796

1813

Total

8.7%
n=2
4.3%
n=1
17.4%
n=4
8.7%
n=2
0.0%
n=0
4.3%
n=1
8.7%
n=2
4.3%
n=1
56.5%
n=13

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
20.0%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
20.0%
n=1
20.0%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
60.0%
n=3

10.0%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
10.0%
n=1
40.0%
n=4
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
60.0%
n=6

33.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
33.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
66.6%
n=2

12.5%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
25.0%
n=2
37.5%
n=3
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
75.0%
n=6

23.5%
n=4
17.6%
n=3
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
5.9%
n=1
23.5%
n=4
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
70.6%
n=12

30.0%
n=3
20.0%
n=2
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
20.0%
n=2
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
70.0%
n=7

15.8%
n=12
7.9%
n=6
6.6%
n=5
2.6%
n=2
5.3%
n=4
19.7%
n=15
5.3%
n=4
1.3%
n=1
64.5%
n=49

8.7%
n=2
4.3%
n=1

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0
5.9%
n=1

0.0%
2.6%
n=0
n=2
0.0%
2.6%
n=0
n=2
(continued on next page)

BEYOND GUADALUPE

Remedies

248

TABLE 6. Burial Altar/Image

TABLE 6. (continued)
4 Other Advocations
Christ (Not Specific)
Cristocentric Total

Gertrude
Joseph
2 Other Advocations
Saintly Total
Souls of Purgatory
Trinity
Grand Total

1737

1758

1779

1796

1813

Total

4.3%
n=1
8.7%
n=2
26.1%
n=6

0.0%
n=0
40.0%
n=2
40.0%
n=2

10.0%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
10.0%
n=1

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0

5.9%
n=1
5.9%
n=1
17.6%
n=3

10.0%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
10.0%
n=1

5.3%
n=4
6.6%
n=5
17.1%
n=13

4.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
4.3%
n=1
8.7%
n=2
8.7%
n=2
0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0

10.0%
n=1
10.0%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
10.0%
n=1
30.0%
n=3
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
33.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
33.3%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0

0.0%
n=0
12.5%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
12.5%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
12.5%
n=1

0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
5.9%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
5.9%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
5.9%
n=1

10.0%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
0.0%
n=0
10.0%
n=1
0.0%
n=0
10.0%
n=1

3.9%
n=3
2.6%
n=2
2.6%
n=2
2.6%
n=2
11.8%
n=9
2.6%
n=2
3.9%
n=3

100%
n=23

100%
n=5

100%
n=10

100%
n=3

100%
n=8

100%
n=17

100%
n=10

100%
n=76

249

1717

BRIAN R. LARKIN

Saintly
Anthony

1696

250

BEYOND GUADALUPE

Because the number of gifts to this advocation was small, drawing conclusions about the changes in its popularity over time would be hazardous.
Nonetheless, it would be valid to conclude that images of this particular
Christocentric devotion were not popular recipients of pious giving. Other
advocations, however, were popular, and so we can draw better grounded
conclusions about the changing popularity of their cults.
Tables 2 through 6 reveal the tremendous importance of the Virgin
Mary in eighteenth-century Mexican devotions. In four of the five categories of pious directives, advocations of the Virgin in total were more popular than Christocentric and saintly ones. The only exception to this pattern
occurs in feast-day foundations, where saintly advocations in total outnumber both Marian and Christocentric devotions. Why this exception occurs
in feast-day foundations is not entirely clear, though it likely results from
the fact the institutional Church in Mexico City already celebrated important feast days dedicated to the Virgin and Christ with appropriate splendor
and solemnity. Perhaps, when the faithful of Mexico City chose which feast
days to sponsor, they selected those of comparatively neglected saints whose
feasts were not celebrated with elaborate festivities. The fact that the testators of Mexico City spread their patronage of feast days over a range of
thirty saintly intentions, the largest range of all five categories of pious
directives, likewise suggests that this was the case. Until we have a better
understanding of local level liturgies in colonial Mexico, this conclusion,
however, must remain speculative. Whatever the reasons for this exception
in the overall pattern of pious directives, it is clear that the Virgin attracted
widespread veneration among the Catholics of colonial Mexico City.
The remarkable popularity of Marian devotions is hardly surprising.
The Virgin was gaining popularity in Europe at the time of American colonization.29 This growing popularity had begun as early as the eleventh century in the Latin West, when Christians there began to venerate images as
sources of sacred power. The rise of the image in the spiritual repertoire of
the Latin West allowed for the spread of Marian cults. Because according to
Christian tradition, Mary had been assumed bodily into heaven, she left few
relics, the sole physical focus of saintly power available to Western Christians
in late antiquity and the early Middle Ages. With the rise of the veneration
of images, Christians could henceforth dedicate devotions to representations
29. In fact, Hernán Cortés carried multiple Marian images with him during the conquest and left them with allied altepetl as his band proceeded into the interior of Mexico.
Amy G. Remensnyder, La Conquistadora: The Virgin Mary at War and Peace in the Old and
New Worlds (New York, 2014), 237–56.

BRIAN R. LARKIN

251

of the mother of Christ. By the late Middle Ages, Mary had become a popular devotion alongside more traditional ones to local saints.30 As William
Christian demonstrates for the case of Spain, Mary remained in ascendency
in the early modern period. As devotions to traditional local saints stagnated
from the sixteenth through eighteenth centuries, veneration of Mary grew.31
This stands to reason. The Tridentine Church deliberately promoted veneration of the Virgin to counter Protestant critiques of her cult. As a result,
devotion to Mary surged in other areas of Europe as well.32
Although the Church in Mexico did not directly confront Protestantism, it worked within the same framework as the European Church,
and Spaniards in the New World responded to the same Marian impulses
as their European counterparts.33 In this religious milieu, Marian cults
sprouted and grew in colonial Mexico. Dozens of cults developed in
Mexico, usually focused on a miraculous image. Of course, the most
renowned of these Mexican cults is that of the Virgin of Guadalupe. As
stated previously, the cult of Guadalupe was localized in Mexico City and
the Valley of Mexico until the early to mid-eighteenth century. Only after
1737 did Guadalupe become a trans-regional devotion. Even after her
fame spread to other regions of New Spain, Mexico City remained the
heart of her cult during the rest of the colonial period, a logical consequence of her image’s proximity to New Spain’s capital.
Given this history, it is hardly surprising that Guadalupe drew significant devotion from the testators of eighteenth-century Mexico City. She
appears as a popular devotion in each of the five categories of pious directives, and even represents the single most popular Marian devotion in
terms of gifts to images and votive Masses. Also apparent, though not
unequivocally, is her rising popularity beginning in 1737. In terms of gifts
to images (Table 2), 1737 marked the high point of her popularity, when
she received 19.1 percent of all gifts to images that year. She remained rel-

30. William A. Christian, Apparitions in Late Medieval and Renaissance Spain (Princeton, 1981), 13–14; Christian, Local Religion, 21.
31. Christian, Local Religion, 182–83. Christocentric devotions grew rapidly from
1580-1780; Marian devotions more slowly. Although Marian devotions expanded in real
terms, they declined in proportional terms as Christ become more popular. Nonetheless,
Marian devotions, even in 1780, were still more popular than Christocentric ones.
32. For example, see Phillip M. Soergel, Wondrous in His Saints: Counter-Reformation
Propaganda in Bavaria (Berkeley, 1993).
33. For examples of other global trends in early modern Catholicism, see Karen Melvin,
“The Globalization of Reform,” in The Ashgate Research Companion to the Counter-Reformation,
ed. Alexandra Bamji, Geert H. Janssen, and Mary Laven (Burlington, VT, 2013).

252

BEYOND GUADALUPE

atively popular thereafter. This pattern is repeated in requests for votive
Masses (Table 4). Beginning in 1737, testators began to resort to
Guadalupe consistently as a heavenly advocate. In that year she received
6.4 percent of all requests for votive Masses. Her popularity in this category peaked in 1779 and 1813, when she received 15.4 percent and 15.8
percent of all votive Mass requests in those respective years. This trend
holds true in terms of testators’ choice of burial site as well (Table 6).
Beginning in 1737, testators consistently began to request burial next to
her image, with 1758 and 1813 marking the high points for Guadalupe in
this category. Patterns are less clear in the cases of gifts of images to religious institutions (Table 3) and feast-day foundations (Table 5). In the
category of feast-day foundations, the lack of Guadalupe’s popularity after
1737 may simply reflect the fact that the institutional Church took the lead
in sponsoring her feast day by the 1750s. Despite some variation in
Guadalupe’s popularity in individual categories of pious directives, it is
clear that she was tremendously popular in Mexico City during the eighteenth century and that her fame grew in 1737 and thereafter.
More striking than the popularity of Guadalupe, however, is the great
regard for Our Lady of Sorrows. The Virgin of Sorrows was closely associated with Christ’s Passion. Devotion to her began in the eleventh century
but burgeoned in the fourteenth century when the Black Death ravaged
Europe. At that time, dedication to Christ’s human suffering spread
among the laity. Confraternities of flagellants arose to imitate Christ’s
agony and atone for sins. Depictions of the Passion became ubiquitous and
more emotive. In these new images, a desolate Mary assumed a prominent
role, mourning her son at the foot of the cross or embracing his lifeless
body in the pietà. Eventually, artists developed a representation of the
mater dolorosa apart from the crucifixion. They typically depicted the
Virgin with seven daggers piercing her heart, each representing one of her
seven sorrows.34 The papacy officially recognized the popular devotion to
Our Lady of Sorrows in 1727 when Pope Benedict XIII proclaimed a feast
day in her honor in the universal Church’s liturgical calendar.35
The honor Mexico City’s testators showered on Our Lady of Sorrows
particularly confounds expectations because historians of colonial Latin

34. For a brief analysis of one colonial Mexican depiction of Our Lady of Sorrows, see
Kelly Donahue-Wallace, “A Virgin of Sorrows Attributed to Juan Correa,” Anales del Instituto
de Investigaciones Estéticas 23 (2001), 167–170.
35. Marina Warner, Alone of All Her Sex: The Myth and the Cult of the Virgin Mary (New
York, 1976), 210–19.

BRIAN R. LARKIN

253

American have almost entirely ignored her.36 Only very recently has
William Taylor demonstrated a growing affection for the mater dolorosa.
Promoted by the Jesuits, her cult increased in popularity in the seventeenth
and eighteenth centuries in Mexico.37 Taylor also contends that she
attracted attention “especially . . . [among] pregnant women.”38 But a connection between Our Lady of Sorrows and childbirth fails to explain her
popularity among the testators of Mexico City, most of whom faced imminent death as they wrote their wills. This advocation’s draw must have
stemmed from broader ties with the faithful. Most likely, the mater
dolorosa’s association with the Passion, the center of the liturgical year and
celebrated with grand processions and much pomp during Holy Week in
colonial Mexico City, accounted for her tremendous appeal. This association with the Passion likely figured prominently in the minds of the faithful as they contemplated their eternal fate as they wrote their wills. Unfortunately, little more can be said until more research appears on the cult of
Our Lady of Sorrows in colonial Latin America.
Except in the categories of gifts to images and votive Masses, the
Virgin of Sorrows proved more popular than Guadalupe. Of all images
given to religious institutions (Table 3), 13.1 percent were of the Virgin of
Sorrows and only 6.1 percent of Guadalupe. Likewise, testators who
founded feast-day celebrations (Table 5) chose the Virgin of Sorrows 7.9
percent of the time and Guadalupe 4.5 percent. Last, when testators contemplated their final resting place (Table 6), 19.7 percent of those who
chose to lie next to an image selected the Virgin of Sorrows, whereas 15.8
percent chose images of Guadalupe. These figures indicate that, although
the Virgin of Guadalupe was popular among the Spanish population of
Mexico City in the eighteenth century, she shared the faithful’s affections
with other prominent Marian devotions, particularly Our Lady of Sorrows.
Eventually, Guadalupe would eclipse the Virgin of Sorrows as the most
celebrated Marian advocation, but that appears to have happened after the
colonial period, probably in the nineteenth century when Guadalupe
became a national symbol and lost her associations with creole nationalism.
The Virgin of Sorrows drew fairly consistent veneration throughout
the Bourbon period. Individual categories of pious directives show varia36. For example, Linda B. Hall’s study of Mary in Spain and the Americas makes only
one off-hand reference to Our Lady of Sorrows. Mary, Mother and Warrior: The Virgin in
Spain and the Americas (Austin, 2004), 111.
37. Taylor, Theater, 252–58.
38. William B. Taylor, Marvels & Miracles in Late Colonial Mexico: Three Texts in Context (Albuquerque, 2011), 54.

254

BEYOND GUADALUPE

tion over time. For instance, in gifts to images (Table 2), Our Lady of Sorrows displays greater popularity in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth
centuries, with 1813 marking the height of her cult, when her images
received 26.7 percent of all gifts to images and the Eucharist. A similar
trend is found in terms of gifts of images to religious institutions (Table 3).
Again, 1813 was the height of her cult, when of all images given to religious institutions in that year, 26.7 percent were of the Virgin of Sorrows.
But votive Masses demonstrate an opposite trajectory. The testators of
Mexico City resorted to her with more frequency in the late seventeenth
and first half of the eighteenth century than later. In the cases of feast-day
foundations (Table 5) and burial by images (Table 6), mixed trends
emerge. In those categories, the faithful honored her more frequently at
the beginning and the closing phases of the Bourbon period, but offered
her less homage in the mid-eighteenth century. Viewed holistically across
the five categories, Our Lady of Sorrows drew great devotion from the
faithful throughout the period.
In addition to the Virgins of Sorrows and Guadalupe, Our Lady of the
Immaculate Conception attracted much devotion. Testators’ support for
Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception does not surprise. Although the
papacy declared the Immaculate Conception of Mary—her conception in
St. Anne’s womb without the stain of original sin—dogma only in 1854,
this advocation had grown popular in parts of western Christendom by the
end of the fifteenth century. First celebrated liturgically in England in the
early 1100s, this devotion grew rapidly. The Franciscan theologian Duns
Scotus provided the intellectual rational for the doctrine, and the Franciscans later zealously promoted it. The devotion, however, drew the ire of
many theologians, particularly the great Dominican thinker, Thomas
Aquinas. He instead argued that Mary, like all other human beings, had
been conceived with original sin, but that God had cleansed her of this
taint while still in the womb. The Dominican order, following Aquinas,
railed against the doctrine. But the Dominicans fought a losing battle.39
The Immaculate Conception proved particularly popular in Spain. In the
early 1600s, Philip III assiduously supported the advocation and attempted
to persuade Pope Paul V to proclaim it an official dogma of the Church.
Although the pope declined, he did prohibit advocacy of Aquinas’ refutation. In response, the Spanish Church staged grand liturgical celebrations
for the Immaculate Conception. The Mexican Church followed in 1618.

39. Warner, 236–46; Miri Rubin, Mother of God: A History of the Virgin Mary (New
Haven, 2009), 173-76, 303–04.

BRIAN R. LARKIN

255

The Dominicans in Mexico resisted for a while, but the surging popularity
of the Immaculate Conception largely quieted their complaints by the
mid-seventeenth century. By that time, many corporations in New Spain,
such as the Third Order of Franciscans, the Royal University in Mexico
City, military orders, and many city councils, had either adopted Our Lady
of the Immaculate Conception as their patroness or sworn vows to defend
the doctrine.40 Ardent promotion of her cult continued into the eighteenth
century. This culminated in 1760, when Charles III named Our Lady of
the Immaculate Conception patroness of all Spanish territories and
ordered all city councils to sponsor festivities in her honor.41
It is difficult to disentangle Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception
from the Virgin of Guadalupe, for Guadalupe’s image incorporates many
elements of Immaculate Conception iconography. But if we follow the linguistic usage of Mexico City’s testators and treat the two as separate advocations, we see that Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception reigned as
one of the most popular Marian advocations, but clearly behind the Virgin
of Sorrows and Guadalupe. She was most popular in the categories of gifts
of images to religious institutions (Table 3) and feast-day foundations
(Table 5), receiving fewer pious directives than Our Lady of Sorrows but
more than Guadalupe. In the first instance, images of the Immaculate
Conception composed 9.1 percent of all gifts to religious institutions, and
in the latter she was the recipient of 5.1 percent of all feast foundations. In
the categories of votive Masses (Table 4) and burial images (Table 6), she
was somewhat less popular. And in the case of gifts to images (Table 2),
her relative popularity declined further, falling behind even Our Ladies of
the Rosary, Solitude, and Remedies. Patterns of pious directives also show
her popularity falling over the eighteenth century. All categories of pious
directives, with the exception of burial altar, reveal that the testators of
Mexico City began to withdraw support from Our Lady of the Immaculate
Conception as an advocation apart from Guadalupe by 1779. Contradicting this larger trend, however, Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception
reached the height of her popularity as a burial image (Table 6) in the last
twenty years of the colonial period, accounting for 17.6 percent and 20.0
percent for all requests for burial next to an image in 1796 and 1813,
respectively. Why the trend in choice of burial image diverged from that of
40. Karen Melvin, Building Colonial Cities of God: Mendicant Orders and Urban Culture
in New Spain (Stanford, 2012), 205–14; Conover, “Reassessing the Rise of Mexico’s Virgin
of Guadalupe,” 258.
41. Frances L. Ramos, Identity, Ritual, and Power in Colonial Puebla (Tucson,
2012), 80.

256

BEYOND GUADALUPE

the other four categories is unknown. This fact does suggest, though, that
we should not assume that Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception precipitously declined in popularity at the end of the colonial period. She
probably remained one of the most popular advocations of the Virgin Mary
in Mexico City. She certainly formed part of the trinity of leading Virgins
in New Spain’s capital over the long eighteenth century.
Perhaps as surprising as great popularity of Our Lady of Sorrows
among the testators of Bourbon Mexico City is the relative obscurity of
other Marian advocations. Our Lady of the Rosary, an advocation promoted by the Dominicans and to whom many confraternities in Mexico
City were dedicated, attracted at best moderate attention from testators.42
She appears in third place in the category of gifts to images and the
Eucharist (Table 2), with her images garnering 5.6 percent of all such gifts.
She tied with Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception for third place in
votive Masses (Table 4), receiving a total of 3.3 percent of all such requests.
But she proved much less popular in the other three categories; in fact, no
testator bequeathed an image of her to religious institutions. In short, Our
Lady of the Rosary was a Marian advocation of secondary importance in
Bourbon Mexico City.
Likewise, Our Lady of Remedies attracted little attention from testators. According to contemporary accounts, she was the most prominent
Marian advocation in New Spain’s capital in the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The city council adopted her as its patroness and regularly
paid for festivities in her honor. It often resorted to her intercession in the
face of natural disasters, usually organizing a procession of the image from
her home in Naucalpan at the western edge of the city to the Cathedral in
times of distress. As Linda Curcio-Nagy has pointed out, Remedies was so
popular that the Bourbon crown appropriated her cult and deployed her
image to sanctify the royal government in the eighteenth century. This
process resulted in the sundering of her connection to the municipality.43
Remedies also underwent a process of specialization in the early eighteenth
century, shifting from an all-purpose advocate to a saint who specialized in
relieving drought and protecting the Spanish fleet from maritime dangers.44

42. Melvin, 88-89.
43. Linda Curcio-Nagy, “Native Icon to City Protectress to Royal Patroness: Ritual,
Political Symbolism and the Virgin of Remedies,” The Americas 52:3 (1996), 367–91.
44. Conover, “Reassessing the Rise of Mexico’s Virgin of Guadalupe,” 265–69. Rosario
Inés Granados Salinas disputes these claims. She argues that Remedies was always associated
mainly with relief from drought and disease. “Mexico City’s Symbolic Geography,” 148.

BRIAN R. LARKIN

257

These shifts in her cult apparently resulted in declining popularity among
the general faithful. Our Lady of Remedies appears disaggregated in three
categories: gifts to images and the Eucharist, votive Masses, and burial
image. The first and third of these instances show that she remained popular at the end of the seventeenth and the beginning of the eighteenth
centuries. In fact, she attracted the most devotion in both categories in
1696, when she received 17.2 percent of all gifts to images and the
Eucharist (Table 2) and was chosen as a burial image by 8.7 percent of
testators who selected one (Table 6). In terms of votive Masses, she was
never very popular, receiving only 1.7 percent of all votive Mass requests
(Table 4). All of these requests came in the mid-eighteenth century, indicating that, though quickly declining in popularity, she drew some devotion in the mid-Bourbon period. But by the end of the colonial period, she
had largely disappeared from the devotional landscape of Mexico City’s
testators, or at least did not enter their minds when they contemplated
death and salvation.
In her many advocations, the Virgin Mary attracted the greatest share
of pious directives of the faithful of New Spain’s capital. Christocentric
piety appears less popular. In all five categories, Christocentric devotions
rank second (gifts to images and the Eucharist, gifts of images, and burial
image) or third (votive Masses and feast-day foundations). These patterns
of pious directives suggest that Christ figured secondarily in the piety of
New Spain’s urban faithful or that the Catholics the Mexico City felt compelled to approach God through the mediation of the Virgin and other
saints.45 The weight of scholarly attention within the historiography of
colonial Mexican Catholicism, focused largely on Marian and saintly devotions, reinforces this impression. Although we cannot discount the popularity of the Virgin or underestimate the importance of saintly mediation
in Tridentine Catholicism, we should be cautious in assessing the role of
Christocentric devotions in colonial Mexican Catholicism. As William
Taylor has recently argued, colonial Mexicans also devoted great attention
to images of Christ, venerating them at local shrines throughout the

45. William Christian argues that Catholics in early modern Spain resorted to saints
precisely because God was a distant, stern judge. Saints, as both friends of humans and God,
served as logical intercessors to plead for humanity before God. He does assert, though, that
in the eighteenth century, the image of God in Spain softened. Christian, Local Religion, 56,
206-208. William Taylor states that in the mid-to-late eighteenth century in Mexico, Church
leaders began to represent God as softer and more approachable. He argues, however, that an
increasing dependency on Mary at that time suggests that the faithful of Mexico continued
to view God as distant and stern. Taylor, Magistrates, 19, 299.

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viceroyalty.46 This article contends that, despite the impression that the
Virgin dominated the baroque piety of eighteenth-century Mexico City,
Christocentric devotions were highly important. Building on Taylor’s
insight, this study suggests that the Eucharist figured prominently in the
urban faithful’s Christocentric devotions.
The central importance of the Eucharist in colonial Mexican piety is
most clear in the category of gifts to images and the Eucharist (Table 2).
The Eucharist was by far the most popular recipient of such largesse, garnering 14.6 percent of all such gifts. In comparison, the Virgin of
Guadalupe and Our Lady of Sorrows, the most popular Marian devotions
received only 8.5 percent and 8.0 percent, respectively. In short, the
Eucharist proved almost twice as popular as the most venerated Marian
advocations.
Similarly, the Eucharist tied for second place as the most popular
advocation for feast-day foundations (Table 5), receiving 5.1 percent of all
foundations. Only Our Lady of Sorrows attracted more, a total of 7.9 percent. Almost all feast foundations erected in favor of the Eucharist referenced Corpus Christi, the grand summer celebration of Christ’s corporeal
presence in the consecrated bread and wine. Much like the lack of feast
foundations in favor of the Virgin of Guadalupe in the late eighteenth century, we must read this apparently secondary ranking of the Eucharist in
this category cautiously. Corpus was the most spectacular yearly religious
celebration in colonial Mexico City.47 The city council spent lavishly to
festoon the capital’s buildings with banners, to clean its streets, to sponsor
bullfights and religious plays, to finance fireworks, and to organize the
grand procession that wound its way through the city, sanctifying the
urban landscape. Granted, the Bourbons simplified the festivities over the
eighteenth century and economized on expenditures. Nonetheless, Corpus
remained the preeminent religious celebration in Mexico City, and most
other urban areas of New Spain.48 Given the wealth already dedicated to
Corpus Christi by the city council, the testators of Mexico City probably
saw little reason to direct their resources to it. In this context, the percent-

46. Taylor, Shrines, especially 63-65; Taylor, Theater, especially, 198–228 and 454–84.
47. Pierre Ragon points out that the city councils of Mexico City and Puebla both
spent more money each year celebrating Corpus Christi than the feast days of all their many
patron saints combined. “Los santos patronos,” 376.
48. Linda Curcio-Nagy, “Giants and Gypsies: Corpus Christi in Colonial Mexico City,”
in Rituals of Rule, Rituals of Resistance: Public Celebrations and Popular Culture in Mexico, ed.
William H. Beezley, Cheryl English Martin, and William E. French (Wilmington, 1994).

BRIAN R. LARKIN

259

FIGURE 2. Print of the Eucharist displayed in a monstrance. Published in Advertencias
para la celebracion de el jubileo circular de quarenta oras; diligencias para ganarlo y modo de
ofrecerlo (Mexico City, 1711?). Courtesy of the Nettie Lee Benson Latin American
Collection, University of Texas Libraries, the University of Texas at Austin.

age of testators who devoted wealth to Corpus Christi reveals its primary
rather than secondary importance. Even though already well endowed,
some testators felt compelled to enhance the splendor of the grandest of all
feast-day celebrations.
The absence of the Eucharist in the other three categories of pious
directives is logical and says little about its place in Christocentric devotions. Naturally, testators could not bequeath the Eucharist to religious
institutions because they did not possess it, unlike images, in their homes
(though they could receive it in the form of the Viaticum on their
deathbeds in their homes). Likewise, it made little sense to request a votive
Mass in favor of the Eucharist. This would have been redundant. According to Catholic doctrine, priests consecrated the bread and wine as the

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Eucharist at every Mass. During the canon of the Mass, as the priest at the
altar pronounced the words of consecration over the bread and wine, he
transubstantiated the Eucharistic offerings into the body and blood of
Christ.49 In a sense, the Mass was (and is) a ritual centered on the creation
of the Eucharist. The testators of colonial Mexico City knew this and
therefore correctly viewed a votive Mass in honor of the Eucharist as inherently illogical. A similar logic ruled in the choice of burial image. The vast
majority of images selected by testators as burial locations stood upon collateral altars. In fact, most testators asked for burial by referring to a saint’s
altar rather than to his or her image. Of course, the altar served as the site
for the celebration of the Mass. Most collateral altars in Mexico City must
have supported the celebration of at least one, and probably more, Masses
in favor of the dead each day, for the faithful of Mexico City ordered
numerous one-time and perpetual Masses for their souls.50 Selecting burial
close to an image and its altar necessarily meant proximity to the Eucharist.
As seen, the Eucharist was the center of Christocentric devotions.
This stands to reason. The Mass was by far the most common religious rite
in which the faithful participated. Simply counting the Sundays and other
feast days on which Catholics were required to attend Mass reveals that
those who fulfilled their obligation witnessed about ninety Masses a year.
Many of the devout certainly attended Mass more frequently, some even
daily.51 And, as we have seen, the focal point of the Mass was the elevation
49. Lee Palmer Wandel, The Eucharist in the Reformation: Incarnation and Liturgy
(Cambridge, 2006), 221–23.
50. It is difficult to estimate the number of Masses celebrated in Bourbon Mexico City.
Karen Melvin records that Mexico’s monastery of San Francisco averaged forty Masses a day,
or over 14,000 a year, in 1688. The Mercedarians’ main church averaged fifteen a day between
1684 and 1687. Melvin, 133–37. The number of Masses performed in Mexico City, however,
probably fell short of that recited in the great cities of Europe at the same time. In Barcelona,
over 3,000 Masses for the dead were celebrated each day in 1700. R. Po-Chia Hsia, The World
of Catholic Renewal, 1540–1770, 2nd ed. (New York, 2005), 54.
51. The Third Mexican Provincial Council of 1585 required all non-Indians to attend
Mass on all fifty-two Sundays of the year and forty-six feast days, though two of those days—
Easter Sunday and Pentecost Sunday—automatically fell on Sundays. Concilio III Provincial
Mexicano, celebrado en México el año 1585 confirmado en Roma por el Papa Sixto V, y mandado
observar por el gobierno español en diversas reales órdenes , , , (Barcelona, 1870), 147–153. The
Fourth Mexican Provincial Council of 1771 mandated that all non-Indians, in addition to all
Sundays, attend Mass on forty-two feast days, including Easter Sunday and Pentecost Sunday.
The Fourth Mexican Provincial Council elimated eleven feast days stipulated by the Third
Mexican Provincial Council, but it added five more. Those eliminated were 1) St. Sebastian
and St. Fabian, 2) San Mark the Evangelist, 3) St. Barnabas, 4) the Visitation, 5) St. Mary
Magdalene, 6) St. Dominic, 7) the Transfiguration, 8) St. Francis of Assisi, 9) St. Luke the
Evangelist, 10) St. Catherine Virgin and Martyr, 11) the Expectation of Our Lady. Those the

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261

and consecration of the Eucharist. In fact, Catholics commonly entered
churches simply to view the elevation, a ritual they could have observed
repeatedly throughout the morning as multiple priests simultaneously celebrated Masses for the dead at the numerous collateral altars of Mexico
City’s churches. For most Catholics, viewing the Eucharist at the moment
of elevation or displayed magnificently in a monstrance on feast days probably constituted the most common ways to encounter it. Catholics were
required to consume the Eucharist once a year to fulfill their Easter obligation, and some certainly took communion more frequently.52 But the
great importance and power of the Eucharist made frequent communion
unlikely for most. Proper preparation for the oral reception of the
Eucharist, a process that included examination of conscience and confession, must have deterred many from frequent reception. Nonetheless,
visual communion, encountering the Eucharist through the adoring gaze,
did not require rigorous preparation. For this reason, the Church promoted it, and it must have been the method most used to adore Christ
present in the Eucharist.
The great importance of the Eucharist in the devotional practices of
the faithful of Mexico City is further corroborated by the popularity of
Mass requests in the wills. Requests for the celebration of Masses represented the single most popular pious directive issued in the wills of Bourbon Mexico City (see Table 7). Almost thirty-seven percent of testators
specifically requested that priests celebrate Masses for their souls after
death, a figure much larger than those who bequeathed items to images,
7.0 percent, the most popular of the five types of pious directive analyzed
in this article.53 Each time they requested Masses for their souls, they asked
for an average of 274 of them—though the median was a more modest 100
Masses per request. Testators requested Masses so frequently and in such
great numbers because they understood that the celebration of the
Fourth Mexican Provincial Council added were 1) St. Isidor, 2) St. Anthony of Padua, 3) St.
Rose of Lima, 4) Our Lady of Guadalupe, 5) the Holy Innocents. The great innovation of the
Fourth Mexican Provincial Council was to allow the faithful to work after attending Mass on
nineteen feast days. Concilio IV provincial mexicano celebrado año de 1771 (Querétaro, 1898), 80–
85. Of course, not all fulfilled their obligation to hear Mass. Nonetheless, most certainly did.
52. Concilio III, 200; Concilio IV, 113–14. All the faithful of the age of reason were
required to confess and receive communion between Ash Wednesday and the Saturday before
Trinity Sunday.
53. This figure does not include testators who requested a requiem Mass (almost all
testators) or those who explicitly left the commissioning of Masses to their executors (9.9 percent). Nor does it include testators who established chaplaincies, or perpetual Mass foundations (14.3 percent).

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262

TABLE 7. Mass Requests
1696

1717

1737

1758

1779

1796

1813

Total

Testators Who
Requested
38.4% 39.2% 34.6% 38.6% 39.6% 34.2% 32.6% 36.7%
Masses
n=132 n=67 n=115 n=73 n=88 n=69 n=88 n=632
Average No.
of Masses
Requested
243
288
284
267
289
373
213
274
Median No.
of Masses
Requested
58
100
50
80
50
125
100
100

Eucharist was the most powerful suffrage to aid their souls’ passage
through purgatory.54 The Mass possessed such great salvific power
because, according to Catholic doctrine, it made present again in an
“unbloody manner” Christ’s historic sacrifice on the cross. In this ritual,
priests offered to God in a sacramental way the “same Christ who once
offered Himself in a bloody manner on . . . the cross.”55 The Mass thus
provided the faithful a particularly efficacious way to receive the grace
earned by Christ’s Passion and death, a sacrifice that satisfied the debt of
original sin and opened the possibility of salvation. In short, the celebration of the Eucharist offered tremendous salvific potential to colonial Mexican Catholics. They responded appropriately given the religious culture of
the time, ordering numerous Masses for their souls.
In comparison to the Eucharist, images of Christ attracted less devotion.
In fact, no single advocation of Christ tied to an image drew consistent attention. Only the Christ child showed some evidence of widespread appeal. Of
all the images that the testators of Mexico City gave to religious institutions,
10.1 percent of them represented the Christ child, the second-most popular
advocation in this category (Table 3). This fact may indicate that the faithful
were more likely to possess images of the infant Christ than other Christocentric advocations in their homes and thus were more likely to bequeath
them to religious institutions. This in turn may suggest that, in terms of
domestic devotions, the devout preferred the more tender representation of
the child Jesus than more Passion-focused Christocentric devotions. More
54. Joseph Boneta, Gritos del purgatorio y medios para callarlos. Libro primero y segundo
(Puebla, 1708), 139.
55. H. J. Schroeder, O.P., The Canons and Decrees of the Council of Trent (Rockford, IL,
1978), 145-46; Wandel, The Eucharist, 224–27.

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263

likely, however, the devout saw little reason to donate the crucifixes they kept
in their homes (which they certainly did, for most of the Christocentric
images contained in the “not specified” category were probably crucifixes) to
church buildings that already possessed multiple images of Christ crucified.56
Until we understand more about the material base of colonial domestic devotions, we will be unable to answer this question satisfactorily.
Saints in general figured less prominently in the devotions of eighteenth-century Mexican Catholics than Christ and the Virgin. In all categories, except votive Masses and feast-day foundations, saints proved the
least popular. In terms of votive Masses (Table 4), the testators of Mexico
City honored saints with 31.1 percent of their Mass requests, behind the
44.4 percent directed toward the Virgin, but above the 12.2 percent aimed
at Christ. As explained above, the tertiary position of Christ in this instance
probably stems from the redundancy of dedicating a Mass to Christ, who
already was necessarily the Mass’ focus. In the category of feast-day foundations (Table 5), saints in general were the most popular, garnering 38.8
percent of all foundations. The Virgin followed with 30.9 percent, and
Christ trailed with 17.4 percent. Again, as explained above, this situation
likely derives from the institutional Church’s sponsorship of important
Marian and Christocentric feast days. Testators most likely sought to fund
the less well-endowed feasts of their favored saintly patrons rather than
redouble the patronage of already splendorous Marian and Christocentric
celebrations. Nonetheless, the devout of Mexico City clearly considered
saints less appropriate loci of veneration than Jesus and Mary.
St. Joseph proved the most popular saint in Bourbon Mexico City. He
was the single most reverenced saint in all categories except burial image.
He was slightly more popular than St. Anne, the mother of the Virgin
Mary, in terms of gifts to images. But he was decisively more popular than
any other saint in the categories of gifts of images to religious institutions,
6.1 percent (Table 3); votive Masses, 10.0 percent (Table 4); and feast-day
foundations, 9.0 percent (Table 5). In fact, St. Joseph was the single most
popular advocation, including Marian and Christocentric ones, in the categories of votive Masses and feast foundations. Why was St. Joseph so
popular? In part his popularity stemmed from the early modern campaign
to rehabilitate his image. In medieval art, St. Joseph was regularly depicted
as an old man. The elderly Joseph often accompanied a young Virgin Mary
and the Christ child. The representation of St. Joseph as aged reinforced
56. As William Taylor points out, crosses and crucifixes were the most common Christocentric images in colonial Mexico. Theater, 201.

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the stature of the virginity of Mary, for the elderly Joseph posed little
sexual threat to his young wife. A corollary to this representation, however,
was the understanding of St. Joseph as a masculine figure too elderly to
impose his authority over wife and child. By the sixteenth century, the
Catholic Church attempted to transform the image of St. Joseph. Artists
began to represent him as a young man alongside his young wife and the
divine child. In this new art, St. Joseph took an active role in rearing Jesus.
This rehabilitation of St. Joseph resulted in the intensification of his cult
throughout Europe and the Americas.57 Apart from the general increase in
his cult throughout Catholic territories, St. Joseph likely enjoyed special
popularity in New Spain. The Mexican Church named him patron of the
entire colony in 1555 and therefore celebrated his feast with greater splendor than that accorded to other saints (except the Virgin).58 Also, the faithful of Mexico City invoked St. Joseph as a patron against earthquakes. The
populace often carried his images in procession through the city to ward off
tremors that frequently occurred there.59 In fact, in 1732 the town council
added St. Joseph to the city’s list of patron saints, precisely so that he would
protect the capital from earthquakes.60 These officially sponsored festivities
and processions probably resulted in greater affection toward St. Joseph in
New Spain’s capital than in other areas of the colony.
The only other saint to appear repeatedly with a degree of popularity
was St. Anthony of Padua. In fact, he was the most popular saint in the
category of burial image, with 3.9 percent of testators who chose interment
next to an image selecting him (Table 6). Anthony was also the second
most popular saint in the categories of votive Masses, 5.6 percent (Table
4), and feast-day foundations, 3.4 percent (Table 5).61 St. Anthony, born
57. Charlene Villaseñor Black, Creating the Cult of St. Joseph: Art and Gender in the
Spanish Empire (Princeton, 2006).
58. Concilios provinciales, primero y segundo, celebrados en la muy noble y muy leal ciudad de
México, presidiendo el illmo. y rmo. Señor D. Fr. Alonzo de Montúfar, en los años de 1555 y 1565:
dados a luz el illmo. Sr. D. Francisco Antonio Lorenzana, arzobispo de esta santa metropolitana
iglesia (Mexico City, 1769), 67.
59. For example, see Archivo de la Catedral Metropolitana, Mexico City, Actas vol. 49,
26 April 1768.
60. Ragon, “Los santo patronos,” 371.
61. It is possible that I have inflated the popularity of St. Anthony of Padua. St.
Anthony of the Desert (San Antonio Abad) was also venerated in colonial Mexico City and a
church dedicated to him stood on the far southern end of the city. Testators made twenty-four
references to St. Anthony in the five categories of pious directives examined here. Eighteen of
these specifically mentioned St. Anthony of Padua or clearly alluded to him. Six mentioned
only St. Anthony. One of these six, a 1737 feast-day foundation, probably referred to St.
Anthony of the Desert because it referenced the church of San Antonio on the outskirts of the

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in Portugal in 1195, gained fame for his fight against the Catharist heresy
in southern France. A learned Franciscan, he had sought to persuade the
Cathars of their error through logic and argumentation. Because he had
been a Franciscan, his order promoted his cult. But this fact hardly explains
his popularity in Bourbon Mexico City. Many orders promoted the cults
of their illustrious members. But none of these other saints—even universal
advocations like St. Francis, St. Dominic, and St. Ignatius—attracted
much devotion among testators. St. Anthony was also known as wonderworker, particularly renowned for finding lost objects and for helping the
unattached find marriage partners.62 Furthermore, the city council of
Mexico City named St. Anthony of Padua one of the town’s patron saints
in 1723 to protect against fire.63 These facts may help explain his moderate
popularity among the testators of Mexico City. A more definitive explanation of St. Anthony’s modest popularity must await further research into
his cult and its meanings in colonial Mexico.
No other saint garnered much sustained devotion in eighteenth-century Mexico City. St. Gertrude, promoted assiduously first in the early
1600s and later in the first half of the 1700s, received little attention from
testators in Mexico City. She received 2.2 percent of all feast-day foundations (Table 5) and 2.6 percent of all burial requests (Table 6). Otherwise,
she does not appear disaggregated in the other categories of pious bequests.
This lack of devotion surprises, especially because she was a patron saint
for a good death.64 Perhaps the dearth of enthusiasm for St. Gertrude on
the part of Mexico City’s testators reveals the gap between the projects of
enthusiastic promotors and the faithful’s reception of those campaigns.
city (extramuros). A church dedicated to St. Anthony of Padua (San Antonio Tomatlán) also
existed in Mexico City, but it was not on the outskirts. I therefore coded this as a reference to
St. Anthony of the Desert. I chose to code the other five equivocal mentions as referring to St.
Anthony of Padua because this is consistent with the overall trend in the wills.
62. Ronaldo Vainfas, “St. Anthony in Portuguese America: Saint of the Restoration,”
in Colonial Saints: Discovering the Holy in the Americas, ed. Allan Greer and Jodi Bilinkoff
(New York, 2003), 99–101. Vainfas argues that in the seventeenth-century Portuguese world
St. Anthony became associated with the restoration of the Portuguese throne from Spanish
control in 1640. St. Anthony’s cult certainly must not have carried this meaning in eighteenth-century Mexico City.
63. The city council of San Luis Potosí named St. Anthony of Padua as one of that
town’s patrons in 1645 to protect against storms and earthquakes. Ragon, “Los santos patronos,” 369.
64. Antonio Rubial García and Doris Bieñko de Peralta, “La más amada de Cristo: Iconografía y culto de santa Gertrudis la Magna en la Nueva España,” Anales del Instituto de
Investigaciones Estéticas 25 (2003), 5–54; Antonio Rubial García and Doris Bieñko de Peralta,
“Santa Gertrudis la Magna: Huellas de una devoción novohispano,” Historia y Grafía 26
(2006), 109–139.

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This might also explain the fact that even prominent universal saints like
St. Peter, St. Paul, and St. Francis of Assisi drew little attention.
Likewise, local holy figures gained little support among testators.
Beatos like Felipe de Jesús, Gregorio López, and Juan de Aparicio received
no pious directives. This situation certainly resulted in part from the fact
that the Tridentine Church prohibited official acts of veneration, like feast
day liturgies, for uncanonized holy people. At least in the Church’s liturgical
calendar, local holy figures could not compete with officially recognized,
universal saints.65 Although locally well known, beatos probably could not
generate the eschatological confidence among the population necessary to
garner pious directives in last wills and testaments.66 Because the overriding
goal of good works commissioned in wills was the shortening of one’s stint
in purgatory, testators likely decided to rely on highly reputable and recognized saints. On the other hand, the testators of Mexico City were obliged
to pay homage to local beatos through the practice of obligatory bequests.
All testators were required to pay a sum to fund the canonization campaigns
of local beatos in Rome. The overwhelming majority of testators earmarked
tiny amounts, usually less than a peso, to these mandatory bequests. Perhaps
the requirement to pay this sum lessened testators’ motivation to issue pious
directives in favor of these local holy people in other testamentary clauses.
Whatever the reasons, local beatos garnered virtually no voluntary reverence
in the wills of eighteenth-century Mexico City. But local holy figures did
not fare much worse than even better known saints. Testators in Mexico
City honored many saints in their wills. They commissioned votive Masses
to nineteen saints (Table 4) and founded feast days for thirty (Table 5). The
range of saints reverenced by the faithful of Mexico City was wide. But with
the exception of St. Joseph, and to a lesser extent St. Anthony of Padua,
devotion to particular saints was not deep.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph were unquestionably the most popular holy
figures in eighteenth-century Mexico City. The testators of Mexico City
showed a strong inclination to reverence Christ in the Eucharist. This suggests that historians of Mexico have largely overlooked a fundamental
aspect of colonial Mexican piety. In addition to investigating pilgrimages,
65. The papacy could grant local churches the privilege of celebrating a liturgy to a
beatified, but yet uncanonized, holy person. For example, in 1628, pope Urban VIII permitted Mexico City to celebrate Masses in honor of San Felipe de Jesús. Cornelius Conover,
“Catholic Saints in Spain’s Atlantic Empire,” in Empires of God: Religious Encounters in the
Early Modern Atlantic, ed. Linda Gregerson and Susan Juster (Philadelphia, 2011), 89.
66. Local beatos certainly did have devotees. The faithful seem to have been particularly
interested in obtaining their relics. Taylor, Theater, 371–78.

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267

shrines, images, and great religious celebrations, we need to attend more
closely to the most basic rite in the religious lives of colonial Mexicans—
the Mass. How did the liturgy of the Mass change over time? Did it vary
from place to place within Mexico? How often did Catholics attend Mass?
How did they encounter the Eucharist outside Corpus Christi processions
and the obligatory yearly Easter communion? What local meanings did
Catholics inscribe upon the Eucharist? Understandably, the Virgin Mary
also was a major focus of devotion. In addition to Guadalupe, Our Ladies
of Sorrows and the Immaculate Conception proved remarkably popular
Marian advocations. Again, the present-day prominence of Guadalupe has
eclipsed the historical importance of other Marian advocations. What did
the Virgin of Sorrows mean to her colonial devotees? How widespread
were her images in the churches of colonial Mexico City? What special
devotions did the institutional Church and the general populace practice in
her honor? Exactly when did Guadalupe overshadow Our Lady of Sorrows
in Mexico City and other regions in New Spain? Why did devotions to the
Immaculate Conception decline by the late eighteenth century? In terms of
saints, St. Joseph and to a lesser extent St. Anthony of Padua, were the
only sustained popular devotions in Bourbon Mexico City. How were they
honored and what did they signify to their devotees?
To understand better colonial Mexican religion, we must begin to address
these questions. Although we still have much to research, one thing is clear.
We must balance the interest in the practices associated with local religion
with a deeply grounded understanding of the liturgy and rites of the institutional Church. The popularity of universal advocations like Christ in the
Eucharist, the Virgin of Sorrows, Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception,
and St. Joseph indicate the power of the liturgy and the universal Church to
shape piety. This does not mean that the universal Church determined or
dominated religious practice or that local variations and meanings in religious
practice were unimportant. Clearly, liturgies were localized to some extent (but
we do not know how much and until when) and the cults of universal advocations acquired local flavorings and meanings. As the waxing popularity of the
Virgin of Guadalupe over the eighteenth century attests, we must investigate
and understand local manifestations and meanings of religious engagement.
Furthermore, colonial Mexican Catholics certainly venerated Christ and the
saints for reasons other than securing salvation. Miraculous images and shrines
scarcely mentioned in the wills of Mexico City’s testators received many visitors seeking aid for the perils of this life. Nonetheless, the fascination with the
local should not obscure the importance of the rites and rituals of the universal
Church. Without this balance, we may continue to underestimate the richness
and depth of the religious lives of the colonial Mexican faithful.

Brown and Black Boundaries:
Nazism and German Catholicism
in the Summer of 1933
SKYE DONEY
This article examines the 1933 pilgrimage to the Holy Coat of Jesus in
Trier. The Bishop of Trier, Franz Rudolf Bornewasser, hoped that the
pilgrimage would signal the beginning of a peaceful relationship with
the Third Reich as Nazi Germany was negotiating a Concordat with
the Vatican. Instead, the event became the focal point of a struggle over
the boundaries of public religiosity and revealed the limits of Church
authority. Nazi officials encroached on Catholic autonomy by taking
over security for the event and insisting the Church pay for their service. Catholic laity, both in Germany and abroad, feared traveling to
Trier because of the strong Nazi presence in the city.
Keywords: Trier, Holy Coat of Jesus, Pilgrimage, Nazism, Concordat
July 23, 1933
To Hitler in Bayreuth,
Today in Germany’s oldest cathedral in Trier and in the presence of
Prussian authorities, state authorities and the Cardinal from Cologne [we
held] the opening of the pilgrimage to the Holy Coat of Christ. On the
occasion of this celebration, we assure the Führer, who is to restore the
Christian, national, and social basis of the new state, our steadfast cooperation in the construction of the new German Reich.1
[Vice Chancellor, Franz] von Papen,
[Franz Rudolf] Bornewasser, bishop of Trier

* Skye Doney is the Director of the George L. Mosse Program in History at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. The author thanks Rudy Koshar, Suzanne Desan, Sean
Bloch, Daniel Hummel, Athan Biss, and this journal’s referees for help revising this article.
Stefan Nicolay and the staff of the Bistumsarchiv Trier were indispensable in completing this
research. Special thanks also to John Tortorice and the Mosse Program for the funding to
research and complete this project.
1. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 148, 76. BATr is the abbreviation for the Bistumsarchiv Trier
in Trier, Germany. The sources for this article come from the Bistumsarchiv and the Trier
city library: SAT, Stadtarchiv Trier. Background information, including the names of officials
in Koblenz and Trier, comes from research conducted at the Landeshauptarchiv Koblenz.

268

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269

“Once the war is over we will put a swift end to the Concordat.”2
—Adolf Hitler, July 1942

I

n the spring of 1933, Trier Bishop Franz Rudolf Bornewasser (18661951) prepared his clergy to host a pilgrimage to the Holy Coat of
Jesus.3 He called for the relic to be displayed to commemorate the fact that
1900 years had passed since Jesus was executed outside of Jerusalem. On
April 12, the bishop assembled the Trier cathedral canons, the mayor, and
a professor to begin preparations for a pilgrimage by first inspecting the
physical state of the Holy Coat.4 They found Jesus’ garment to be in a good
condition and noted that the relic retained its reddish-brown coloring. Satisfied, they put the relic away until July. The bishop and Trier clergy
decided the Holy Coat would be on display for six weeks, from July 23–
September 10, 1933.
During the 1933 Trier pilgrimage both Catholics and Nazis strove to
assert control over the event and the town. Ultimately, over the course of
the pilgrimage Trier clergy lost much of their autonomy as well as their
ability to define the place of Catholicism in Nazi Germany. Bornewasser
was initially uncertain about how the new National Socialist regime would
respond to the planned religious event. How would German Catholics and
Nazis interact in the first months of the Third Reich? Would the Nazis
facilitate or hinder the pilgrimage through their involvement? Bornewasser
hoped that the Trier pilgrimage would set a precedent for Catholic autonomy in the Third Reich. Three days after the signing of the Reichskonkordat, a formal treaty between Germany and the Holy See, Bornewasser
wrote to Reichspräsident Paul von Hindenburg (1847–1934) to express his
hope that the pilgrimage would be an example of “cooperation between
church and state” and “a blessing for the newly established Reich.”5 The
2. Guenter Lewy, The Catholic Church and Nazi Germany (Boulder, 1964), 253. Also
cited in Robert M.W. Kempner, ed., “Der Kampf gegen die Kirche: Aus unveröffentlichten
Tagebüchern Alfred Rosenbergs,” Der Monat 1 (1949), 26–38, 34, 38.
3. English translations of this term vary, alternatively rendering Rock as “robe,” “coat,”
“shirt,” or “tunic.” Coat best captures the long nature of the garment and the fact that it would
have been worn externally and secured around the waist with a belt. I also favor “coat” over
“robe” because the King James Version, American King James Version, American Standard
Version, and Bible in Basic English translations all render this garment in John 19:23 as a
“coat.” On the history of the Holy Coat see Erich Aretz, ed. Der heilige Rock zu Trier: Studien
zur Geschichte und Verehrung der Tunika Christi (Trier, 1995).
4. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 171, “Bericht über die Voruntersuchung des hl. Rockes am Karmittwoch, den 12. April 1933 9 ½ Uhr.”
5. He and Vice Chancellor Franz von Papen sent a telegram to Reichspräsident Paul
von Hindenburg on July 23, 1933, three days after the Concordat was signed, that stated,
“The undersigned hope that this symbolic ceremony of cooperation between church and state

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BROWN AND BLACK BOUNDARIES

FIGURE 1. Bishop Franz Rudolf Bornewasser. BATr, Abt. 100, Nr. 0002.

Trier bishop encouraged Vice Chancellor Franz von Papen (1879–1969) to
strike a fair deal for Catholic organizations during ongoing Concordat
negotiations in Rome. Bornewasser thanked von Papen for his service and
invited him to the opening ceremony in Trier as an honored guest. Trier
clergy believed that the Concordat would protect their institutions and
right to organize events of public religiosity. On the ground, however, pilgrims did not experience the relationship of mutual respect between
Nazism and Catholicism that Bornewasser had envisioned.
At the beginning of the Trier pilgrimage Bornewasser also sent a
telegram to Hermann Göring (1893-1946) in Berlin. “I hope to God,” he
wrote, “that the celebration will be a blessing for church and state.”6 The
1933 event was an overwhelming success for Trier, the most heavily
attended pilgrimage recorded to date with 2.1 million visitors.7 The new
will be a blessing for the newly established Reich.” BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 148, 76, “Die Unterzeichneten erhoffen, dass diese symbolische Feier der Zusammenarbeit von Kirche und Staat
und dem Aufbau des neuen Reiches zu Segen gereichen wird.”
6. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 148, 76, “hoffe zu Gott, dass die Feier zum Segen für Staat und
Kirche wird.“
7. About 2,031,000 according to BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 173, 346. An alternative figure of
2,190,121, with a daily average of 44,700 appears in the Statistical analyses in BATr, Abt. 90,
Nr. 173, 609.

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FIGURE 2. The Holy Coat of Trier. Photo by author. 13 April 2012.

Nazi regime benefited as well, inserting itself into very public roles, including overseeing security and coordinating pilgrim housing. At the same
time, the “blessing for church and state,” revealed to both Catholics and
National Socialists that their worldviews were incompatible.8 Less than ten
months into Hitler’s chancellery, Catholics witnessed brutal public arrests
and assaults on international visitors to the Trier relic. In response to
Catholic fears of Nazi harassment, clergy worked to create a barrier
between pilgrims and National Socialism by securing relaxed German
border crossing regulations and by establishing an Interpreting Service to
guide non-German speakers through the city. However, the Nazi state
broke through these protective boundaries at will.
This article examines Catholic opinion of Nazism through encounters
between pilgrims, clergy, and Nazis. Already in the summer of 1933
Catholic laity feared the new regime and were aware of the dangers
Nazism posed to their rituals and worldview.9 At the same time, church
leaders fought a losing battle for control of their sacred practices and space.
8. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 148, p. 76, “Ich danke verbindlichst für Ihr der heiligen Feier
bewiesenes Interesse und hoffe zu Gott, dass die Feier zum Segen für Staat und Kirche wird.”
9. See Armin Nolzen’s call, “we need a history of fear in the Nazi era.” In “Forum: Nazi
Terror,” German History 29(1) (2011), 79–98, here 92.

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Local Nazi representatives limited clerical autonomy over their public religiosity. National Socialists encroached on Catholic religiosity through a
series of small, but aggressive, acts even as they proclaimed the tolerance
and safety of Nazi Germany.
Assessing church-state relations under the Third Reich, historians initially viewed the Catholic and Protestant churches as victims of Nazi
aggression. In 1968, John Conway argued that the Nazis sought to bring
German institutions under heel and lashed out at the churches in a fit of
ideological fanaticism.10 Catholic and Protestant churches were bent to the
Nazi will, and forced into a passive stance in the wake of overwhelming
propaganda and police pressure.11 Since the 1960s, scholars have argued
that Nazism was not a new absolutism, nor were the National Socialists
uncompromising nihilists. Instead, historians have emphasized the religious overtones of the Nazi movement and have exposed the limits of its
authority over the churches.12
In the past two decades, historians have built bridges across the historiographic chasm that previously divided Catholicism and National
Socialism.13 By examining Nazism’s use of Christian symbols and
attempts to unite Christian theology and Nazi ideology, historians like
Susannah Heschel and Robert Krieg have shown how the Nazi movement

10. John Conway, The Nazi Persecution of the Churches: 1933–1945 (London, 1968),
328. See also Ericksen and Heschel’s analysis of Conway in their historiographic essay:
Robert P. Ericksen, Susannah Heschel, “The German Churches Face Hitler: Assessment of
the Historiography,” Tel Aviver Jahrbuch für deutsche Geschichte 23 (1994), 433–459. On
resistance and persecution in the Rhineland see Anselm Faust, ed., Verfolgung und Widerstand
im Rheinland und in Westfalen 1933–1945 (Köln, 1992).
11. Conway, The Nazi Persecution, xxx. Conway also notes, “there was the characteristic
German readiness to accept the existing political order without criticism and to exact obedience to established authority,” 335.
12. Conway, The Nazi Persecution, 328. Conway also here argues that the Nazis
offered Germans a new eschaton. Historians have presented Nazism as a religious rival to
Christianity, on Nazism as a political religion see Eric Voegelin, Hitler and the Germans
(Columbia, 1999); Emilio Gentile, Politics as Religion (Princeton, 2000); Michael Burleigh,
The Third Reich: A New History (New York, 2000); Roger Griffin, Modernism and Fascism:
The Sense of a Beginning under Mussolini and Hitler (New York, 2007). Griffin’s work is striking in how he draws out the transcendent promise of a new beginning in Nazism and Italian
Fascism.
13. Historians continue to reevaluate the place of Christian communities in the Third
Reich and the intersection of Christian theology and National Socialism. See Philipp Thull,
ed., Christen im Dritten Reich (Darmstadt, 2014); Georg Denzler, ed., Theologische Wissenschaft im “Dritten Reich”: ein ökumenisches Projekt (Frankfurt, 2000).

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drew heavily from religious symbols and practices.14 Furthermore, Nazism
did not force the churches to submit to their will. Church members
tended to agree with Nazi foreign policy and approved of the regime’s
hostility toward homosexuality and abortion.15 Historians have not dismissed the severe persecution some members of the churches suffered, but
have highlighted previously unexamined areas of overlap and interaction
between Nazism and the churches.16
At the same time, scholars have explicated how Germans fused their
Christian faith and Nazi convictions. Some Nazi leaders even saw themselves as preservers of a Christian society. As Richard Steigmann-Gall
notes in his provocative study, Nazism was “a radicalized and singularly
horrific attempt to preserve God against secularized society.”17 Christianity

14. See, for example, Heschel’s examination of Walter Grundmann and the Theological Institute for the Study and Eradication of Jewish Influence on German Church Life.
Susannah Heschel, The Aryan Jesus: Christian Theologians and the Bible in Nazi Germany
(Princeton, 2008). For a Catholic example of fusing theology and Nazism see: Robert A.
Krieg, Catholic Theologians in Nazi Germany (New York, 2004); Robert A. Krieg, Karl Adam
(Notre Dame, 1992); Kevin Spicer, Hitler’s Priests: Catholic Clergy and National Socialism
(DeKalb, 2008).
15. Historians have also noted that if the churches felt strongly about a Nazi policy,
they could influence state law. Nazis had to abort attempts to remove crucifixes from public
schools due to popular protests in Oldenburg in 1936 and in Bavaria in 1941. See Jeremy
Noakes, “The Oldenburg Crucifix Struggle of November 1936: A Case Study of Opposition
in the Third Reich,” in The Shaping of the Nazi State, ed. Peter D. Stachura (New York,
1978), 210–230; Lewy, The Catholic Church, 314–316. As O’Sullivan and Damberg note,
Oldenburg also resisted having clerical oversignt removed from schools. See Michael E.
O’Sullivan, “From Catholic Milieu to Lived Religion: The Social and Cultural History of
Modern German Catholicism,” History Compass 7(3) (2009), 837–861, 843; Wilhelm
Damberg, Moderne und Milieu: Geschichte des Bistums Münster 1802–1998 (Münster, 1998),
195–227. In August 1941, Hitler called off a campaign to kill individuals with incurable diseases after Protestant and Catholic Church leaders spoke out against state-sponsored murder.
See Lewy, The Catholic Church, 263–267. See also Shelley Baranowski, “The Confessing
Church and Antisemitism: Protestant Identity, German Nationhood, and the Exclusion of
the Jews,” in Betrayal: German Churches and the Holocaust, ed. Robert P. Ericksen and Susannah Heschel (Minneapolis, 1999), 90–109, here 108–109.
16. There is a developed literature that chronicles the persecution of individual Christian figures, including Protestants Martin Niemöller, Dietrich Bonhoeffer and Catholics
Edith Stein, Alfred Delp.
17. Richard Steigmann-Gall, The Holy Reich: Nazi Conceptions of Christianity, 1919–
1945 (New York, 2003), 12. At times Steigmann-Gall overreaches in making his arguments,
but importantly he has forced scholars to reexamine the connections between Christianity and
Nazism. Historians quickly questioned Steigmann-Gall’s conclusions. See Mark Ruff’s critical essay, “The Nazis’ Religionspolitik: An Assessment of Recent Literature,” The Catholic
Historical Review 92(3) (July 2006), 252–267. See also the essays by Ernst Piper, Irving

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was not a barrier to Nazism because many Nazis viewed Jesus as an heroic
figure who had struggled against Jews. Derek Hastings revealed that
National Socialism was not inherently anti-Christian and that Bavarian
Catholics even helped shape early Nazi ideology.18 Indeed Nazism catered
to Catholics in the early 1920s, finding a symbiosis in 1923 when the Nazi
Party organ, the Völkische Beobachter, encouraged Catholics to attend Mass
and published prayers for Hitler.19 The Nazis initially relied on Catholics
to spread the Party message and to expand membership.20 Only the failed
Nazi seizure of power in November 1923 and Hitler’s subsequent imprisonment wilted the blooming relationship between Munich Catholics and
National Socialism. After the failed putsch Hitler began to view his role as
an all-encompassing Messiah, and the Party put pressure on Catholic
members to choose to follow the Party or the Church.21 Although hostilities toward Catholics increased, early Catholic influence persisted in the
movement throughout the Third Reich in the form of party liturgies,
martyr cults, and the Blood Flag.22
Hexham, and Manfred Gailus in Journal of Contemporary History 45(1) (2007). All three
scholars criticize Steigmann-Gall’s use of evidence and his overarching argument. See also
Doris Bergen’s more favorable review, The Catholic Historical Review 91(4) (October 2005),
841–43; and her later criticism: “Nazism and Christianity: Partners and Rivals? A Response
to Richard Steigmann-Gall, The Holy Reich. Nazi Conceptions of Christianity, 1919–
1945,” Journal of Contemporary History 42(1) (January 2007), 25–33. And Steigmann-Gall’s
response to Ruff “Christianity and the Nazi Movement: A Response,” Journal of Contemporary
History 42(2) (April 2007), 185–211.
18. Derek Hastings, Catholicism and the Roots of Nazism: Religious Identity and National
Socialism (New York, 2010).
19. Derek Hastings, “How ‘Catholic’ Was the Early Nazi Movement? Religion, Race,
and Culture in Munich, 1919–1924,” Central European History 36(3) (2003), 383–433, here
402-403. Catholics were not automatically loyal to the Center Party or Bavarian Peoples
Party. Before Hastings’s study, Oded Heilbronner had established that Munich was unique
in this regard. Oded Heilbronner, Catholicism, Political Culture and the Countryside: A Social
History of the Nazi Party in South Germany (Ann Arbor, 1998).
20. Hastings’s argument undermines any notion of a homogenous Catholic milieu in
Germany before the Second World War and problematizes notions that mainstream
Catholics were inherently drawn to the Zentrum. On Zentrum organization and origins see
Jonathan Sperber, Popular Catholicism in Nineteenth-Century Germany (Princeton, 1984).
Sperber’s work added a popular dimension to previous work by Ellen Lovell Evans, see: The
German Center Party: 1870–1933 (Carbondale, 1981). On anti-Catholic sentiment in nineteenth-century Germany see Michael B. Gross, The War Against Catholicism: Liberalism and
the Anti-Catholic Imagination in Nineteenth-Century Germany (Ann Arbor, 2004).
21. Hastings, Catholicism and the Roots, 183.
22. Hastings, Catholicism and the Roots, 183. On the liturgical aesthetics of Nazism, see
also Joe Perry, “Nazifying Christmas: Political Culture and Popular Celebration in the Third
Reich,” Central European History 38(4) (2005), 572–605; and part two of Griffin, Modernism
and Fascism, 2007.

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The 1933 Trier pilgrimage illustrates the local limits of Nazi-Catholic
cooperation in the first months of the Third Reich. SA (Sturmabteilung)
men, SS (Schutzstaffel) members, German and international Catholic pilgrims converged on the Holy Coat of Jesus in the summer of 1933. NaziCatholic interactions both from pilgrim correspondence and at the level of
Catholic leadership show that many practicing Catholics were anxious
about—and even afraid of—the new regime. Would-be pilgrims worried
about traveling to Trier, especially if they had to cross the German border
and interact with Nazi customs officials. Trier clergy hoped that the pilgrimage would signal the beginning of a peaceful coexistence with the regime, a
relationship that they believed would be governed by the newly drafted treaty
between Berlin and the Vatican. Catholic hope in the Concordat proved
misplaced as National Socialist organizations imposed themselves on the
Trier pilgrimage within days of the Concordat signing in Rome.
Trier and the Reichskonkordat
During preparations for the 1933 pilgrimage, German bishops
reached out to the Nazi regime about negotiating a formal détente.23 They
hoped to conclude a binding treaty that would establish a legal relationship
between the Third Reich and the Catholic Church. After World War I,
Berlin and Rome spoke intermittently about completing a Concordat, but
negotiations deadlocked in July 1931. The Vatican wanted priests to have
the right to conduct marriages before civil ceremonies in cases of “moral
emergency.” The Weimar government favored an army bishop who would
oversee all chaplains regardless of their geographic location. Neither side
gave ground. Then on March 23, 1933 Hitler told the Reichstag that he
was willing to “cultivate and develop” relations with the Vatican.24 One
week later, on March 30 German bishops lifted the Catholic ban on membership to the Nazi Party (NSDAP), in place since bishops deemed
National Socialism to be an anti-Christian ideology at the Fulda Episcopal
Conference in 1932, in order to help smooth the way for a final agreement
with Rome.25

23. Bishop Bornewasser began plans for the 1933 pilgrimage already in June 1930 by
formally inspecting the Holy Coat. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 171, “Bericht über die Verprüfung
des jetzigen Zustandes des Hl. Rockes am Mittwoch, den 18. Juni 1930 vorm. ½ 11 Uhr.”
On the Concordat as a détente: Lewy, The Catholic Church, 38.
24. Lewy, The Catholic Church, 65.
25. Lewy, The Catholic Church, 65; Peter Matheson, The Third Reich and the Christian
Churches (Edinburgh, 1981), 6–7.

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Bishop Bornewasser wished Vice Chancellor von Papen good luck
with the ongoing Reichskonkordat negotiations in Rome.26 “Everyone
knows how much concern, work, and effort has weighed on your shoulders, particularly in the last few weeks. We thank you. May God reward
you!”27 On July 20, 1933, Von Papen signed the Reichskonkordat in Rome
on behalf of President Paul von Hindenburg. His signature cleared the way
for Hitler and his cabinet to approve the agreement. Franz von Papen
arrived in Trier for the opening pilgrimage ceremony three days later.
Having concluded the Reichskonkordat, the vice chancellor was given a
place of honor in the Trier cathedral.28 Bornewasser, like his fellow
German clergymen, expected that the Concordat settled ongoing questions about Catholic organizations, political Catholicism, and the role of
Catholic schools in the new Reich.
Ostensibly, both the Vatican and the Third Reich got most of what
they wanted in the subsequent negotiations for a treaty.29 The Church
secured the right to conduct religious weddings before civil ceremonies in
certain instances of “extreme sickness” or “moral peril.” Some Catholic
clergy later used this as a loophole around the Law for the Prevention of
Hereditarily Diseased Progeny, which outlawed the marriage of Jews and
Germans, to marry “non-Aryan” and “Aryan” Catholics.30 The Church

26. On the Reichskonkordat see also Thomas Brechenmacher ed., Das Reichskonkordat
1933: Forschungsstand, Kontroversen, Dokumente (Paderborn, 2007). For a study of the Concordat from inception to ratification see Ludwig Volk, Das Reichskonkordat vom 20. Juli 1933;
von den Ansätzen in der Weimarer Republik bis zur Ratifizierung am 10. September 1933
(Mainz, 1972). On the role of German Catholicism in Weimar Germany before the Concordat see, Christoph Hübner, Die Rechtskatholiken, die Zentrumspartei und die katholische Kirche
in Deutschland bis zum Reichskonkordat von 1933: ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des Scheiterns der
Weimarer Republik (Münster, 2014).
27. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 101, 23, “Jeder weiss, wieviel Sorge, Arbeit und Mühe besonders in den letzten Wochen auf Ihren Schultern gelastet hat. Wir danken Ihnen. Gott möge
es Ihnen lohnen!”
28. BATr, Abt. 100, Nr. 0002; BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 127, 42. Von Papen is listed first
in the list of those to be seated in the choir with the best view of the Holy Coat. The abbot
of Maria Laach was disappointed he could not attend when such an important person as von
Papen would be attending. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 148, 32–33.
29. See Erwin Gatz’s work for a history of individual dioceses in the nineteenth and
twentieth centuries. Erwin Gatz ed. Die Bistümer der deutschsprachigen Länder von der Säkularisation bis zur Gegenwart (Freiburg, 2005). The Vatican already had Concordat agreements with Baden (1932), Bavaria (1924), and Prussia (1929), the purpose of the Reichskonkordat was to create a unified agreement between Berlin and the Vatican for the entire
Reich.
30. On the consequences of the Law for the Prevention of Hereditarily Diseased Progeny see Claudia Koonz, The Nazi Conscience (Cambridge, 2003).

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also received guarantees of protection for religious instruction in state
schools and approval to continue running confessional schools. The Nazi
regime promised to subsidize the Catholic Church and did so right up
until the end of World War II. In exchange, the Vatican allowed Nazis to
appoint a bishop to oversee all army chaplains. Pope Pius XI (r. 1922–
1939) also promised that bishops would take an oath of loyalty and stay out
of politics (Article 15). Most problematic for the Catholic Church was
Article 31 which protected cultural, religious, and charitable organizations.
The Nazis and the Vatican did not establish an agreed upon list of organizations shielded from Nazi coordination by this clause. The Nazi state
subsequently exploited this technicality in order to suppress Catholic
organizations that competed with their own political and cultural initiatives. For Hitler, the Concordat was a decisive foreign policy victory for the
Third Reich.
German Catholic leaders soon learned that the Nazis had no intention
to abide by the agreement.31 Article 28 of the Reichskonkordat guaranteed
pastoral access to state institutions including hospitals and prisons, but the
Nazis denied clerical requests to visit Catholics held in concentration
camps. Nazi leaders interpreted the treaty in the most unfavorable terms
possible, ultimately reducing the public function of church leaders to
“cultic and caritative functions.”32 The Concordat allowed clergy to publish
homilies and short works that offered spiritual guidance, but for National
Socialists this only included matters of ritual and worship. The Concordat
was supposed to provide Catholics with legal standing in the Reich, yet
was so vague that it put Catholics on the defensive. Pilgrims to the Holy
Coat of Trier found that the signing of the Reichskonkordat did not guar-

31. See Michael O’Sullivan, “An Eroding Milieu? Catholic Youth, Church Authority,
and Popular Behavior in Northwest Germany during the Third Reich, 1933–1938, Catholic
Historical Review 90(2) (April 2004), 236–259, here 239. On Nazi violations of Reichskonkordat guarantees for Catholic schooling, see Katherine Kennedy, “‘Black-Red-Gold Enemies’:
Catholics, Socialists, and Jews in Elementary Schoolbooks from Kaiserreich to Third Reich,”
in German History from the Margins, ed. Neil Gregor, Nils Roemer, and Mark Roseman
(Bloomington, 2006), 146–159. Gellott and Phayer explicate how Catholic women resisted
Nazi calls for increased birth rates as well as Nazi attempts to push women out of the workforce. See Laura Gellott and Michael Phayer, “Dissenting Voices: Catholic Women in
Opposition to Fascism,” Journal of Contemporary History 22 (1987), 91–114. Michael Burleigh
condemns Church officials for being naïve, “initially they [Catholics] deluded themselves that
the 1933 Concordat concluded with the Vatican would afford them a protected niche within
an authoritarian political system, a reflection of a more pervasive underestimation of Nazism’s
totalitarian ambitions,” Burleigh, The Third Reich, 220–221.
32. Burleigh, The Third Reich, 719.

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antee them safe conduct, nor did it mean that Catholics could publicly
practice their faith without Nazi supervision.33
Opening the Borders
German Catholicism was part of a transnational faith and therefore
occupied an uncertain space in the new nationalist Nazi state. The 1933
Trier pilgrimage was an international Catholic event. At least 410,000 of
the two million pilgrims arrived from abroad.34 The Trier Pilgrimage
Committee, a group of clergy who oversaw the event, logged guests from
India, China, Japan, Australia, and Palestine. Bishop Bornewasser had a
photo album created to commemorate the pilgrimage. The album highlighted travelers from Italy, Belgium, the United States, France, Netherlands, England, Ireland, Poland, Denmark, and Malta. Notable Europeans
also visited including the deposed King Alfonso XIII of Spain and Prince
Friedrich Christian of Saxony.
Bornewasser presented the pilgrimage to Nazi officials as an important opportunity for German foreign relations. He wrote to Vice Chancellor von Papen that the German government “should not misjudge” the
“foreign policy significance” of allowing pilgrims from France, Alsace-Lorraine, Luxembourg, and the Saargebiet to cross freely into Trier.35 He
especially planned to invite the Catholics from the Saarland despite tensions between the National Socialists and the Governing Commission of
the region. After all, he explained, he was still bishop of a large portion of
the region. Bornewasser expected at least 300,000 pilgrims to cross the
borders closest to Trier, and argued that the free movement of Catholics
across the borders would relieve tensions with Germany’s neighbors.36
Catholic clergy in Germany and across Western Europe taught that
pilgrimage and the Holy Coat of Jesus were part of an international
Catholic identity. In Saarralbe, France, priests explained to parishioners
33. This argument goes against any idea that lay Catholics were naïve about the regime,
and against Epstein’s point that Catholics did not fully understand the nature of Nazism in
1933. See Klaus Epstein, “The Pope, the Church, and the Nazis,” Modern Age (Winter 1964–
65), 83–94, here 89.
34. BATr, Abt. 100, Nr. 0004, Bd. 6. Catholic press highlighted the international
nature of the event, see “Die Trierer Heiligtumsfahrt im Lichte der Statistik,” Der Katholik 8
(Mainz, 25 February 1934).
35. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 101, 21–22, “Die aussenpolitische Bedeutung dieses Besuchen
dürfte die deutsche Regierung nicht verkennen”
36. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 101, 24.

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that one of the key reasons they were going to Trier was the “international
significance” of the Holy Coat that attracted “pilgrims from all over the
world.”37 The Cardinal-Archbishop of Paris, Jean Verdier, promised to
send pilgrims to Trier because it was a sign of Catholic unity and a step
toward “Franco-German rapprochement.”38 The Bishop of Osnabrück,
Wilhelm Berning (1877–1955), called on his flock to visit Trier and trust
that God would take care of the future.39 Catholics had a duty to mold the
“German Volksgemeinschaft” into the “kingdom of God.” Like Christ,
Catholics, had to pray “Father, not mine, but your will be done.”40 At the
same time, the Osnabrück bishop reminded Catholics that their first loyalty must be to the Church, not to the Reich.41
Bornewasser urged von Papen to simplify German border crossings.
German Catholics were having trouble traveling to Lourdes in France
because of unfavorable exchange rates and frustrating encounters with
French customs officials. Furthermore, the German government refused to
release foreign currency to would-be travelers to France. The Trier bishop
wanted no such problems for foreign pilgrims coming to Trier. Von Papen
called Chancellor Hitler on Bornewasser’s behalf in order to discuss the
border situation. Hitler in turn ordered von Papen to contact the
Rhineland Oberpräsident, Hermann von Lüninck, to work out the details
for making it easier for pilgrims from the Saargebiet and Luxembourg to
enter Germany.42
Officials in Berlin and Koblenz decided to simplify border crossings
in order to counter growing rumors about the dangers of visiting Germany since the Nazis came to power. Father Hubert Edmund Maria
Metzgeroth (1905–1940) in the Saarland, for example, worried that Nazi
officials would seize his pilgrims’ medicine.43 He sought assurances that

37. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 125, 247, “5. Die Ausstellung des hl. Rockes hat internationale
Bedeutung, und es kommen Pilger aus allen Herren Ländern nach Trier.”
38. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 114, 48–50.
39. Ulrich von Hehl, ed., Priester unter Hitlers Terror: Eine Biographische und Statistische
Erhebung, 2 (Paderborn, 1996), 1118.
40. Matt. 26:39.
41. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 101, 71–77. Wilhelm Berning accepted a position of Staatsrat
offered by Göring in 1933. See Spicer, Hitler’s Priests, 15. On Bering see: Klemens-August
Recker, “Wem wollt ihr glauben?” Bischof Berning im Dritten Reich (Paderborn, 1998). In his
1933 New Year homily, Bishop Berning described the pilgrimage as a success and evidence
of continued German faith in Christ, 426.
42. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 111, 80.
43. On Metzgeroth see Ulrich von Hehl, ed., Priester unter Hitlers Terror, 1477.

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the medical personnel helping escort his sick parishioners could cross the
border and that any medical supplies their procession brought with them
would not be taxed.44 Another priest, Father Philipp Anton Kremer
(1889-1960), in Saarbrücken, heard that it was going to cost 25 francs
per pilgrim for a visa.45 Albert Fuchs, a member of the cathedral chapter
(Domkapitular), the lead correspondent for the Trier Pilgrimage Committee, and advisor to Bornewasser, replied to assure Kremer this was not
the case.46
As the Pilgrimage Committee began codifying rules for massive
border crossings and coordinating with the Nazi and regional officials, they
drafted policies that emphasized the safety and order visiting Catholics
would encounter in Trier. Trier printed pamphlets in English, French, and
German in which they explained how pilgrims could enter the Third
Reich.47 Visitors could bring everything they needed for the trip, including
up to twenty-five cigarettes, without paying any import taxes. German
authorities simplified visas for the pilgrimage but also scrutinized large pilgrim movements across the border. The Pilgrimage Committee secured
permission for pilgrims to avoid the visa process entirely if they traveled
with an organized group of five or more people. These lists had to state
clearly the names, birthdays, places of birth, occupations, and addresses of
all pilgrims in the group.
Bornewasser and Trier clergy had good reason to be optimistic about
the future of Catholic-National Socialist relations during the coordination
of border policies. Nazi officials responded promptly to Bornewasser’s
requests and simplified the process of crossing into Germany. Yet, priests
from Lorraine were certain Germany would still not allow them to cross
the border. They wrote to the priest in Perl, a town in the Saarland near

44. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 122, 6–7.
45. On Kremer see Ulrich von Hehl, ed., Priester Unter Hitlers Terror, 1468.
46. BATr, Abt 90, Nr. 122, 15.
47. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 111, 132, “Merkblatt über Pass-, Zoll- und DevisenVorschriften für Luxemburger Pilger.” See also, 140, “Notice: concernant les prescriptions au
sujet des passeports, de la douane et des devises à l’usage des étrangers.” Pilgrims coming
alone only needed a form of photo identification unless they arrived from Belgium, France,
Spain, Lithuania, Poland, Bulgaria, Romania, or Greece. Individuals from France and Belgium had to first acquire a stamp from a German embassy at a cost of 1 RM. The cost for
entering Germany with a list capped at 50 RM for over five-hundred people, significantly
cheaper than individual stamps. German guards boarded trains and busses at the border,
inspected the list of participants and asked any relevant questions. In official pronouncements
pilgrims were repeatedly warned to answer all questions promptly and accurately.

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the French border, that they wanted to visit the Holy Coat with their
parishioners, but worried such a journey would not be allowed “on political
grounds.” They correctly predicted that if Germany allowed the pilgrimage, and overcame the “narrow-minded(ness)” of the present then they
would have to publicize regulations on entering the country at the border.48
Publishing customs rules and easing the visa process still left potential
German and international pilgrims uneasy. “Are the customs officials at
the border unfriendly?” asked a worried Mairieux Maubeuge from France.
He hoped to attend, but would not come to Germany if it was dangerous.
The Pilgrimage Committee informed Maubeuge that hundreds of Frenchmen and Belgians crossed the borders every day without incident. The
Committee falsely assured Maubeuge that none of the thousands of pilgrims had specifically complained about how they were treated.49
Catholic-Nazi Encounters
While Catholic clergy and Nazi officials compromised on easing
restrictions at the national border, in Trier during the event their relationship became more adversarial. Fuchs had a difficult task in finding compromise with various National Socialist clubs and associations and strove
to keep the visibility of Nazi symbols to a minimum. For example, he
denied the Hitler Youth’s request to make a public procession. To appear
neutral he also denied a Catholic Scouts (Pfadfinder) request to make a
group candle-lit procession.50 Similarly, Fuchs informed the Catholic
Shooting Association (Schützengesellschaft) from Zell that they could not
attend in their formal dress uniforms.51 Still, the Pilgrimage Committee
worked with Trier officials to keep the closing parade politically neutral,
and included special directions on dress that excluded Nazi Party armbands, “Dark clothes are desired, without armbands. Priests in frocks.”52

48. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 119, 71, “Deutschland sei so engherzig, wird es nachher schwer
sein, die zu ändern und erst recht schwer, noch Wallfahrtsbegeisterung zu wecken.”
49. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 148, 135–36, “ob die zoll beamten an der deutschen Grenze
nicht zu unfreundlich sind.”
50. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 123, 13. On Catholic youth organizations in Trier see Edgar
Christoffel, Der Weg durch die Nacht: Verfolgung und Widerstand im Trierer Land während der
Zeit des Nationalsozialismus: Verfolgte aus Trier und dem Trierer Land durchleben die Konzentrationslager und Zuchthäuser des “Dritten Reiches” (Trier, 1983), 31–92.
51. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 123, 58–59. There is another example of this in Fuchs’s
letter on p. 62 in the same Akta. This warning is to the Erzbruderschaft v. hl. Sebastianus
in Leverkusen.
52. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 128, 367. “Dunkler Anzug erwünchst ohne Armbinde.
Geistliche im Röckel.”

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FIGURE 3. SA-Men Standing in Front of Assembled Catholic Schützenvereine.
BATr, Abt. 100, Nr. 0001. Reproduced with permission.

During the pilgrimage, the 1933 Volunteer Service [Ordnungsdienst] all
wore Catholic armbands while patrolling the city. These 2,500 Trier volunteers assisted pilgrims as needed. Their armbands were white and red
and had the Cathedral Chapter coat of arms, which featured an image of
St. Peter.53 Thus Trier volunteers publicly offered an alternative image of
eternity. Rather than a swastika, symbol of the unending Reich, the volunteers donned an image of St. Peter, the first pope of the Catholic Church.54
As the above image indicates, Fuchs ultimately fought a losing battle
trying to limit the presence of Nazi symbols and uniforms throughout the
pilgrimage. Felix Riemkasten observed that Trier was a city suffering from
a conflict of conscience. When he visited in 1933, he saw more yellow-red
church flags than swastikas and thought Trier was more likely to put out
Imperial than Nazi banners.55 Yet, SA-Men and Hitler Youth uniforms
are omnipresent in photographs of the event. Indeed there were at least
53. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 199–69, “Ordnungsdienst.”
54. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 199–69, “Ordnungsdienst.”
55. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 141, 46. “Im Heiligen Jahr im heiligen Trier,” Braunschweigische Landeszeitung, Nr. 162, June 13, 1933.

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FIGURE 4. The Trier Cathedral. Photo by author. 13 April 2012.

4,000 SA-Men in the city during the pilgrimage.56 Fuchs kept swastikas
off of the Trier cathedral exterior, but could not stop the SA from wearing
their Nazi uniforms. As pilgrims progressed from their trains, adorned
with swastikas, they were escorted to the cathedral by the Hitler Youth,
checked in by the SA, and even serenaded as they stood in line to enter the
cathedral by a band all wearing Nazi uniforms.57 And at the opening Mass,
church officials were frustrated that the Nazis wearing swastika armbands
took so many seats of honor in the cathedral.58
Fuchs protested uniforms but the imprint of Nazism had already
altered the cityscape after Hitler became chancellor. During the closing
ceremony for the Trier pilgrimage the flag bearers assembled at noon on
the “Adolf-Hitler Square,” now called Porta-Nigra-Platz.59 Pilgrims heading to the cathedral from the Herz-Jesu church walked along “Adolf56. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 141, 46. “Im Heiligen Jahr im heiligen Trier,” Braunschweigische Landeszeitung, Nr. 162, June 13, 1933.
57. BATr, Abt. 100, Nr. 0003.
58. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 148, 117–120.
59. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 123, 80.

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Hitlerstrasse,” formerly “Nordallee,” to reach their destination.60 Changing
the street names also altered address numbers so pilgrims were often
doubly confused when trying to find lodging originally advertised by
Catholic hosts as being on “Nordallee.”
Catholic Youth organizations did not understand why the National
Socialists were present for the pilgrimage, nor why they could not publicly
wear their club uniforms. Both Heini Welkenbach, the leader of the Trier
Catholic Young Men’s Association, and Martin Krisam, Diocesan Leader of
the Catholic Young Men’s Pfadfinder at St. Georg in Trier, wrote to the Pilgrimage Committee to volunteer their associations for security during the
pilgrimage. Both also suggested dates that worked well and assured Fuchs
that they had more than enough young men to keep order. Both of their
messages went unanswered.61 Welkenbach and Krisam subsequently learned
in announcements of pilgrimage protocols that Fuchs asked Catholic youth
organizations to leave their uniforms at home because he also requested that
the Hitler Youth not wear their uniforms during the event.62
Monsignor Peter Anheier, who oversaw the Catholic Young Men’s
Associations for the whole Trier diocese, was equally perplexed about the
role of Catholic Youth during the pilgrimage.63 “Last night I was, like
every evening, in the cathedral between 8:00 and 9:00 p.m., it was swarming with SA and SS people, not one of our young men could be seen.”64
Anheier saw Nazis as a hive of unwanted insects in a sacred space. The
monsignor asked why Catholic men could not act as security for the event.
He further wondered why young men who showed up in person at the Pilgrimage Committee office by the cathedral were not assigned to guard
duty. Impatient for a reply, Anheier called on Catholic organizations to
visit the cathedral together in uniform, they would attend a Mass together
in the crypt. This proclamation finally elicited a response from Fuchs who
warned Anheier that there was no way for the Committee to accommodate
his requests.65 All Catholic associations had to report to the security office,
the Young Men’s groups were no different. And, Fuchs wrote, the SA and

60. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 199–70, 3.
61. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 123, 7–9.
62. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 123, 12.
63. On Prälat Peter Anheier see also Christoffel, Der Weg durch die Nacht, 33–37.
64. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 123, 10, “Gestern Abend war ich wie allabendlich zwischen 8
u. 9. Uhr im Dom, es wimmelte da von SA u. S.S.–Leuten, einen unserer Jungmänner war
nicht zu erblicken.”
65. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 123, 12.

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SS were there to keep order among the pilgrims in the cathedral. The crypt
Mass could not take place because it would disrupt the flow of pilgrims.
Anheier would have to accept holding a separate Mass at a local church.
Fuchs further asked Anheier and his young men to arrive out of uniform
because he was trying to keep the Hitler Youth from wearing their own
regalia in Trier. All Anheier could do was to attend the pilgrimage and
hold a celebratory Mass in closed formation.
Undeterred, Anheier wrote again and asked Fuchs to respond to
Welkenbach and Krisam’s request to participate as honor guards of the
Holy Coat. “The leading young men are outraged at the treatment they
have received.” Anheier warned of growing bitterness, “does one have no
understanding of today’s male youth?”66 Had not the Catholic youth suffered enough bullying in the past weeks and months? Fuchs responded by
asking Anheier to speak to him in person, writing would not bring enough
clarity to their exchange. He further reaffirmed the original denial to
Anheier’s request for a cathedral Mass. Whether they met or what verbal
assurances Fuchs offered are impossible to know, but what is clear is that
the leaders of Catholic youth groups resented their treatment and marginalization in the post-Concordat Reich.
When the Trier event began on July 23, 1933, Nazis had already made
alterations to Catholic tradition and planning. Although Catholic shooting
societies (Schützenvereine) historically volunteered to act as peacekeepers
and crowd management during Holy Coat displays, in 1933 the SA, the
Nazi paramilitary unit, insisted on acting as voluntary security. The Pilgrimage Committee subsequently learned that voluntary did not mean free
of charge. In a letter to Fuchs, the Trier SA leader complained about how
unevenly his men were treated. Some had received a stipend for food for
the days that they served but others had not. The leader asked for 300
Reichsmarks (RM) in additional compensation because some of his men,
“Protestant and Catholic,” had worked for “120 hours without interruption” and should not have to cover their own expenses.67 Fuchs sent him
the money with apologies.
The Trier Sturmabteilung kept fourteen SA-Men from Trier and the
surrounding area on duty during the pilgrimage. In his request for further
66. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 123, 14, “Die führenden Jungmänner sind empört über die
Behandlung, die ihnen zuteil wird;” “Hat man gar kein Verständnis für die heutige männliche
Jugend?”
67. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 102, 141, “andere P.O. Leute Katholiken sowohl wie Protestanten bis zu 120 Stunden Dienst ohne Unterbrechung leisteten.”

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compensation the NS Ortsgruppenleiter explained that two of his men had
worked up to 54 straight days for the pilgrimage. For each day of service
the NS Ortsgruppenleiter suggested 1.68 RM in wages. However, as later
correspondence made clear, the various local SA cells did not coordinate
their efforts with Fuchs. Instead, they argued over who should get the 300
RM, whether it be Trier West, or the Trier Stadt SA division. Ultimately,
the regional governor (Gauleiter) for Koblenz-Trier, Gustav Simon, got
involved at the end of November 1933 and paid out an additional 300 RM
for the security of the event. In his explanation as to why Trier West
should receive the 300 RM, Klaus Horres argued that his men had worked
“day and night” in order to gain “the best testimony abroad” for their
organization.68 The Trier West leader argued that the SA presence at the
pilgrimage undermined rumors of Nazi violence and successfully presented
an orderly Third Reich to an international audience.
In another encroachment on church control of the cathedral and Holy
Coat, the SA sought free access to the event for their members as part of
their daily stipends.69 Three days before the pilgrimage began the SA
Sturmbannführer in Trier asked Fuchs to waive the .10 RM fee for all SAMen as they had “in the ranks of the SA many devout Catholics.” The .10
RM covered the cost of the Pilgrim Passport (Pilgerbüchlein) and Pilgrim
Badge (Pilgerabzeichen) required for each pilgrim to gain access to the
cathedral. As Fuchs explained in his response, however, if they were not
going to waive the fee for school children, they would also not let the SA
in for free.70 The Pilgrimage Committee had to be consistent to avoid
“implications, which they could not answer,” the most obvious of these
being that the German Catholic Church favored the SA and National
Socialist Party.71 Fuchs likely had an image of the thousands of SA-Men
in the region standing in line in their uniforms waiting to get into the
cathedral. This was the sight foreign pilgrims imagined and dreaded in
their letters to the Committee.

68. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 102, 144, “dass man es den verdienten Leuten, welche sich Tag
und Nacht aufgeopfert und dem Ausland das beste Zeugnis abgelegt haben.”
69. See Blaschke’s review of three works on Catholic communities and National Socialism: Olaf Blaschke, “Tyrannei und Tradition in der Region. Abweichende Urteile über die
Katholiken im Nationalsozialismus,” Archiv für Sozialgeschichte 36 (1996), 471–480. For
Blaschke, historians have not yet let go of the myth of valiant Catholic resistance to Nazism.
Here in 1933 Trier, Catholics tried to limit Nazi encroachment on a sacred event.
70. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 106, 2–3, Sturmbanns Führer F.L.
71. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 106, 3, “Die Wallfahrtsleitung bedauert deshalb sehr, auf Ihre
Anregung nicht eingehen zu können, weil sich daraus Folgerungen ergeben müssten, die sie
nicht verantworten könnte.”

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The SA were not the only Nazi organization the Trier Church had to
buy off for official pilgrimage support. For the Trier Nazi city leader (Ortsgruppenleiter Trier-Mitte) it was natural that his group would endorse an
event already established under the German Empire. Of course, such
public toleration of Catholic religiosity meant that the Party would require
300 RM in order to help the poor of the city.72 In fact, the Trier Church
paid for several different National Socialist Party programs, including an
undisclosed amount to the “People’s Welfare” (Volkswohlfahrt) program
which was used toward the 1933 Winter Relief program to ensure Germans had enough clothes and food during the cold months.73 Both payments, to the Winter Relief and to Nazi poverty efforts, undercut the mission of the Catholic Church to minister to their co-religionists in need.74
The financial entanglements between Church and Nazi officials did
not end when the pilgrimage closed in September 1933. Three years later,
in 1936, lawyer Heinrich Bückmann wrote to Trier Monsignor Dr. Karl
Mause asking for financial redress on behalf of his new client, the widow
Joh. Hurtmann. Hurtmann was fifty-two years old when she traveled to
Trier with the hope that the Coat would miraculously heal her ongoing
asthma. After visiting the relic she was cured, and she decided to go down
into the Trier cathedral crypt to pray in thanksgiving for her recovery.
While in the crypt, Hurtmann slipped and injured herself. She spent the
subsequent six weeks suffering from congestion and “blood stagnation.” As
she explained, these symptoms led to complications in her diet, most
notably an increase in how much sugar she ate. The sugar rotted her teeth
and she had to have them removed. Beyond losing her teeth, she also cited
the fall as the cause of ongoing pain in her leg. She asked the Trier Church
to cover her medical bills, plus 380 RM damages and 6 percent on that
total from the day of the accident.75
Dr. Mause and the Trier clergy were dismayed at the Bückmann letter
because German courts had already found the church not liable for Hurtmann’s injuries. The Church’s insurance company, FeuerversicherungsGesellschaft Rheinland, determined that Hurtmann was at fault for her
72. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 102, 133.
73. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 102, 134.
74. SS Standartenführer Karl Zenner petitioned Fuchs for 300 RM to pay for new uniforms for SS commando’s who had helped direct traffic. Fuchs declined as they had paid the
commandos a per diem for food and drink when they directed traffic. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr.
102, 153–155.
75. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 108, 154–55, “die Krankheit rühre von der Blutstokung her,
die ich mir durch den Unfann zugegangen hätte.”

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injuries because she entered the crypt without official permission.76 They
referred the case to the Trier District Court (Amtsgericht) for a final decision
on whether or not the insurance company/Trier church was liable. In a long
summary brief, the court found against Hurtmann in September 1934. The
appellate justice secretary noted that she did not have permission to enter the
crypt. Trier church officials could not be expected to keep a crypt well
lighted, and she should have known that she entered a space like the church
basement at her own risk. Court officials visited the cathedral to view the site
of the incident. This visit affirmed their decision because, as they explained,
Hurtmann should have realized that underground areas are uneven.77
In 1936, Dr. Mause responded to the renewed lawsuit by affirming
the official position that Hurtmann never should have been underneath the
cathedral. The Pilgrimage Committee repeatedly told volunteers not to let
any pilgrims enter the crypt. Furthermore, she must have snuck past stationed security officers (SA-Men) in the cathedral to gain access to the
descending staircase. Even so, the cathedral clergy referred Hurtmann’s
request to their insurance company and encouraged her to contact with
them. Ideally, all parties could find “an amicable agreement.”78 But with
the court on their side, the Trier Church denied liability after Hurtmann
again wrote to them directly. They insisted that to go against the court
would go against “reasons of principle.”79 Thus when she found no support
from the Coat, the church, or the courts, she turned to the Nazis for
redress. The National Socialists represented a new force, an alternative to
traditional authority in Germany. However, Bückmann’s inquiry was
unsuccessful. Hurtmann received no financial compensation for her lost
teeth or her fall down the crypt stairs.
Nazi requests for compensation after courts had decided was an indication that the Reichskonkordat did not mean Catholics were protected
from harassment in the Third Reich. The National Socialist petitions for
compensation sent to the Trier Pilgrimage Committee parallel Hitler’s
harassment of clergy via sexual misconduct trials. Between 1933 and
1937, around 1,000 priests had been accused of sexual abuse, and Nazis
held 250 public trials accusing Catholic clergy of sexual misconduct.80 For

76. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 108, 147.
77. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 108, 154–157.
78. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 108, 145, “zu einer gütlichen Einigung kommen.”
79. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 108, 158, “Ihnen eine Unterstützung zuteil werden zu lassen.”
80. Epstein, “The Pope,” 89. See also Catherine A. Epstein, Nazi Germany: Confronting the Myths (Wiley-Blackwell, 2015), 109.

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the clergy, the Hurtmann issue had been settled until the Party took up
her cause. In addition to the financial rearguard action the Pilgrimage
Committee fought with various Nazi organizations, Fuchs had to assure
potential pilgrims that they would be safe while venerating the Holy Coat.
He faced an uphill battle because rumors of Nazi violence against
Catholics were firmly entrenched in the minds of potential pilgrims and
their clergy.
Pilgrim Anxiety
Catholics heard about Nazi legal and bureaucratic harassment against
clergy and feared traveling to Trier to see the Coat, especially when they
had to cross national borders. Pilgrim anxieties appear throughout the
Trier Pilgrimage Committee correspondence. Recall that the Trier Ortsgruppenführer justified his request for an additional 300 RM by noting the
SA had won a public relations coup during the event: “Today we are in
possession of a large number of letters of thanks—and appreciation—from
foreigners.”81 Despite this boast of international SA fan mail, many wrote
to the Trier Pilgrimage Committee to complain about the National Socialist presence. Before the pilgrimage began, for example, Fuchs responded to
pilgrims in Osnabrück to assure them that the SA and SS were not treating
Catholic young men’s associations differently from other groups.82
Prior to the 1933 pilgrimage, the Pilgrimage Committee sponsored a
press tour across Western Europe. Dr. Jakob Lemmer, from Trier, traveled
throughout France, Holland, Belgium, and England. On his journey
Lemmer informed bishops and journalists of the upcoming Trier event.
Often on his trip he faced awkward questions about the relationship of
German Catholicism and National Socialism. In Haarlem, Netherlands,
the chief representative of the Catholic press, Leo H. Stricker, asked
Lemmer about current German policy on the “Jewish question” and about
how the Church responded to the Nazi movement. Lemmer “told him his
personal opinion,” but did not elaborate in his report.83 In Paris, Lemmer
had difficulty convincing clergy that they would be allowed into Germany.

81. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 102, 141, “Wir sind heute im Besitze einer grösseren Anzahl
von Dank—und Anerkennungsschreiben von Ausländern und muss ich schon sagen, dass aus
diesen Gründen die Summe nicht einseitig verteilt werden darf, was bei den Anderen Verbitterung hervorrufen würde.”
82. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 123, 12.
83. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 114, 16, “Mit der gebotenen Reserve habe ich ihm meine persönliche Ansicht darüber gesagt.”

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Lemmer reported back to Trier that both French clergy and press were
convinced they would not be welcomed in the new Reich.
Much to the frustration of the Pilgrimage Committee, the international press did not cooperate in presenting Lemmer’s unified vision of a
safe Trier. One English reporter informed the Committee that “most of
the English papers just now refuse to publish anything in the nature of
tourist propaganda for Germany on account of their dislike of Hitler: but
if they could be convinced that the matter has a sufficiently international
importance, particularly if England is in any way involved, they might
change their minds.”84 International unease about Hitler’s role as chancellor and the general safety of pilgrims divided even Catholic editors abroad.
In Holland, the Deutscher Verkehrsdienst ran stories assuring Dutch pilgrims that Germany would be safe to visit. One article proclaimed that,
“[t]he swastika flutters happily over the heads of Dutch guests!” Travelers
to Germany would find continuity from before Nazism, its author assured,
“the Rhine is always beautiful, the Black Forest is always impressive, the
Harz is still cozy.” In short, “travel is equally safe.”85
In April 1933, Nazis began dismissing Catholic civil servants because
of their faith in regions they governed. Cardinal Adolf J. Bertram, Archbishop of Breslau, met with President Paul von Hindenburg in Berlin to
warn him that Catholics were anxious about public safety and uncertain
about the future of Catholicism.86 That same month, Frenchman
Wladimir de Smirnoff was beaten by two men in the streets of Trier. As
de Smirnoff reported, he was kicked and punched on Paulinusstrasse by
men who called him a “spy,” “French scoundrel,” and promised to give him
“an object lesson” in showing deference to Nazism. One of the men who
hit de Smirnoff, Rudolph Alt, was a Nazi cell leader. He explained to Trier
police that de Smirnoff had said, “Heil Hitler!” and should not have done
so as he was not a German.87 Alt’s friend, Josef Witzmann, told police that
de Smirnoff had been speaking favorably of the Hitler movement and that
de Smirnoff was himself a self-professed anti-Semite. Alt and Witzmann
forcefully took de Smirnoff to the police station so that he could be

84. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 114, 68–69.
85. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 125, 404, “Der Rhein ist immer schön, der Schwarz-wald
immer imposant, der Harz ist gleich gemütlich, das Reisen ist gleich sicher. Die Hakenkreuzfahne flattert gern über den Häuptern holländischer Gäste!” See also the Deutscher Verkehrsdienst, “Reisen in Deutschland sicher als je!” Nr. 65 (31 May 1933).
86. Lewy, The Catholic Church, 44–48.
87. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 125, 179–182.

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arrested as a spy. When the police searched de Smirnoff’s belongings they
found no evidence that he was in Trier to acquire information for the
French state. Even travelers allegedly sympathetic to Nazism were vulnerable to physical confrontations while in Germany.
In May, one month after de Smirnoff was assaulted, Fuchs contacted
local police and asked them for a statement assuring safe conduct for all
pilgrims coming to Trier. The Trier police complied and issued a statement against “fears expressed” by potential pilgrims from Alsace-Lorraine.
They promised potential travelers that all French pilgrims would be safe
while visiting Trier.88 The Police Administration further guaranteed that
foreign pilgrims would not be harassed and stated that Frenchmen were
free to speak French in public. The Trier mayor, Dr. Heinrich Weitz,
issued the same statement as the Trier police.89 Local authorities asserted
their control over what happened in their jurisdiction, but their statements
did not fully succeed in relieving pilgrim fears.
Assurances offered by the Trier clergy did not stop the rumors about
how “the Hitler-regime” dealt with enemies of their movement. The SA
in particular had a reputation for brutal violence. In July, the Thionville
newspaper, in Alsace-Lorraine, warned would-be pilgrims against crossing
into Germany in an article, “Be Careful When Traveling to Germany!”90
Those who lived in Alsace-Lorraine had to be cautious because the Nazis
had staffed the border crossings with SA-Men. The brownshirts maintained extensive lists of “enemies of the Reich,” which included people who
had been denounced by Germans, individuals known to be friendly to
France (and thus hostile to Germany), and everyone who had cooperated
with the French occupation of the Rhineland and Saargebiet after the First
World War. Furthermore, the newspaper warned that the SA had dangerous, specific information. One of the head Trier Nazis was previously a
repairman in Thionville who had been reported to the French authorities
for being a Germanophile. This “German with a French name,” “Herr
Lacroix,” now led the Trier SA chapter. Beyond the risk of “Herr Lacroix”
as a spy who knew which Alsace and Lorraine Catholics opposed reunification with Germany, the Thionville newspaper recounted two instances
of individuals having difficulty at the German border. In the first case a
man was held for four weeks in prison for no other reason than he wanted
87. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 125, 252.
89. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 125, 254.
90. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 111, 123. See also “Vorsicht bei der Einreise nach Deutschland!” Thionville Neueste Nachrichten, July 19, 1933.

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to cross the border into Germany. The second case was that of a retired
train employee who tried to cross into Germany to attend a funeral. The
man shared the name as someone on the SA “black list” and was detained
for a twelve-hour-long search before finally being released. These stories of
detention and harassment heightened pilgrim uncertainty about going to
the Holy Coat.
Wilhelm Pfoh, who managed the pilgrimage Interpreting Service
(Dolmetschdienst), noted that foreign pilgrims were visibly afraid when they
got off of trains in Germany.91 Trier clergy worked to shield pilgrims from
the SA and ensure that visitors had a positive experience. Pfoh established
the Interpreting Service that ran throughout the pilgrimage. His ninetyeight volunteers worked to give foreign pilgrims a pleasant visit to the
Holy Coat. Most interpreters spoke either French or English fluently. In
addition, he had on staff fluent speakers of Italian, Spanish, Portuguese,
Russian, Polish, Bulgarian, and Serbian. The Interpreting Service, like Dr.
Lemmer on his press tour, focused their efforts on welcoming Catholics
from France and Belgium. Shortly after the pilgrimage began, Pfoh realized that he needed a French edition of the Pilgrim Book. This book
included the pilgrimage schedule, a welcoming statement from
Bornewasser, and prayers and songs for pilgrims to venerate the Holy
Coat. In four days he had the German booklet translated and printed.
When Francophone pilgrims arrived, Pfoh and the Interpreting Service
gave them the French booklet. They also read out a six-paragraph script to
pilgrims as they disembarked. In this missive, volunteer interpreters welcomed Francophone pilgrims to the city on behalf of the bishop and the
Pilgrimage Committee. Interpreters wore badges that identified the languages they could speak, such as “parle français” and “english spoken.”
Interpreters also stayed with foreign pilgrims throughout their stay; Pfoh
tried to keep at least one interpreter per 100 non-German speakers in preregistered groups.92 In order to catch non-registered Francophone visitors
Pfoh also placed interpreters at major Trier squares and at the train stations. In his summary report on the pilgrimage, Pfoh noted that he had
received many letters of thanks from foreign visitors for this service.
Pfoh’s thank-you notes indicate the success of the Interpreting Service, but not all public spaces were Francophone-friendly. Fuchs explained
in a letter to the Unio Cleri abbot in Metz that he hoped there were no
91. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 100, 152.
92. Other pilgrimage officials also called for more interpreters at future events, see
Georg Rudolf’s report, BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 100, 105–107.

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hard feelings when he denied a request to sing a French song during their
procession. Fuchs assured the abbot that he respected the procession, but
it was not possible to permit such a display in the cathedral.93 Pilgrims
could conduct religious activities in French as long as they did so in designated spaces like appointed churches.
Despite Fuchs’s precautions and Pfoh’s interpreting, not all pilgrims
had pleasant experiences in Trier. The Saarbrücker Volksstimme complained
that a pilgrim, a waiter from the Saarland, “Herr Adam,” had been arrested
after complaining that SA troopers with revolvers should not be in charge
of pilgrimage security. Several of his fellow pilgrims spoke out in agreement with his sentiment. Later on that same day, SA-Men pulled him out
of line and arrested him. The paper suspected that a Nazi informant had
overheard the man’s comments. The Volksstimme defended Adam and
mocked the idea of a “Third Reich” built on intimidation. The editors
noted that no one was safe from the “Nazi bandits” now in charge.94 Herr
Adam was released after one month of “detention,” his sentence after being
found guilty of “insulting the Reichskanzler.”95 Adam received this punishment despite the fact that he dismissed the brownshirts monitoring pilgrims and did not specifically mention Hitler.
Herr Adam’s experience was not unique. He was not even the only
Saarland pilgrim arrested during the Trier event. Fuchs wrote a detailed
report about another incident involving a Catholic pilgrim named Herr
Keiber. After visiting the Holy Coat, Keiber and his pilgrim group stood
outside the Maximin church waiting to return to the train station to travel
home. Suddenly a car pulled up, and four SA troopers got out. They
grabbed Keiber from his group and forced him into the car. As they took
him away, Keiber asked them why he was being arrested and where they
were taking him. The four guards responded only with silence. Fuchs later
learned that Keiber was a miner in the Saarland and father of six children.

93. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 102, 106, “Einer der Herren aus der Unio Cleri fragte mich,
ob es gestattet sei, noch ein französisches Lied zu singen. Das musste ich leider mit Rücksicht
auf den besonderen Charakter dieser Prozession verneinen. Ich hoffe, dass diese abschlägige
Antwort nicht falsch verstanden worden ist.”
94. BATr, Abt 90, Nr. 115, 41. See also “Saarländischer Wallfahrer in Trier verhaftet,”
Saabrücker Volksstimme, Nr. 177, August 2, 1922; “Eine Richtigstellung, die keine ist,”
Saabrücker Volksstimme, Nr. 188, August 15, 1933; “Wieder ein saarländischer in Pilger
festgenommen,” Saabrücker Volksstimme, Nr. 205, September 4, 1933.
95. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 115, 40, “Im ersten Falle handelt es sich um die Festnahme
eines Kellners Adam aus Saarbrücken, der sich eine Beleidigung des Herrn Reichskanzlers
zuschulden kommen liess.”

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Fuchs urged Trier police to take steps to secure his release. Local police
tried to help Fuchs and sent inquiries to the SS and SA. However, both
paramilitary organizations wrote back that they did not know anything
about a Keiber or his arrest.96 During this period of Nazi coordination, the
Trier police and mayor had less control of their jurisdiction than their previous safety press releases indicated.
Local Nazi officials understood the pilgrimage to be an opportunity
for favorable international press. For the Nazi Ortsgruppe leader in Nittel,
Johann Michaeli, millions of pilgrims had avoided traveling to Trier out of
a baseless fear of the Nazi movement. Now that the “Jewish,” “Freemason,”
and “lying press” had been proven false, Catholics from around the world
were no longer afraid of visiting Nazi Germany. However, the Nittel Nazi
Ortsgruppenführer worried that these “many thousands of sick” Catholics
would not have enough time to get to Trier to experience the soulstrengthening power of the relic. Nazi officials were aware that their presence in Trier caused some Catholics not to make the journey across the
Mosel River. And although Michaeli presented Trier as a “shop window”
into how Nazism stabilized and strengthened the Fatherland, the several
public altercations indicate that the event was not wholly a display case
[Schaufenster] of Catholic-Nazi harmony.97
In a 244-line poem, “Epilogue to the Display of the Holy Coat in Trier
1933,” Dr. Döllinger in Stuttgart blasted Catholicism as being incompatible
with the new National Socialist world. “The Jews and all the clergy / only
they brought misfortune,” wrote Döllinger.98 The church “shit” on the good
Germans through their “Hokusbokus” of relics and promises of
forgiveness.99 Germans had to resist the Church by not tithing any money;
he declared, “no Peter’s Pence.” Only the stupidest people of the world
would take the Pope by the hand and not realize that the father of the
Catholic Church lived nothing like Christ. Germans had to conquer the
crisis of “millions without work” by turning away from a non-German
Catholicism. Salvation would come from Nazism, or “A d o l f H i t l e r,”
who could sweep away the corruption of the Holy Coat with an iron

96. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 115, 40.
97. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 106, 96–97, Was nun die große Interessen unsres deutschen
Volkes u. Vaterlandes angelangt, so ist diese Ausstellungszeit des hl. Rockes das beste Spiegelbild (Schaufenster) für unsre Nationalsozialistische Revolution.”
98. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 141, 78, “Die Juden und die ganzen Pfaffen/ Nur Unglück
haben sie gebracht.”
99. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 141, 77, “Auf gut deutsch seid Ihr jetzt beschissen.”

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broom.100 Priests should be afraid because the people were coming “to
awareness” of their poor position in the faith. Now Catholics realized that
only “the stupid are the pious.” The bishop of Rottenburg am Neckar,
Johannes Baptista Sproll, was shocked by Döllinger’s message. He wrote to
Stuttgart clergy to ask where Dr. Döllinger lived and whether they knew of
him. The Stuttgart clergy in turn inquired about Döllinger’s true identity
from the Stuttgart Police President. Neither the Church nor the police had
any evidence of a Dr. Döllinger living in Stuttgart.101 Catholics had no
recourse against anonymous threats and defamation like that of “Döllinger.”
Despite the Concordat, Catholic pilgrims had little cause to take
Döllinger’s vague calls for a Catholic-Nazi mutual alliance to strengthen
Germany seriously. In Merzig, Catholic youth were taught to mock the
Holy Coat at Hitler Youth meetings in 1933. Furthermore, Trier officials
warned, Catholic youth had also been made to attend Protestant services
and had been assigned Protestant prayer books while on Hitler Youth
trips. Catholics worried that the Hitler Youth would erode the faith of
young Catholics by promoting Protestantism as more compatible with
Germany and the new Nazi order.102 The Merzig Councilor promised to
prevent future indoctrination within the youth organization. However,
throughout the Third Reich the Hitler Youth followed Döllinger’s lead
and mocked the Catholic faith and undermined Catholic practices.103
Four years after the pilgrimage ended, Catholic-Nazi interactions over
the Holy Coat of Trier remained tense. In 1936, Maria Schwemmhuber
wrote to the Trier Pilgrimage Committee with a desperate request. As she
explained, both she and her husband suffered from severe stomach pains.
They had a large family and were impoverished. Schwemmhuber was confident that if the family could just have a piece of thread from the Holy
Coat all of their troubles would be relieved. Vicar General Heinrich
Hubert Ludwig von Meurers (1888–1953), one of Fuchs’s colleagues, sent

100. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 141, 79, Und nur noch die Dummen das sind die Frommen.”
(Underlining in original). The spacing for Adolf Hitler’s name also appears in the original.
101. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 141, 76.
102. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 141, 72–73. In the image here, Hitler Youth members hold
up multiple “Coats” as evidence of the inauthenticity of the Trier relic.
103. On Hitler Youth experiences in the Rhineland see Alfons Heck’s memoir. Heck
grew up in Wittlich, only 40 kilometers from Trier. Alfons Heck, A Child of Hitler: Germany
in the Days when God Wore a Swastika (Frederick, 1985). On the Hitler Youth see also H.W.
Koch, The Hitler Youth: origins and development, 1922–45 (London, 1975); Jochen von Lang,
Der Hitler-Junge: Baldur von Schirach, der Mann, der Deutschlands Jugend erzog (Hamburg,
1988); Michael Kater, Hitler Youth (Cambridge, MA, 2004).

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them part of the silk used to wrap the relic until it was put away in 1933.104
Much to the consternation of von Meurers, his letter offering the silk
wrapping appeared in the SS periodical, The Black Corps (Das Schwarze
Korps), with a mocking poem. The eight stanza poem, “Religious Textile
Hit” (Schlager), mocked Catholics for thinking any relic cloth could help
them in this world. In the poem priests sat at their “Christian cash registers” in order to sell “bleached chicken bones” to the foolish laity. The
“pious sheep” looked to Trier for part of the “hundred meters” of holy cloth
“at a five percent discount!”105
Von Meurers wrote to the Schwemmhuber’s priest to try and track down
how the SS accessed his private correspondence. The Ergolding bei Landshut
priest, Alois Hiedl, visited the Schwemmhuber family and made inquiries but
ultimately did not know how the letter leaked. The family lived in extreme
poverty and did not own any newspapers. In fact, Hiedl thought they were
oblivious to the “magnitude of the war of worldviews of our time.”106 The
Schwemmhubers informed Hiedl that the letter arrived sealed and had not
left their house. No one had come to take a photograph. Because of their piety
and how much meaning they attached to the Holy Coat, Hiedl doubted they
turned the letter over themselves. Von Meurers let the matter rest with this
report. No one was physically attacked in the Schwemmhuber incident, only
mocked and embarrassed. The Trier story was only one of many antiCatholic poems, vignettes, and images that appeared in the July 1, 1937 edition of The Black Corps. The Schwemmhuber letter appeared after images of
priests measuring women’s chests and hiding multiple women under their
vestments. By 1937 the illusion that the Concordat could protect German
Catholicism from National Socialist harassment had vanished. The
Schwemmhuber incident further confirmed Catholic anxiety about National
Socialist harassment, violence, and financial extortion.
Conclusion
At the closing of the 1933 Trier exhibition, the Pilgrimage Committee organized a procession through the city to honor the volunteers who
had helped keep pilgrims safe and orderly throughout the event. While the
Committee invited physicians, the cathedral choir, local firemen, altar
104. Ulrich von Hehl, ed., Priester unter Hitlers Terror, 1478.
105. Michel Mumm, “Religiöser Textilschlager,” Das Schwarze Korps 26(3) (1 July
1937), 13, “Gläubige Textilvertreter finden hier Beschäftigung Trier gewährt auf hundert
Meter fünf Prozent Ermäßigung.”
106. This Akta is not paginated, so I have here included the dates of letters, BATr,
Abt. 90, Nr. 123, “Ergolding, den 16. Juli 1937.”

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297

boys, the women’s volunteer corps, and the church honor guards
(Ehrenwachen), the SA were conspicuously absent from the procession.107
Even though the SA and SS had inserted themselves as “volunteer” security and traffic controllers for the pilgrimage Fuchs and the Pilgrimage
Committee could keep them out of their official public display of piety.
Pilgrims to Trier contested a National Socialist future. They oriented
themselves towards established traditions that highlighted the German
Christian past. Pilgrimage also offered an alternative Catholic future, for
instance, pilgrimage elevated the bodies of sick Catholics as places where
God could intervene in the world through healing. Over 20,000 sick pilgrims went to Trier in 1933 in pursuit of a divine cure.108 On July 14, 1933,
Hitler and his cabinet approved the Concordat. At the same meeting they
passed the Law for the Prevention of Hereditarily Diseased Offspring.109
The law allowed forced sterilizations for black Germans, the so-called
“Rhineland bastards,” and the “hereditarily sick.” Catholic anxiety about
the future of Church teachings in the Third Reich proved well-founded.
Historians should not overestimate the degree of overlap between
Nazism and Catholicism, especially in the Rhineland. Trier officials
worked to establish barriers between pilgrims and Nazi officials. However,
Fuchs could not stop the SA or the Hitler Youth from wearing their uniforms. Nor could he secure the release of the arrested pilgrim Keiber.
During the first months of the Third Reich Catholics were unsure about
the place of public religiosity and their faith under the new regime. Nazi
officials, from local SA leaders to Hitler, viewed the Trier pilgrimage as a
chance to bolster the Nazi reputation abroad. Both German and international Catholics were anxious about living under National Socialist rule.
Bishop Bornewasser and the Trier Pilgrimage Committee hoped that the
Reichskonkordat would settle lingering questions about the future of
Catholic organizations and practices. During the Trier pilgrimage, however, Fuchs and Bornewasser found that Catholics were not actually
shielded from Nazi harassment after the ratification of the treaty. An
examination of other events of Catholic public religiosity throughout the
modern Germany will further nuance our understanding of how Catholics
challenged and constructed a German identity during the Third Reich.

107. BATr, Abt. 90, Nr. 146, 177–178.
108. In my dissertation I examine the continuities of pilgrimage practices, including
miracle claims, over one hundred years in the Rhineland, Skye Doney, Moving Toward the
Sacred: German Pilgrimage Practices 1832–1937 (University of Wisconsin-Madison, 2016).
109. Lewy, The Catholic Church, 259.

Promoting the Poor:
Catholic Leaders and the
Economic Opportunity Act of 1964
LAWRENCE J. MCANDREWS*
When Lyndon Johnson declared a “War on Poverty” in 1964, the
Protestant president enlisted many leading American Catholics, whose
church had long committed itself to assisting the disadvantaged. Yet
Johnson’s outreach was rife with risk in a nation which, while still
mourning the loss of its first Catholic president, in many ways continued to embrace secularism in its politics, society, and culture. This study
explores the cooperation between the Johnson administration and
Catholic leaders in the passage and implementation of the Economic
Opportunity Act of 1964, the primary weapon in Johnson’s war. It
concludes that although Johnson and his successors ultimately failed in
their battles to eliminate poverty in the United States, American
Catholics largely succeeded in securing a place for their church on the
front lines.
KEYWORDS: aid to the child, Community Action Program, Economic Opportunity Act of 1964, Interreligious Committee against
Poverty, Lyndon Johnson, National Catholic Welfare Conference,
Office of Economic Opportunity, Sargent Shriver

T

he year 2014 produced a compelling convergence of church and state:
a meeting of Pope Francis I and President Barack Obama. Much of
the attention to the March summit focused on the concern shared by the
pope and the president for “income inequality,” the growing gap between
the rich and the poor in the United States and the world.
The implication of much of the media coverage of the event was that
not only was income equality a new phenomenon, but that the Catholic
Church and the American government had only recently discovered the
issue. Then came the tributes to President Lyndon Johnson on the golden
anniversary of his declaration of a “War on Poverty.” Many of the same
*Dr. McAndrews is Visiting Professor of History at the University of Hong Kong.
email: ljm1@hku.hk

298

LAWRENCE J. MCANDREWS

299

observers who had breathlessly uncovered “income inequality” now
remembered that it was not a new preoccupation of the American government, after all.
And it certainly was not new to the Catholic Church. American
Catholics, led by their bishops, played an instrumental role in the formulation, passage, and execution of the Economic Opportunity Act of 1964,
the centerpiece of the War on Poverty.
So when Pope Francis calls upon the rich to “promote the poor,” he is
invoking the centuries-old tradition of his Church. And when President
Johnson launched his campaign to “eliminate the paradox of poverty in the
midst of plenty,” he tapped into that tradition by asking a devout Catholic
to lead the fight. While neither church nor state would win their battles
against poverty in the next fifty years, their careful collaboration in a country and at a time that celebrated secular solutions was a victory in itself.1
The Secular Sixties
In his famous appearance before the Greater Houston Ministerial
Association in September 1960, candidate John F. Kennedy promised that
if any conflict should arise during his presidency between his religious
beliefs and the U.S. Constitution, he would opt for the latter. “No Catholic
prelate,” said Kennedy, “would tell the president how to act.” By the end
of his first year in office in 1961, President Kennedy appeared to be fulfilling his promise. “For understandable political reasons, Mr. Kennedy has
not been inclined to make much of his Irish or Catholic background,” the
editors of the Jesuit magazine America wrote. “Catholic prelates and
Catholic clergymen pay few if any calls these days to the White House.”2
The next year, three months before the Supreme Court’s Engel v.
Vitale ruling removed public prayer from the public schools, Rev.
Theodore Hesburgh, president of the University of Notre Dame and
member of the United States Civil Rights Commission, lamented that
“while our society is called religiously pluralistic, it is in fact, and more real1. Pope Francis I, “Evangelii Gaudium,” 24 November 2013, https://w2.vatican.va/
content/francesco/en/apost_exhortations/documents/papa-francesco_esortazione-ap_
20131124_evangelii-gaudium.html; Lyndon B. Johnson, “Annual Message to the Congress
on the State of the Union,” January 8, 1964, Online by Gerhard Peters and John T. Woolley,
The American Presidency Project, http://www.presidency.ucsb. edu/ws/?pid=26787.
2. James Hilty, Robert Kennedy: Brother Protector (Philadelphia, Pa.: Temple University
Press, 1997), 168; “Church and President,” America, January 13, 1962, 461–462.

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PROMOTING THE POOR

istically, secularistic—with theology and philosophy relegated to a position
of neglect, or, worse, irrelevance.” In 1963, in Abingdon School District v.
Schempp, the Court prohibited Bible reading in the public schools. In 1964,
over 150 proposed constitutional amendments to overturn the Engel and
Schempp decisions failed in the House Judiciary Committee. In 1965, Dr.
Carl Henry, the editor of Christianity Today, the world’s most widely read
interdenominational religious periodical, maintained that his fellow clergy
possessed “neither a divine mandate . . . nor special competence” to render
political judgments. In 1966, after John Lennon pronounced the Beatles
“more popular than Jesus,” Time magazine wondered, “Is God Dead?” In
1967, Jewish historian Lawrence Fuchs concluded that the unfulfilled fear
of President Kennedy’s undermining of America’s secular society was not
a victory for religion but “the triumph of reason.”3
Such was the atmosphere that enveloped the country before, during,
and after the enactment of the Economic Opportunity Act of 1964.
Against this backdrop, one of the most arduous battles which President
Lyndon Johnson and American Catholic leaders would wage in devising,
enacting, and implementing the War on Poverty would be over the meaning and scope of the First Amendment’s admonition that “Congress shall
make no law respecting an establishment of religion.”
Planning the War
Lyndon Johnson’s “War on Poverty” had its roots in the Kennedy
administration. As a presidential candidate in West Virginia in 1960, Senator Kennedy had observed abject poverty first-hand in his successful campaign in that state’s primary. In an August 1960 speech, candidate
Kennedy had called for a national “war on poverty.” Only one day into his
presidency in 1961, Kennedy issued an executive order expanding the federal surplus commodities program to feed the nation’s hungry. After reading Dwight MacDonald’s New Yorker article, “Our Invisible Poor,”
3. Engel v. Vitale, 370 U.S. 421 (1962); Ashley McKinless, “Father Hesburgh in America: Looking Back at Newman,” America, February 27, 2015, https://www.americamagazine.
org/content/all-things/father-hesburgh-america-looking-back-newman; Abingdon School
District v. Schempp, 374 U.S. 203 (1963); Frank Cihlar, Michael K. Cook, and Joseph P.
Martori, “Church-State—Religious Institutions and Values: A Legal Survey, 1964–1966,”
Notre Dame Law Review 41 (1 June 1966), 706; M. S. Handler, “Clergymen Clash on Role
in Major National Issues,” New York Times, March 1, 1965, sec. L; Patrick Cadogan, The
Revolutionary Artist: John Lennon’s Radical Years (Seattle, WA: Create Space Publishing,
2008), 7; “Is God Dead?” Time, April 8, 1966, cover; John T. McGreevy, Catholicism and
American Freedom: A History (New York: Norton, 2003), 213.

LAWRENCE J. MCANDREWS

301

FIGURE 1. R. Sargent Shriver, Official Peace Corps Photograph, Rowland Scherman photo, courtesy of Sargent Shriver Peace Institute.

Kennedy accepted the suggestion of his sister Eunice to appoint a task
force, led by Attorney General Robert Kennedy, which would propose to
Congress a domestic Peace Corps to fight poverty. Kennedy also directed
Walter Heller, chairman of the Council of Economic Advisers, to study
the poverty problem. Yet these efforts stalled because, according to Robert
Kennedy, his brother realized that a federal assault on poverty would cost
“several billions of dollars each year,” and, according to historian James
Patterson, Kennedy did not “sense any social breakdown or believe in a culture of poverty.”4
Following Kennedy’s assassination, Johnson discussed poverty issues
with Heller and decided to make the poor a major target of his domestic
policy. In his first State of the Union Address in January 1964, the new
president declared “an unconditional war on poverty.” The centerpiece of

4. Edward Schmitt, President of the Other America: Robert Kennedy and the Politics of
Poverty (Boston: University of Massachusetts Press, 2010), 21, 32, 82, 96; Lawrence J.
McAndrews, Broken Ground: John F. Kennedy and the Politics of Education (New York: Routledge, 2012), 185; James Patterson, America’s Struggle against Poverty in the Twentieth Century
(Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1981), 126–127.

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PROMOTING THE POOR

the anti-poverty crusade would be an Office of Economic Opportunity
(OEO), to be headed by Kennedy’s brother-in-law Sargent Shriver, a
Catholic, and to be divided into two major components, the Community
Action Program (CAP) and the Job Corps, as well as several smaller ones.
Among the CAP programs (which would primarily serve large cities) would
be Legal Services (legal aid for the poor), Project Head Start (preschool for
the poor), and Neighborhood Health Centers (health care for the poor).
The Job Corps would earmark funds to federal, local, or private agencies for
conservation and training camps for sixteen to twenty-one-year-olds.5
The United States Catholic bishops shared the Johnson administration’s commitment to waging war on poverty. At the Last Judgment,
according to the evangelist Matthew, God will tell the “just” that “whatever
you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me” (Mt 25:40).
Catholic social teaching has built upon this Biblical foundation.
Modern Catholic concepts of “social justice” trace their origins to the
thirteenth-century writings of St. Thomas Aquinas, who defined “general
justice” as the pursuit of the “common good.” In his 1891 encyclical Rerum
Novarum (“Of New Things”), Pope Leo XIII deplored the extremes of
socialism and unchecked capitalism. In 1919, the progressive priest Rev.
John Ryan authored the “Bishops’ Program of Social Reconstruction,” which
endorsed a minimum wage, collective bargaining, and old-age and disability
insurance. In his 1931 encyclical Quadragesimo Anno (“The Fortieth Year),”
Pope Pius XI strengthened the pro-labor tenets of Rerum Novarum. The
bishops viewed the anti-poverty campaign as the implementation of Pope
John XXIII’s 1963 encyclical Pacem in Terris (Peace on Earth), in which he
observed, “It often happens that in one and the same country citizens enjoy
different degrees of wealth and social advancement. . . . Where there is such
a case, justice and equity demand that the Government make every effort
either to remove or to minimize the imbalance of this sort.”6
The commitment of the bishops’ National Catholic Welfare Conference (NCWC) to social justice had, since 1944, motivated their quest for
federal assistance to their parish schools. Since that time, constitutional
5. Paul Conkin, Big Daddy from the Pedernales: Lyndon Baines Johnson (Boston: Twayne,
1986), 220; Johnson, “Annual Message to the Congress on the State of the Union,” January
8, 1964.
6. D. Paul Sullins, “Introduction,” in Catholic Social Thought, ed. D. Paul Sullins and
Anthony Blasi (Lanham, Md.: Rowman and Littlefield, 2009), 15–17; Pope John XXIII,
Pacem in Terris, April 11, 1963, http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/johnxxiii/encyclicals/
documents/hf_j-xxiii_enc_11041963_pacem_en.html.

LAWRENCE J. MCANDREWS

303

objections in the White House and on Capitol Hill to such a mingling of
church and state had helped forestall the fulfillment of this objective. Even
John F. Kennedy, who supported nonpublic school aid as a Massachusetts
Democratic Congressman, had reversed himself once he reached the
Senate. In 1961, when President Kennedy’s first education proposal
excluded nonpublic schools, he provoked a public confrontation with the
bishops of his Church.7
The Kennedy administration subsequently negotiated two compromises with the NCWC, the first attaching nonpublic school loans under
the National Defense Education Act (NDEA) to the public school bill,
and the second offering the NDEA loans as a separate measure. But these
gestures could not placate Catholic Democrat James Delaney of New
York, who defied his party and his church by casting the deciding vote
against the Kennedy bill in the House Rules Committee.8
In mid-November 1963, shortly before Kennedy’s death, Democratic
Representative John Brademas of Indiana, a member of the House Education and Labor Committee, initiated a series of secret meetings with Francis Keppel, Kennedy’s Commissioner of Education; Robert Wyatt, president of the National Education Association, the leading public school
teachers’ organization; as well as Monsignor Francis Hurley, the San Francisco diocesan priest (later Bishop of Juneau and Archbishop of Anchorage) who served as the NCWC’s Associate General Secretary, and William
Consedine, a legal counsel in the NCWC’s Department of Education. The
purpose of these gatherings was to devise a legislative formula that could
resolve the so-called “religious issue” which had prompted Delaney’s vote.
As a result of the talks, the Johnson administration would abandon
Kennedy’s insistence on “general aid” (for public school construction and
teachers’ salaries) in favor of “categorical aid” (for children). By emphasizing “aid to the child” rather than aid to the institution, the Johnson administration hoped to circumvent the church-state controversy not only in its
education legislation, which would become the Elementary and Secondary
Education Act of 1965, but in the Economic Opportunity Act of 1964.9
The bishops’ National Catholic Welfare Conference thus worked
closely with the administration in devising the anti-poverty legislation and
7. McAndrews, Broken Ground, 69.
8. McAndrews, Broken Ground, 78–81.
9. McAndrews, Broken Ground, 161–167; Lawrence J. McAndrews, The Era of Education:
The Presidents and the Schools, 1965–2001 (Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 2006), 8.

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ensuring its passage. In February 1964, Msgr. Hurley emerged from a
meeting with Shriver and Johnson’s Catholic Assistant Secretary of Labor
Daniel Patrick Moynihan committed to the administration plan for workstudy programs; after-school study centers; summer, weekend, and afterschool remedial classes; expanded counseling and guidance services; and
preschool centers, all open to parochial as well as public school children.
Hurley suggested that “three or four” bishops give a sermon on the “theology of poverty” and that the NCWC Social Action Department draft a
similarly broad, apolitical statement.10
The Social Action Department’s veteran Assistant Director, Rev.
John Cronin, a Sulpician priest and former speechwriter for Vice President
Richard Nixon, immediately began writing the statement, which the
NCWC released four days later on February 21. The document, “A Religious View of Poverty,” quoted Pope Pius XII’s assertion that poverty
“makes difficult or practically impossible a Christian life.” The bishops
thus promised “full support” to public officials at all levels in the fight
against poverty.11
Many American Catholics followed their bishops in declaring war on
poverty. “In the spirit of the Good Samaritan,” Commonweal editorialized,
“we must seek the opportunity to serve the stranger wounded in the struggle of life.” An associate editor of America, Rev. Benjamin Masse, remembered that “all the popes from Leo XIII to Paul VI” had uttered “a cry of
protest over the maldistribution of wealth in modern society and a demand
for radical structural reforms to correct it.” Rev. Hilary Smith wrote in the
same magazine that “church leaders of all faiths” should “combine their
resources in helping the poor take their rightful place in our society.” He
expressed the hope that “religious groups will find ways of working
together, rather than in competition with one another.”12
10. “Developments in the War on Poverty,” 19 February 1964, and Letter from Msgr.
Francis Hurley to Rev. Patrick O’Boyle, 25 February 1964, General Administration Series, Subseries 1.1, Box 95, Folder: U.S. Government—Poverty, 1964 January–May; National Catholic
Welfare Conference Papers, Catholic University of America Archives, Washington, DC.
11. Michael Warner, Changing Witness: Catholic Bishops and Public Policy, 1917–1994
(Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdman’s, 1995), 44; “A Religious View of Poverty,” Commonweal,
April 17, 1964, attached to Letter from Rev. John Cronin to Ralph Dungan, 16 March 1964,
White House Central Files, Subject File—Welfare, Box 32, Folder: WE9 Poverty Program
(The Great Society), 2/16–3/20/64, Lyndon B. Johnson Presidential Papers, Lyndon B.
Johnson Presidential Library, Austin, TX, 119.
12. “A Religious View of Poverty,” 119; Benjamin Masse, “The Churches and the War
on Poverty,” America, August 28, 1965, 212; Hilary Smith, “Another Job for all Faiths,”
America, September 17, 1965, 542–543.

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FIGURE 2. Sargent Shriver and President Lyndon B. Johnson in the Oval
Office, White House, Washington D.C. Yoichi Okamoto photo courtesy of Sargent Shriver Peace Institute.

The White House shared this expectation. Upon receiving a copy of
the bishops’ poverty statement from Cronin, Johnson’s Catholic liaison
Ralph Dungan replied, “We hope to use community groups to the fullest
in alleviating poverty at the neighborhood level. If we can get all of our
people to set aside their differences in helping one another, we can eliminate poverty.”13
Fighting the War
“Setting aside differences” over religion would be no easy task. When
Secretary of Health, Education, and Welfare Anthony Celebrezze, a
Catholic, appeared before the House Education and Labor Committee to
promote the Johnson legislation, he faced a barrage of questions over the
church-state issue. “Will churches be eligible for grants?” New York
Republican Charles Goodell asked the Secretary. “For nonreligious purposes, yes,” Celebrezze replied, citing the First Amendment. “Wait a
13. Letter from Rev. John Cronin to Ralph Dungan, 26 February 1964, and Letter
from Dungan to Cronin, 11 March 1964, White House Central Files, Subject File—Welfare,
Box 32, Folder: WE9 Poverty Program (The Great Society), 2/16–3/20/64, LBJPP, LBJPL.

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minute,” Goodell derided Celebrezze’s inability to cite specific language in
the bill. “The record will show laughter.”14
The primary concern being raised about the anti-poverty bill on Capitol Hill, Adam Yarmolinsky, Johnson’s choice to head the proposed Youth
Conservation Corps, wrote in March 1964, is “whether, under the work
training program or the community action program, agreements could be
entered into with sectarian institutions (churches or church schools) to
provide assistance to them in carrying out activities under the bill.” The
administration and the bishops began addressing that question with a
March meeting among Shriver, NCWC legal counsel William Consedine,
and Msgr. Patrick Gallagher, director of the NCWC’s Catholic Charities.
The bishops’ representatives emerged from the meeting having found “no
serious limitations on the participation of religious organizations” in the
anti-poverty package.15
The next month, however, when Msgr. George Higgins, the director
of the NCWC Social Acton Department who was known as the “labor
priest” for his staunch support of unions, testified in favor of the Johnson
bill, he expressed reservations about Section 204 of the legislation, which
stated that “no child shall be denied the benefit” of an Office of Economic
Opportunity program “because he is not enrolled in the public schools.”
Higgins warned that such language may not be strong enough to overcome
state constitutional provisions safeguarding the separation of church and
state. Catholic Democratic members of the House Education and Labor
Committee vowed to oppose the legislation if it did not include funding
for parochial schools.16

14. “Background Information Excerpted from the House Education and Labor Committee Hearings on the Anti-Poverty Bill,” 16 October 1964, General Administration Series,
Subseries 1.1, Box 95, Folder: U.S. Government—Poverty, 1964, October, NCWCP,
CUAA, 5.
15. Memorandum from Adam Yarmolinsky to Bill Moyers, 19 March 1964, Sargent
Shriver Personal Papers, OEO Correspondence, Box 39, Folder: Staff—Poverty Memos,
1964, John F. Kennedy Presidential Papers, John F. Kennedy Presidential Library, Boston,
MA; Memorandum from Msgr. Francis Hurley to Msgr. Paul Tanner, 25 March 1964, General Administration Series, Subseries 1.1, Box 95, Folder: U.S. Government—Poverty, 1964
January–May, NCWCP, CUAA.
16. Warner, 44; Memorandum from William Consedine to Files, 13 May 1964, General Administration Series, Subseries 1.1, Box 95, Folder: U.S. Government—Poverty, 1964
January–May, NCWCP, CUAA; Guian A. McKee, “This Government is Still with Us,” in
The War on Poverty: A New Grassroots History, 1964–1980, ed. Annelise Orleck and Lisa
Gayle Hazirjian (Athens, GA: University of Georgia Press, 2011), 46.

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307

With his bill in trouble, Johnson telephoned his Congressional liaison,
Lawrence O’Brien, directing O’Brien to reassure his fellow Catholics.
“Now, Larry,” the president pleaded, “we’ve got to put a provision in this
report that will allow Shriver to treat all kids alike. We can’t be doing anything for parochial schools as such. We’ve got to do it for children.” Johnson told O’Brien to promise the bishops that “they can trust me and they
can trust Shriver to administer this thing to take care of every damn
Catholic in the United States. We’ll give them first priority.”17
The administration and the bishops agreed to a “bypass” component
of the legislation allowing federal funds to reach religious institutions only
after passing through an intermediary state or municipal agency which
insured that the money aided the underprivileged, not the religious school
or church which administered it. When the amended bill passed the House
Education and Labor Committee, Speaker of the House John McCormack, a Catholic Democrat from Massachusetts, warned that the bypass
provision threatened House approval of the legislation.18
The bishops nevertheless clung to the bypass provision. “If the South
(with the Republicans) wants to join in embarrassing the President,”
Consedine responded to McCormack, “it’s their problem, not ours.”19
The president also stood firm. “If you allow these crackpot preachers
to get in here and say that the Pope has rewritten the bill, and we’ve got a
Catholic administration and a Catholic writing the bill,” the president
responded to Catholic Democratic Representative Frank Thompson of
New Jersey, “then we have a stinker’s chance.” Recalling his tenure as state
director of President Franklin Roosevelt’s National Youth Administration
in Texas during the Great Depression, Johnson noted that he had “made
allotment directly to every damn grade school, high school, and college
that they had.”20

17. Notes of Conversation with Lawrence O’Brien by Lyndon Johnson, 13 May 1964,
Telephone Conversations Collection, Box 4, Folder: Citations #3387–3492, LBJPP, LBJPL, 1.
18. Memoranda from Msgr. Francis Hurley to Files, 21 April 1964; Hurley to Rev.
John Krol, 11 May 1964; William Consedine to Files, 13 May 1964, General Administration
Series, Subseries 1.1, Box 95, Folder: U.S. Government—Poverty, 1964 January-May,
NCWCP, CUAA.
19. Memorandum from William Consedine to Files, 14 May 1964, General Administration Series, Subseries 1.1, Box 95, Folder: U.S. Government—Poverty, 1964 January-May,
NCWCP, CUAA.
20. Transcript of Conversation between Lyndon Johnson and Frank Thompson, 13
May 1964, White House Tapes.Org, http://whitehousetapes.net/clip/lyndon-johnson-frankthompson.

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Johnson then assured two fellow Protestants from Texas, Democratic
Representatives Robert Poage and Wright Patman, that “[New York’s
Cardinal Francis] Spellman hasn’t given any orders” and “the Pope’s not
going to take over yet.” When a prominent Southern Baptist minister
called to protest the inclusion of Catholic institutions in the anti-poverty
bill, Bill Moyers replied that the president was unable to come to the
phone. He was in the White House pool with [renowned Baptist evangelist] Rev. Billy Graham.21
Johnson’s intervention helped rescue the anti-poverty bill from
Republican and Southern Democratic opposition. The legislation passed
the Senate, 61–34, on July 23, and the House, 226–185, on August 8. The
Senate then approved the House version of the bill by voice vote. When
Johnson signed the Economic Opportunity Act on August 20, 1964, he
acknowledged Shriver and those “men and women in the Congress who
fought so long, so hard to help bring about this legislation.”22
Thus did the Johnson administration and many American Catholics
find themselves on the same side in the War on Poverty. In June, at the
behest of United Auto Workers President Walter Reuther, the NCWC
had joined 140 other organizations in the Citizens’ Crusade against
Poverty, a nongovernmental complement which would, in Reuther’s words,
“create popular concern for poverty and as a consequence result in political
pressures for appropriate legislation and effective administration.” In September the NCWC allied with other Catholic groups to form the National
Catholic Coordinating Committee on Economic Opportunity in order to
promote and implement the Economic Opportunity Act. “The need is evident,” the bishops wrote, citing “thirty to forty million people . . . crying for
help.” They added, “The purpose is clear,” with the new law intending “not
only to relieve the symptoms of poverty but to cure it, and above all, prevent
it.” Most importantly, “The cause is blessed,” for as Jesus said, “as long as
you have done it for . . . the least of my brethren, you have done it for me.”23
21. Ibid.
22. “Johnson’s Anti-Poverty Bill Coordinated Several Programs,” Congress and the
Nation, Volume I, 1945–1964 (Washington, DC: Congressional Quarterly, 1965), 1326;
Lyndon Johnson, “Remarks upon Signing the Economic Opportunity Act,” August 20, 1964,
Public Papers of the Presidents of the United States: Lyndon B. Johnson, Book II, July 1–December
30, 1964 (Washington, DC: United States Government Printing Office, 1965), 989–990.
23. Memorandum from Msgr. George Higgins to Msgr. Paul Tanner, 22 April 1964,
General Administration Series, Subseries 1.1, Box 95, Folder: U.S. Government—Poverty,
1964 January–May, NCWCP, CUAA; “The War on Poverty: A Handbook,” National
Catholic Coordinating Committee on Economic Opportunity, 28 September 1964, Series

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By December 1964 parochial school children in Chicago, Detroit, Pittsburgh, and New Haven were receiving OEO grants. As 1965 dawned, the
National Council of Catholic Women joined the United Church Women,
the National Council of Jewish Women, and the National Council of Negro
Women in establishing Job Corps recruitment centers throughout the country. Shriver estimated in January 1965 that in “ninety-five percent…of all the
places where we have already undertaken the war against poverty, we have
dealt successfully with private agencies, and there has been no opposition
from public officials.” The director told the president, “Our success with the
Catholics may be our undoing with others, but at least you can say, as of
today, that the Church-State issue has been successfully surmounted by the
war against poverty” being launched in Washington.24
And it was being endorsed in Rome. Johnson aide Jack Valenti prepared the president for his February White House meeting with the Pope’s
Apostolic Delegate to the United States, Archbishop Egidio Vagnozzi, by
relaying Vagnozzi’s assertion that his boss was “very impressed with the
strength and compassion of the president.”25
“Do the American people have any choice,” Commonweal implored its
readers in April after documenting the impoverished conditions in
Appalachia, “but to tackle the problem of poverty on the scale and with the
personal concern it merits?” Many Catholics answered with a resounding
“no,” as Evansville, Rochester, Baton Rouge, Denver, and Kansas City
joined the list of cities with Catholic agencies administering Office of Economic Opportunity programs. When non-Catholic groups complained,
Shriver replied, “Nobody would be yelling if nothing was happening.”26
And many non-Catholics stopped yelling. Rev. Benjamin Masse,
writing in America, saluted the “tremendous response of the nation’s
34, Box 17, Folder: USCC Social Development, Division of Poverty Programs, McCarthy,
John, and Bossi, Stephen, National Catholic Conference for Interracial Justice Papers, Marquette University Archives, Milwaukee, WI, 1; “National Catholic Coordinating Committee
on Economic Opportunity,” 16 January 1967, Box 140, Folder: U.S. Government—Poverty,
1967 January–June, United States Catholic Conference Papers, United States Conference of
Catholic Bishops Archives, Washington, DC, 1–4.
24. “Fair Federal Aid Set for Three Cities,” Brooklyn Tablet, December 31, 1964, 1;
Smith, 543; Memorandum from Sargent Shriver to Lyndon Johnson, 5 January 1965, Sargent
Shriver Personal Papers, OEO Correspondence, Box 39, Folder: Memos to the President,
1965, JFKPP, JFKPL.
25. Memorandum from Jack Valenti to Lyndon Johnson, 26 February 1965, White
House Central Files—Name File, Box 141, Folder: Catholic, P, LBJPP, LBJPL, 1.
26. “First Skirmish,” Commonweal, April 9, 1965, 68.

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churches and temples during the spring and summer of 1965 to the war on
poverty.” He cited an interreligious day-care center in Walla Walla, Washington, as well as ecumenical anti-poverty projects in New York, New
Mexico, North Carolina, South Carolina, Michigan, and Arizona.27
In August, after Congress reauthorized the Economic Opportunity
Act, Shriver informed Johnson of the “extremely flattering analysis rendered by the Appropriations Committee describing its approval of our
work to date.” In October the National Council of Churches of Christ, the
Synagogue Council of America, and the National Catholic Welfare Conference established the Interreligious Committee against Poverty, the first
time the bishops had agreed to formal membership in an interreligious
organization. Three months later Vice President Hubert Humphrey was
addressing the group in the nation’s capital, quoting Scripture and lauding
“the mobilization of the great religious faiths in America to do justice in
the name of the poor.”28
After eighteen months of their existence, the Neighborhood Youth
Corps had supplied half a million jobs; the Community Action Program had
issued five thousand grants; Head Start had enrolled 600,000 preschoolers;
Volunteers in Service to America had attracted 300,000 recruits; and the Job
Corps was training the first 20,000 of 300,000 applicants. “It is heartening
to note,” America applauded, “the growing extent to which private and public
efforts to assist the poor are concentrating not merely on immediate financial
aid but also on giving them as individuals a sense of [in the words of Santa
Rosa Bishop Leo Maher] ‘courage, power, and initiative.’”29
According to Shriver, the anti-poverty campaign had “reached more
than three million people directly with jobs and other kinds of services they
did not have before” and had lowered the number of Americans in poverty
by 2.2 million. Shriver publicly boasted, “We are winning that war.”30
27. Masse, 208–209.
28. Memorandum from Sargent Shriver to Lyndon Johnson, 26 October 1965, Sargent
Shriver Personal Papers, OEO Correspondence, Box 39, Folder: Memos to the President,
1965, JFKPP, JFKPL, 1; Letter from Msgr. Paul Tanner to Rev. Robert Lucey, 29 October
1965, General Administration Series, Subseries 1.1, Box 95, Folder: U.S. Government—
Poverty, 1965 October–December, NCWCP, CUAA, p. 1; “Remarks of Vice President
Humphrey to the Interreligious Committee Against Poverty,” January 18, 1966, General
Administration Series, Subseries 1.1, Box 95, Folder: U.S. Government—Poverty, MarchJune 1966, NCWCP, CUAA, 7.
29. Sidney Lens, “Shriver’s Limited War,” Commonweal, July 1, 1966, 412; “On Helping the Poor,” America, September 17, 1966, 272.
30. Lens, 412.

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311

Defending the War
But privately he was having second thoughts. In December 1965, discouraged that Johnson was not willing to spend even more to defeat
poverty, Shriver offered to resign his directorships of the Peace Corps and
the Office of Economic Opportunity. “My feeling is that Shriver is tired
and disheartened,” Bill Moyers wrote Johnson. “He told me his lack of
communication with you and other factors have led him to the conviction
that he is on your s—— list.” Moyers counseled that Shriver resign from the
Peace Corps so he could fully commit himself to the OEO, with a “politically unassailable” budget of $1.75 billion, to avoid “sniping from the left.”31
Johnson followed Moyers’ advice, but the “sniping from the left” persisted. At an April 1966 meeting of the Citizens Crusade against Poverty,
founder Walter Reuther charged that the administration was “making
appropriations with an eyedropper.” Hecklers disrupted Shriver’s speech to
the group. “I know you have got the grill,” Shriver told the audience, “and
I’m the hamburger.”32
In July, liberal critics attacked Shriver’s glowing progress report to
Johnson at the president’s Texas ranch. They noted that the bottom fifth
of the American people—those with less than $2,500 a year—was still
receiving less than a twentieth of total cash income, while the top fifth was
earning over half; half the states were issuing welfare payments below
poverty level; and unemployment and social security payments were still
insufficient. “Why was the president so quiet about the poverty program
for nearly a year?” and “Does [Shriver] have full administration backing?”
were among the questions from the left which White House aide Joseph
Califano anticipated at an OEO press seminar in February 1967.33
Decrying the bureaucracy, cronyism, and dependence bred by the War
on Poverty, conservative critics believed liberals had little reason to complain. After all, these were their programs. In June 1966, the conservative
Cardinal James McIntyre of Los Angeles warned NCWC General Secretary Msgr. Paul Tanner that “communistic, leftist, and radical” elements
were seizing control of local Community Action programs. A year later
31. Telegram from Bill Moyers to Lyndon Johnson, December 1965, Office Files of
Joseph Califano, Box 7, Folder: Poverty, LBJPP, LBJPL, 2–3.
32. “Grilled Shriver,” Time, April 22, 1966, 21.
33. Benjamin Masse, “How Goes the Poverty War?” America, September 17, 1966,
282; “Possible Questions for Mr. Califano,” 15 February 1967, Office Files of Joseph Califano, Box 7, Folder: Poverty, LBJPP, LBJPL, 1–2.

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PROMOTING THE POOR

FIGURE 3. Sargent Shriver Visiting a Classroom, Harlem, New York, Vytas
Valaitis photo courtesy of Sargent Shriver Peace Institute.

Congressional Republicans unsuccessfully sought to abolish the Office of
Economic Opportunity.34
American Catholics nonetheless remained among the War on Poverty’s
staunchest defenders. By 1966, the National Catholic Coordinating Committee on Economic Opportunity had instituted a poverty task force to aid
dioceses in planning and operating OEO programs; a training conference for
four diocesan poverty workers; a field service to consult the bishops on
poverty issues; and a special liaison with OEO. A survey by the Committee
of fifty-six dioceses found that the Church was administering over $13 billion worth of anti-poverty services in 1965, and over $11 billion in 1966.35
“Do we really want to abolish poverty in the United States?” America
associate editor Rev. Benjamin Masse asked his readers in September
34. Letter from Rev. James McIntyre to Msgr. Paul Tanner, 21 June 1966, General
Administration Series, Subseries 1.1, Box 95, Folder: U.S. Government—Poverty, JulyDecember 1966, NCWCP, CUAA; “U.S. Outlay for Poverty is Endorsed,” Washington Post,
June 21, 1967, sec. A.
35. “Report of the General Secretary to the Administrative Board,” no date, General
Administration Series, Subseries 1.1, Box 62, Folder: NCWC Administrative Board, January-April 1966, NCWCP, CUAA, 11–12.

LAWRENCE J. MCANDREWS

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1966. “The answer at the moment . . . is no.” Yet Masse blamed not the
administration, but Congress: “If most of us are critical of President Johnson or Sargent Shriver or the OEO, the reason isn’t that they aren’t doing
enough to eliminate poverty; it is that they are doing too much and upsetting the even tenor of our comfortable lives.”36
At the same time Shriver was encouraging Catholics and other people
of faith to press the fight on Capitol Hill. “We don’t have that kind of
moral thrust yet that we need. That is why I think you are extremely
important,” Shriver told the Interreligious Committee against Poverty in
September. “One of the most promising signs of the moment . . . as a result
of Vatican II [is the recognition] that the primary problem in the world
today is poverty.” The Committee responded to Shriver’s plea by pressuring Congress to fund fully the OEO programs. Three months later Msgr.
George Higgins, director of the NCWC Social Action Department, prodded the president to do the same.37
After Pope Paul VI formed his Pontifical Study Commission for Justice and Peace to “promote progress of poor nations,” the United States
Catholic bishops followed with their own in April 1967. “By all means do
pursue the War on Poverty,” National Catholic Conference for Interracial
Justice (NCCIJ) Educational Services Director Sister Mary Peter Traxler,
S.S.N.D., urged Johnson in May. Don’t cut the OEO budget, the
NCCIJ’s Chicago-based founder and Executive Director Mathew
Ahmann pleaded with Congress in October. Work toward the “immediate
passage of strong and adequate legislation supporting the War on Poverty,”
the bishops beseeched the president in November. “I hope you saw the
unusual support given to OEO by all [italics his] the Catholic bishops yesterday,” Shriver hastened to tell his boss. In April 1968, the bishops went
a step further, creating a national Task Force on Urban Problems to “coordinate existing national Catholic activities and to plan an effective Catholic
representation on national interreligious and civic efforts.”38

36. Masse, “How Goes the Poverty War?” 283.
37. “Exhibit B: Question-and-Answer Session at the Interreligious Committee
Against Poverty Meeting,” 20 September 1966, General Administration Series, Subseries 1.1,
Box 95, Folder: U.S. Government—Interreligious Committee Against Poverty, August–
December 1966, NCWCP, CUAA, 6–7; Telegram from Msgr. George Higgins to Lyndon
Johnson, 22 December 1966, White House Central Files—Name File, Box 288, Folder:
United States—C, LBJPP, LBJPL.
38. Letter from Sister Mary Peter Traxler to Lyndon Johnson, 16 May 1967, White
House Central Files—Subject File, Welfare, Box 29, Folder: WE9 5/11/67–6/14/67, LBJPP,
LBJPL; Telegram from Mathew Ahmann to Roman Pucinski, 19 October 1967, Series 28,

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“Aside from the question of right and wrong concerning an attack on
poverty,” Robert Lampman of the Council of Economic Advisers had
admonished in March 1964, “there is the question of ‘what will it get us?’”
Perhaps inevitably, as the War on Poverty ensued, these two questions
became one, as moral questions merged with economic and political concerns to transform a common commitment into a cacophonous campaign.39
“What is urgently needed,” the Washington Post’s David Broder
opined in May 1967, “is the kind of moral leadership in the presidency
that, by its own candor and courage, would liberate other men to speak
their consciences.” Shriver told Johnson that Broder’s piece “re-emphasizes
the desirability for you to speak on the moral aspects of the ‘War on
Poverty.’” This would be an easy task, Shriver argued, for the “War on
Poverty is now one of the ventures where we can get across-the-board support from all segments of American life—white and black, Catholic and
Protestant, believer and unbeliever, Republican and Democrat.” Besides,
he concluded, “No one can attack the moral rightness of this cause.”40
Conclusions
It’s hard to say who the winners were in the War on Poverty. Certainly many of the poor were not. Califano trumpets the reduction of
Americans in poverty from twenty-two percent when Johnson entered
office to thirteen percent when he departed. By the end of the twentieth
century, he adds, eleven of the twelve major OEO anti-poverty programs
were still in place, eighty-one percent of Americans (up from forty-one
percent in 1963) had graduated from high school, and twenty-four percent
(up from eight percent in 1963) had graduated from college. Scholars
James Sundquist, Daniel Knapp, Kenneth Polk, Michael Katz, James Patterson, Jill Quadragno, Noel Cazenave, Robert Bauman, Marc Rodriguez,
William Clayson, Kent Germany, Greta DeJong, Amy Jordan, Wesley G.
Phelps, Susan Youngblood Ashmore, Annelise Orleck, Lisa Gayle HazirBox 1, Folder: Legislative Issues, Miscellaneous, 1964–1968, NCCIJP, MUA; “Copy of Resolution Adopted Unanimously by the National Conference of Catholic Bishops at Their
Annual Meeting,” 14 November 1967, Box 19, Folder: NCCB General Meeting, November
1967, John Cardinal Dearden Papers, University of Notre Dame Archives, Notre Dame, IN.
39. Memorandum from Robert Lampman to Sargent Shriver, 19 March 1964, Sargent
Shriver Personal Papers, OEO Correspondence, Box 40, Folder: Poverty Memos, 1964,
JFKPP, JFKPL, 4.
40. David Broder, “The Spring of Discontent,” Washington Post, May 23, 1967, sec. A;
Memorandum from Sargent Shriver to Lyndon Johnson, 23 May 1967, Sargent Shriver Personal Papers, OEO Correspondence, Folder: Memos to the President, 1967, JFKPP, JFKPL.

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jian, and Michael Gillette also salute the War on Poverty for raising
national awareness of poverty and empowering the poor at the local level.41
Historian Paul Boyer notes, however, that “despite the billions spent on
social programs in 1964–1967, inner-city joblessness, housing decay, educational problems, and social disorganization actually stubbornly persisted.
The unemployment rate among black males ages sixteen to twenty-four
actually rose in the late 1960’s, just as various job-training programs peaked.”
Sociologists Richard Cloward and Frances Fox Piven impugn the motives of
the War on Poverty, claiming that it intended to pacify black militancy. Historians Edward Berkowitz and Gareth Davies bemoan the effects of the War
on Poverty, charging that it intensified the reliance of the poor on the federal
government. Liberals say the War on Poverty was underfunded; conservatives say it was overwrought. Neither can deny that it fell far short of its
ambitious objective of erasing poverty in the United States.42
Nor did the Johnson administration win. As early as May 1965, the
National Catholic News Service’s John O’Brien noted that the antipoverty legislation “was put together in six weeks. It rests upon no deep
study of the poverty problem or analysis of the possible ways to attack it.
Basically, it is an expansion of already existing programs, some of which are
not working well, some of which duplicate others, and in some instances
seem to work at cross purposes.” Neither Shriver nor his top aides had any
experience in implementing such programs, and it showed.43
41. Joseph Califano, “Lyndon Johnson Remembered: An Intimate Portrait of a Presidency,” in Taking Sides: Clashing Views in United States History Since 1945, ed. Larry Madaras
(Boston: McGraw-Hill, 2008), 244–245; Edward R. Schmitt, “The War on Poverty,” in A Companion to Lyndon B. Johnson, ed. Mitchell Lerner (Hoboken, N.J.: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012), 95–96,
99–106; Marc C. Rodriguez, “Defining the Space of Participation in a Northern City: Tejanos
and the War on Poverty in Milwaukee”; William Clayson, “The War on Poverty and the Chicano
Movement in Texas”; Kent B. Germany, “Poverty Wars in Louisiana: White Resistance, Black
Power, and the Poorest Place in America,”; Greta DeJong, “ Plantation Politics: The Tufts-Delta
Health Center and Interracial Class Conflict in Mississippi, 1965–1972”; Amy Jordan, “ Fighting
for the Child Development Group of Mississippi: Poor People, Local Politics, and the Complicated Legacy of Head Start”; Wesley G. Phelps, “Ideological Diversity and the Implementation of
the War on Poverty in Houston”; and Susan Youngblood Ashmore, “Going Back to Selma:
Organizing for Change in Dallas County after the March to Montgomery,” in Orleck and Hazirjian, 110–132, 334–358, 231–255, 256–279, 280–307, 87–109, 308–333; Michael Gillette,
Launching the War on Poverty: An Oral History (New York: Oxford, 2010).
42. Paul Boyer, Promises to Keep: The United States Since World War II (Lexington,
Mass.: D.C. Heath, 1994), 236–237; Schmitt, “The War on Poverty,” 96, 100–101.
43. John O’Brien, “Misgivings about the Anti-Poverty Program,” National Catholic
News Service, 17 May 1965, General Administration Series, Subseries 1.1, Box 95, Folder:
U.S. Government—Poverty, 1965, April–June, NCWCP, CUAA, 1.

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In March 1964, Robert Lampman of the Council of Economic Advisers was calculating that “ten billion dollars would be enough of an income
rise to accomplish the elimination of poverty.” Four years later, he was
accepting appointment to the President’s Commission on Income Maintenance Programs, which would issue its report in the first year of Republican Richard Nixon’s presidency in November 1969. Attributing the
decline in poverty during the Johnson administration to “sustained economic expansion and extensive tightening of labor markets,” Lampman’s
committee warned against “two misleading and dangerous views: that
poverty will continue to decline at the same rate, thereby eliminating
poverty, and that existing Government anti-poverty programs have been
solely responsible for the decline.” The report lamented that the country’s
“economic and social structure virtually guarantees poverty for millions of
Americans,” which was a different sort of guarantee than the Johnson
administration was making just a few years earlier.44
Daniel Patrick Moynihan similarly changed his tune. “If there are no
other victories whatever—and there will be—in the War on Poverty,”
Johnson’s Assistant Secretary of Labor triumphantly announced in October 1964, “at least it began with a notable advance for semantics.” Yet five
years later, Moynihan, now President Richard Nixon’s Urban Affairs
Adviser, could identify few other victories beyond calling poverty by its
proper name. In Maximum Feasible Misunderstanding (itself a word play on
the “maximum feasible participation” goal of the Community Action Program), Moynihan criticized his fellow liberals in the Johnson administration for putting their professions ahead of their principles.45
Even Shriver’s trademark optimism was showing strains as the Johnson
era drew to a close. In the summer of 1966 the director assessed the progress
of the War on Poverty as “faster than we thought possible,” and predicted
the end of poverty by 1976. A year later, after his own brother-in-law,
Democratic Senator Robert Kennedy of New York, lambasted the OEO for
“coming in and telling the poor what is good for them,” Shriver allowed that
his target date was plausible only if the federal government spends “at least
three times as much per annum as is now being spent.” How would he
obtain the money? “If we can find that money to fight a war in Vietnam,”

44. Lampman to Sargent Shriver, 19 March 1964, 1–2; The President’s Commission
on Income Maintenance Programs, “Poverty in America: Dimensions and Prospects,” in
Poverty Policy, ed. Theodore Marmor (Chicago: Aldine-Atherton, 1971), 8, 21.
45. Daniel Patrick Moynihan, Maximum Feasible Misunderstanding: Community Action
in the War on Poverty (New York: Free Press, 1969).

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FIGURE 4. “Desolation at Home,” from Sargent Shriver’s travels to learn more
about poverty, Paul Conkin photo courtesy of Sargent Shriver Peace Institute.

the director answered, “it’s not unreasonable once the war is over . . . to find
the same amount of money to fight the war against poverty.”46
“Once the war is over” would become the political epitaph for Lyndon
Johnson. At a Cabinet meeting in the summer of 1965, Johnson had
instructed each officer to “save money on your programs,” and, pointing to
Shriver, the Chief Executive added, “you all give it to him.” Yet three years
later, with neither war near an end, the president announced that he would
not be around to see them through. On March 31, 1968, when Johnson
surprisingly announced that he would not seek reelection, the United
States still had over half a million troops fighting North Vietnam and the
Viet Cong, and over twenty billion dollars budgeted to fight poverty. Johnson would pass away January 22, 1973. American combat in Vietnam
would stop five days later. As for poverty in the United States, there was
still no end in sight.47
In some ways the U.S. Catholic bishops were losers in the War on
Poverty as well. Consistent with Church teaching, the prelates struggled to
46. Walker Knight, “Shriver Interview: The Church and the Poverty War,” Home Missions, June 1967, 8–9; Lens, 412; “The Other War,” Time, May 19, 1967, 29.
47. Gareth Davies, From Opportunity to Entitlement: The Transformation and Decline of
Great Society Liberalism (Lawrence, KS: University of Kansas Press, 1996), 77.

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PROMOTING THE POOR

persuade the Johnson administration to exclude artificial contraception from
the array of services offered by federal anti-poverty programs. By the end of
1966, however, the Office of Economic Opportunity was funding family
planning in seventy-five cities. In “one of the most outspoken Vatican criticisms of a U.S. president in recent decades,” according to the Vatican City
newspaper Osservatore Della Domenica, Pope Paul VI said that Johnson’s
advocacy of birth control posed “serious problems of a moral nature.”48
If there were any decisive victors in Johnson’s War on Poverty, however, perhaps they were American Catholics. The president launched the
war by enlisting the support of the American Catholic hierarchy. Johnson
said it was “no accident” that he picked a Catholic to lead the campaign,
and Shriver said it was no accident that his religion led him to the position.
At the same time Shriver considered the War on Poverty a natural
response to Catholic social teaching, and the logical culmination of his
own efforts to embody it.49
When his affluent father suffered severe financial setbacks in the midst
of the Great Depression of the 1930’s, Shriver began volunteering in the
office of Dorothy Day’s Catholic Worker in New York City. Following
World War II, he helped organize the Association of Catholic Trade
Unionists in New York, where he also joined the Third Order of Saint
Francis, a group dedicated to the teachings of St. Francis of Assisi. After
moving to Chicago, Shriver enlisted in the St. Vincent DePaul Society,
which took him once a week for eight years to what he called the “stinking
tenements” of the city’s North Side. By the time he became president of
the Catholic Interracial Council of Chicago, Shriver had “one foot in the
super-deluxe, rich, highly educated elite of Chicago . . . and another foot
. . . in the bottom of Chicago with the poor people.”50
So when his brother-in-law the president asked him to become the first
director of the Peace Corps in 1961, “It wasn’t surprising—to me—that he
would ask somebody like me to take an interest in it.” Although “I didn’t
want to run” the War on Poverty in addition to the Peace Corps, Shriver

48. “About-Face on Birth Control,” Time, December 9, 1966, 30; Memorandum from
Msgr. Francis Hurley to Rev. Paul Tanner, 18 January 1967, Box 140, Folder: U.S. Government—Birth Control, 1967–1970, USCCP, USCCBA.
49. Interview of Sargent Shriver by Michael Gillette, Part I, 20 August 1980, Oral History Collection, JFKPP, JFKPL, 1; Scott Stossel, Sarge: The Life and Times of Sargent Shriver
(New York: Other Press, 2004), 675.
50. Interview of Shriver, 20 August 1980, 1–4.

LAWRENCE J. MCANDREWS

319

would recall, he nonetheless possessed a proven record of “dedication to its
purposes over and above being a federal government administrator.”51
Shriver’s journey was emblematic of the path taken by the Catholic
hierarchy in the United States, in Theodore Maynard’s words, “from
Americanizing the immigrants to Christianizing America.” Thus did
Moynihan tell Msgr. Hurley after briefing him on the proposed Economic
Opportunity Act in February 1964, “It is absolutely necessary to keep the
Church in the War on Poverty. . . . The only agencies that are really committed to such a program are the churches.”52
When political scientist Leo Pfeffer wrote the New York Times in June
1965 to complain that religious involvement in the War on Poverty threatened to turn public responsibility into private charity, OEO Assistant
Director Hyman Bookbinder drafted a response. Quoting the bishops’
1964 pastoral “On Church and Poverty,” Bookbinder replied that “the best
form of help . . . is to help people help themselves.” Noting that a “truly
remarkable phenomenon of recent times is the involvement of American
religious leaders and institutions in the social crises of these times,” Bookbinder asked Pfeffer and his fellow separationists, “Have churches and synagogues been bombed and have religious leaders been killed in recent civil
rights struggles because they were dispensing ‘charity’ in the traditional
sense of the word?”53
Dorothy Day had berated her Church’s hierarchy in the 1930’s for dispensing “too much charity and too little justice.” Three decades later, a
Jewish representative of a Protestant president was saluting the Catholic
bishops for offering both. A year and a half before the bishops themselves
addressed Pfeffer’s perception by deleting “welfare” from their organization’s
new title, the United States Catholic Conference, the Assistant Director of
the NCWC’s Social Action Department, Father John Cronin, wrote Bookbinder to thank him for a “well-reasoned and courageous statement.”54
51. Interview of Shriver, 20 August 1980, 4.
52. James Smylie, “Catholics and American Goals,” Christian Century, January 29,
1964, 141; Memorandum from Msgr. Francis Hurley to Rev. Frederick Hochwalt and
William Consedine, 20 February 1964, General Administration Series, Subseries 1.1, Box 95,
Folder: U.S. Government—Poverty, January-May, NCWCP, CUAA, 2.
53. Leo Pfeffer, “Letter to the Editor,” New York Times, June 18, 1965, sec. L.
54. Letter from Hyman Bookbinder to Editor of New York Times, June 26, 1965, and
Letter from Rev. John Cronin to Bookbinder, 6 July 1965, General Administration Series,
Subseries 1.1, Box 95, Folder: U.S. Government—Poverty, Interreligious Committee, January–September 1965, NCWCP, CUAA.

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In October 1966 Shriver was writing in Christian Century that the
“War on Poverty must be fought not only politically but morally.” He
defined the “test of twentieth-century Christianity” as “not how much the
poor enter into the life of the church, but how much the church enters into
the life of the poor.” Thanking the Second Vatican Council of 1962 to
1965 for lifting “the theological cataracts from our eyes,” Shriver concluded
that “the great truth of our era is that God cannot be honored unless
mankind is served.”55
So if the Johnson administration had begun by enlisting the Catholic
hierarchy, it ended by empowering the rank-and-file, many of whom were
loyal soldiers in the War on Poverty. Writing in October 1964, Catholic
sociologist and self-proclaimed “reformed pessimist” Rev. Andrew Greeley
found “cause for hope in the lay mission movements and the new concern
for the inner city.” For young Catholics, “devoting a year or two of one’s life
to volunteer work has become so popular that it is now being said that such
service is a big advantage on anyone’s record when he is looking for a job.”56
In Milwaukee a Catholic priest, Rev. John Maurice, helped Tejano
migrant workers. In Selma, Alabama, another Catholic priest, Rev. J.P.
Crowley, fought for civil rights after Dr. Martin Luther King’s historic
march to Montgomery. A black Catholic priest, Rev. August Thompson,
administered the South Delta Community Action Program in Louisiana.
A Catholic nun and nurse midwife, Sister Mary Stella Simpson, served the
disadvantaged at the free Tufts-Delta Hospital, funded by the Office of
Economic Opportunity in Mississippi. Catholic churches promoted job
training and literacy programs in Mississippi, and advocated Chicano
rights in Texas. A 1965 Gallup Poll found eighty-one percent of Catholics,
but only sixty-seven percent of Americans, approving of Lyndon Johnson’s
job performance.57
Thus did many American Catholics, led by their bishops, confront
their country’s increasingly secular culture not by shrinking from this new
world, but by immersing themselves in it. In 1965, the same year that the
publication of Baptist theologian Rev. Harvey Cox’s The Secular City
55. Sargent Shriver, “The Moral Basis of the War on Poverty,” Christian Century,
December 14, 1966, 1533.
56. Andrew Greeley, “U.S. Catholicism: Growth or Decline?” America, December 24,
1964, 482–483.
57. Rodriguez, 112; Ashmore, 317; Germany, 240; DeJong, 262; Jordan, 296; Clayson,
335; George Gallup, ed. The Gallup Poll: Public Opinion, 1935–1971 (New York, Random
House, 1972), 1937.

LAWRENCE J. MCANDREWS

321

seemed to relegate traditional religion to the American past, the Second
Vatican Council’s Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World
dared to ensure its centrality to the American future. “The effort to force
secular and political movements of our time to be ‘religious,’ so that we can
feel justified in clinging to our (italics his) religion,” wrote Cox, “is, in the
end, a losing battle.” Yet Sargent Shriver, who mixed his devotion to the
progressive principles of Vatican II with his admiration for the traditional
theology of Opus Dei, joined the leaders of his Church in refusing to
accept defeat.58
“Incorporating the social teachings of the popes since the late nineteenth century and most especially the work of theologians in the postWorld War II era,” Catholic historian Jay Dolan writes, the Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World “not only recognized the
importance of culture in shaping religion, but it underscored the need for
religion to transform culture.” At the same time that Vatican II was prescribing a larger role for Catholic followers in the governance of their
church, President Johnson was welcoming a larger role for Catholic leaders
in the governance of their country.59
Fifty years after the enactment of the Economic Opportunity Act,
with one in seven Americans in poverty and the top tenth of Americans
receiving over half of the nation’s income, scholars continued to debate its
merits. At best, it was a genuine effort to eradicate poverty which had
achieved limited success. At worst, it was a well-intentioned yet costly failure. In either case, it had secured its important place in history in large part
because before President Lyndon Johnson could help the poor, he needed
American Catholics to help him.60

58. Harvey Cox, The Secular City (New York: MacMillan, 1968), 3; Stossel, 675.
59. Jay P. Dolan, In Search of an American Catholicism: A History of Religion and Culture
in Tension (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 194.
60. “Executive Summary,” State of the Union, 2014, Stanford Center on Poverty and
Inequality, http://web.stanford.edu/group/SLSpi/sotu/SOTU.2014/CPLpdf, 5; Annie
Lowery, “The Wealth Gap is Growing, Too,” New York Times, April 2, 2014, https://
economix.blogs.nytimes.com/2014/04/02/the-wealth-gap-is-growing-too/.

Review Article
More Scholarship on Vatican Council II
JARED WICKS, S.J.*
Vincenzo Carbone, Il “Diario” conciliare di Monsignor Pericle Felici. Segretario Generale del Concilio Ecumenico Vaticano II. Edited by Agostino
Marchetto. [Collana Storia e attualità, 20.] (Vatican City: Libreria
Editrice Vaticana, 2015 Pp. 589. € 40. ISBN 978-88-209-9592-3.)
Karl Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum. Beiträge zum Konzil und seiner Interpretation. Edited by Günther Wassilowsky [Karl Rahner Sämtliche
Werke, 21/1-2.] (Freiburg: Herder, 2013-14). Pp. xxxix, 1153. Vol.
21/1: € 90. ISBN 978-3-451-23721-8; Vol. 21/2: € 85. ISBN 978-3451-24430-8

T

his review-article continues a series of presentations of scholarly publications on the Second Vatican Council.1 I present here (1) an edition of diaries of the Council’s General Secretary, Archbishop Pericle
Felici, and (2) the collection of the many writings of Karl Rahner concerning the Council from early 1962 into the early 1980s.
Personal Notes of the Council’s Omnipresent
General Secretary Felici
On Christmas Day 1961, on the cold, wind-swept porch of St. Peter’s
Basilica, Archbishop Pericle Felici, Secretary of the Vatican II Central
Preparatory Commission, read aloud the Bull of Indiction of the Council,
Humanae salutis, which Pope John XXIII had just signed, which convoked
Vatican II to begin in the coming year 1962. Six weeks later, on February

*The author resides at Colombiere Center, Clarkston, MI, email: jwicks@jcu.edu.
1. Jared Wicks, “New Light on Vatican Council II,” The Catholic Historical Review, 92
(2006), 609–28; “More Light on Vatican Council II,” The Catholic Historical Review, 94
(2008), 75–101; “Further Light on Vatican Council II,” The Catholic Historical Review, 95
(2009), 546–69; “Still More Light on Vatican Council II,” The Catholic Historical Review, 98
(2012), 476–502; “Light from Germany on Vatican Council II,” The Catholic Historical
Review, 99 (2013), 727–48; and “Yet More Light on Vatican Council II,” The Catholic Historical Review, 102 (2016), 97–117.

322

JARED WICKS, S.J.

323

2, 1962, the Pope’s Apostolic Letter, Concilium, set the date of October 11,
1962, for the Council’s inauguration.
Nearly four years later, on December 8, 1965, in St. Peter’s Square,
after the concluding liturgy of the Council, Archbishop Felici, the Council’s General Secretary, at a sign from Pope Paul VI, read out the Apostolic
Letter, In Spiritu Sancto, formally closing the Council. By this time Felici’s
voice and rhythms of Latin were well known to the Vatican II Fathers,
from his announcements and communications during the 168 congregations and ten public sessions of the Council. He had also read out 544
questions for the Fathers to decide by votes entered on IBM cards by magnetic pencils.
Felici kept two sets of notebooks during the Council years, which his
collaborator Msgr. Vincenzo Carbone combined into a single text after
Felici’s death in 1982. One set was a spiritual journal, Cogitationes cordis mei,
in four volumes, while the other comprised eight one-year agende (1959–
1967) with notes, often daily, on meetings and Council work in progress.
Pericle Felici was born in 1911 in Segni, thirty-five miles southeast of
Rome. He completed studies for ordination in Rome’s Major Seminary in
1934 and gained a doctorate in canon and civil law at the Lateran
Athenaeum in 1938, where he remained as director of the Apollinaris Institute for Juridical Studies. In 1947, he became an auditor of the Rota, the
church’s highest appellate court, where he served on three-judge panels to
rule on appeals from decisions of lower church courts, especially concerning
validity or nullity of marriages. In 1949, while continuing at the Rota, Felici
moved back to the Roman Seminary to be spiritual director and became
well appreciated for his balance and moderation as a spiritual guide.
On May 14, 1959, Cardinal Domenico Tardini, Secretary of State of
Pope John XXIII, surprised Felici with the news that he was to be secretary
of the Pre-Preparatory Commission of the Second Vatican Council. Felici
had to set up the initial Vatican II secretariat with a small staff for putting
into order the responses to the canvass of 1959–60. This work produced a
huge collection of proposed topics for the Council sent in by 1998 bishops,
101 general superiors of men’s religious orders, fifty-one pontifical theological faculties, and ten congregations of the Roman Curia.2
2. See Étienne Fouilloux, “The Antepreparatory Phase,” History of Vatican II, vol.1,
Announcing and Preparing Vatican Council II, ed. Giuseppe Alberigo and Joseph Komonchak
(Maryknoll and Leuven. 1995), 55–166, especially 91–97 and 140–49, on ordering and synthesizing the proposals. During 1960–61, Felici’s secretariat oversaw publication of the

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In late January 1960, Tardini suffered a heart attack, followed by other
bouts of illness before his death on July 30, 1961. As a consequence, Felici
became Pope John’s regular informant on the Vatican II preparations and
the newly published diary tells of the flow of Council information to the
pope.3 The diary gives as well numerous accounts of the pope’s observations on people and developments, during seventy audiences with Felici
between February 1960 and the Council’s opening in 1962, followed by
three audiences during Period I and five during the first intersession before
John’s death on June 3, 1963. The earlier audiences often began at 6 PM,
when John XXIII was ready to chat for an hour or longer.
At the first audience, John confided to Felici his satisfaction on having
launched the Council, while adding that he did not expect to live to see its
conclusion. In March 1960, John told Felici to sketch a plan for the second
phase of work, by Preparatory Commissions, when Felici would serve as
secretary of the Central Preparatory Commission. Tardini guided Felici at
the beginning of this stage, for example, in insisting that the Curia’s cardinal prefects preside over the Preparatory Commissions, because otherwise
they would interfere in the preparation from behind the scenes. But the
prefects had to choose their commission’s secretaries from men who were
not officials of their curial congregation.4
responses in Series I (Antepreparatoria) of Acta et Documenta Concilio Oecumenico Vaticano II
Apparando, 4 vols. in 15 parts, plus an index. Then followed Acta et Documenta, Series II
(Praeparatoria), 4 vols. in 11 parts, published 1964–95, containing the documentation of the
1961–62 work of the Council’s preparatory commissions, especially the sometimes-conflicted
evaluations of draft texts by the cardinals and bishops of the Central Preparatory Commission. Antonino Indelicato studied the second phase in Defendere la dottrina o annunciare l’evangelo. Il dibattito nella Commissione centrale preparatoria del Vaticano II (Genoa, 1992).
3. Felici passed on to John XXIII, first through Tardini and then on his own, the large
cards recording the bishops’ vota for the Council and the syntheses of these cards on topics
of doctrine and discipline, beginning in November 1959 and continuing during early 1960.
Vincenzo Carbone, Il “Diario” conciliare di Monsignor Pericle Felici, edited by Agostino Marchetto (Vatican City, 2015), 72, 75, 89, 94 (entry of January 7, 1960, on work accelerating by
the Pope’s request), 103, 104 (cards and syntheses given to the Pope at Felici’s first audience,
February 10, 1960), 107, 115 (on March 5, John is reading the reports), 123 (on March 24,
John reads to Felici his annotations on the booklets of syntheses of bishops’ vota). Regarding
John XXIII’s following the Council preparations, the “Diary” partially fills a historical lacuna
that was noted by Joseph Komonchak in “The Struggle for the Council during the Preparation of Vatican II (1960–1962),” in Alberigo and Komonchak, eds., History of Vatican II, 1:
167–356, at 351–52. Some scattered notes made by Pope John during his reading of materials
delivered by Felici are given in Pater amabilis. Agende del pontifice, 1958–1963, edited by
Mauro Velati (Bologna, 2007), 91–97, in notes 57, 92, 94, and 99.
4. Carbone, Il “Diario,” 104–06 (entry after initial audience, February 10, 1960), 116
(Felici to draft plan for preparatory commissions), 133 (Tardini to Felici, April 21, 1960, on

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325

On June 5, Pentecost, 1960, Pope John issued Superno Dei nutu, establishing the Council’s ten preparatory commissions and two secretariats.
John insisted on the difference between the roles in church government
carried out by the Curia’s congregations and the extraordinary preparation
of Vatican II beginning in the commissions, to which prelates and expert
consultors from the whole world would be contributing. For Tardini, John
went to excess in limiting the Curia’s role, and from this point he drew
back from Council work to concentrate on his tasks as Secretary of State,
which left Felici with wider responsibility in preparing the Council.5
Felici’s diary entries after audiences with Pope John regularly mention John’s affability and spiritual encouragement of his younger Council
collaborator. Another refrain is John’s displeasure over ambitious men in
the Curia who are bent on ascending to higher positions, with added
laments over enmities between cardinals of the Curia, among whom the
Pope noted were alumni of the Roman Major Seminary.6 John XXIIII
surprised Felici by speaking critically of Padre Pio, who lacked humble
docility, and by showing reserve concerning the revelations at Fatima,
from which Felici took a renewed orientation to the teachings of Christ
in the Gospels.7
Pope John was displeased over an Osservatore Romano article of May
1960, on Catholic anti-communist positions (Punti fermi), issued shortly
before the annual convention of the Christian Democratic Party of Italy. It
came from the Holy Office, whose head, Cardinal Alfredo Ottaviani, John
wanted to be less involved in Italian politics. As to the Italian “left,” the
Prefects as Commission Presidents), 152–57 (June 1960 exchanges between the Pope, Tardini, and Felici, over the preparatory commissions’ secretaries being from outside the Curia
and Curial officials not being on the later Council commissions). Pope John, probably influenced by Tardini, at first resisted Cardinal Ottaviani’s selection of Sebastian Tromp, S.J., as
secretary of the Preparatory Theological Commission, but Ottaviani insisted on having
Tromp and John appointed him.
5. In a review of Council affairs, on December 27, 1962, Felici wrote that after the
preparatory period was structured in 1960, Cardinal Tardini showed very little interest in
Council preparation and expressed at times his skepticism about the work then beginning.
Carbone, Il “Diario,” 336. Felici related this later to Pope Paul VI, who had asked him about
Tardini and the Council (395, audience of May 21, 1964)
6. Carbone, Il “Diario,” 125 (on arrivismo infecting many ecclesiastics), 146, 153, 157
(lament over Msgr. Dino Staffa, who maneuvered to become Vatican II’s general secretary in
place of Felici), 164, and 215.
7. Carbone, Il “Diario,” 203 (on Padre Pio, November 1, 1960), 215 (Fatima and Padre
Pio), 216 (Felici reflects on John’s discourse of December 22, 1960, and concludes to preferring Scripture and official documents, which convey words of life and truth).

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poverty of John’s family and relatives made him favor certain of their positions as more evangelical than the alternatives.8
On January 3, 1962, Pope John told Felici that he was to be the general secretary of the Council, but the pope also expressed his pain and
dismay over the book on the coming council by Father Riccardo Lombardi, S.J. It was dangerous in its attempt to have Vatican II take over the
program of Lombardi’s Better World Movement. John called this “the first
great cross” of the Council.9
The Preparatory Theological Commission completed its draft dogmatic constitution on the Blessed Virgin Mary in April 1962, and the commission’s president, Cardinal Ottaviani, submitted its text to John XXIII
for his approval before having it printed for examination by the Central
Preparatory Commission. But the Pope told Felici on April 23 that he did
not want this text on the Council agenda and so he was not giving it to
Felici to take to the printer. Felici had to call Ottaviani to let him know
Pope John’s position, but four days later Ottaviani phoned Felici to report
that John had ceded to the cardinal’s insistent arguments for the document
and so it was printed and came before to the Central Commission.10
Scattered expressions reveal Felici’s hopes for the coming Council. In
an early indication, in October 1959, he qualified as “magnificent” the discourse by Cardinal Ernesto Ruffini, Archbishop of Palermo, given at the
Lateran University on the first anniversary of the election of John XXIII.
Ruffini welcomed the Council as an event sure to crown the magisterium
of seventy years in papal encyclicals, by restating their teaching at the conciliar level, to make them permanently normative as Catholic doctrine. In
May 1961, the German Cardinals Josef Frings of Cologne, and Julius
Döpfner of Munich, voiced to John XXIII their misgivings over what they
knew about the preparatory commissions. Pope John passed on to Felici
their alternative hope that a pastoral character might permeate the preparation, to which Felici responded—inaccurately, we know now—that this

8. Carbone, Il “Diario,” 146 (audience of May 28, 1960).
9. Carbone, Il “Diario,” 289–91 (audiences of January 3 and 15, 1962). In the second
audience, John said the Holy Spirit had prevented the appointment of Lombardi to a preparatory commission, where he would have tried to spread his “strange ideas.” The Holy Office
had Lombardi’s book, Concilio. Per una riforma nella caritã (Rome, 1961), withdrawn from
Italian Catholic bookstores.
10. Carbone, Il “Diario,” 302, (note of April 27, 1962). On the phone that day, Ottaviani related his arguments, “which made a deep impression on the Holy Father,” on which
Felici noted skeptically, “Così egli dice.”

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was already the case in the commissions’ work. In the Central Preparatory
Commission’s May 1962 session, Frings voiced serious worries about the
prepared schemas and proposed forming a sub-commission to weed out
prepared drafts which should not go to the Council Fathers. But Felici
maintained that an already existing sub-commission would do this. Felici
added a diary-note that the transalpine “anti-curialists” are pressuring the
pope. On May 25 Felici received a page from Pope John ordering that the
first schemas selected to go to Council members should have a prevalently
pastoral character, about which Felici noted, “We will do what we can. But
I think one has to expound doctrine in a clear and precise manner.”11
In the opening days of Vatican II, the Council leadership reshaped
Felici’s Secretariat by appointing five bishops as the Council’s sub-secretaries, one from each major linguistic group, who regularly addressed the
assembly with translations of important announcements, after Felici made
them in Latin.12
The diary tells of Vatican II’s first General Congregation on October
13, 1962, at which Felici announced that the members should begin filling
out ballots with the names of bishops they chose to be on the ten conciliar
commissions, but then, at the unscheduled request of Cardinals Achille
Liénart, Archbishop of Lille, France, and Frings, the ten presidents
decided to postpone the vote for three days, during which episcopal conferences circulated names of members qualified for each commission. Felici
noted that he had foreseen the need to facilitate the elections and had suggested in January 1962 that the Central Preparatory Commission request
nominations for the commissions by nuncios and the episcopal conferences. The Central Commission did not adopt Felici’s suggestion, but the

11. Carbone, Il “Diario,” 68 (entry on Ruffini’s lecture), 237 (exchange of May 1961),
302–03 (Frings in May 1962, with Felici’s response and observation), and 307 (directive given
on May 25, with Felici’s contrasting preference). Ruffini’s lecture came out as “Il Santo Padre
Giovanni XXIII nel primo anno di pontificato,” in Divinitas 4 (1960), 7–28.
12. The Council Presidents decided on October 15 that important announcements,
after Felici’s Latin formulation, would be repeated in French, German, Spanish, and English,
to which Arabic was added three days later. Acta Synodalia, V/1, 85. The appointed sub-secretaries were Coadjutor Archbishop Jean Villot (Lyon, France), Bishop Wilhelm Kempf
(Limburg, Germany), Archbishop Casimiro Morcillo González (Zaragoza, Spain), Archbishop John J. Krol (Philadelphia), and Bishop Philip Nabaa (Melkite Diocese of Beirut and
Gibail, Lebanon), who each had served on a Preparatory Commission. Felici was momentarily disappointed, because he had proposed as sub-secretaries his co-workers Carbone and
Vincenzo Fagiolo, but he accepted the five bishops as “given by the pope.” Carbone, Il
“Diario,” 324.

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circulated lists after October 13 were close to what he had proposed eight
months earlier.13
Vatican II’s Period I reached a critical turning point on November 20–
21, 1962, with the inconclusive vote on the schema De fontibus revelationis
followed by Pope John’s creation of a joint commission, under Cardinals
Ottaviani and Augustin Bea, head of the Secretariat for Promoting the
Unity of Christians, to revise the schema. The Council presidents had
decided, on November 19, to hold a vote the next day on whether to continue debate on De fontibus. But one of the presidents, Cardinal Ruffini,
phoned Felici to argue that the vote should be “whether to interrupt debate”
since debating the text was going on and was so “in possession.” Felici saw
the point, but told Ruffini to gain agreement to this by the other presidents,
especially Cardinal Frings, whose turn it was to preside the next day. This
change was made, but the question sowed confusion, even when announced
in six languages, because critics of the schema had to vote placet and those
favorable non placet. The former gained a 62% majority, which however was
less than the two-thirds needed to carry the interruption—leading to Pope
John’s removal of De fontibus from the immediate agenda.14
On December 17, 1962, after Period I had concluded, the pope let Felici
expatiate on his anxieties and vexations in his work and with the directions
13. Carbone, Il “Diario,” 323 (October 13 congregation), 327–29 (retrospective entry
of October 22), and Acta Synodalia, VI/1, 170–73 (archival note by Felici recounting events
of the first congregation). Felici defends himself against criticism of his distributing, with the
ballots on the first day, lists of Council members who had served on the preparatory commissions. Both Pope John and the Cardinal Secretary of State Amleto Cicognani had approved
doing this, and Felici said the cardinals’ interruption showed an attitude disinclined to accept
the Holy See’s indications (323). Felici also thought the members of the preparatory commissions “had given proof of their ability” in the preparatory work (328). Felici had not appreciated the sharp criticisms of the prepared doctrinal schemas by cardinals during meetings of
the Central Preparatory Commission from November 1961 to June 1962.
14. Carbone, Il “Diario,” 331–32. Ruffini intervened vigorously just before the vote of
November 20, explaining that a placet for interruption implied a radical rejection of the
schema (Acta Synodalia, I/3, 223). Felici noted on November 21 that the incident cost the ten
presidents considerable prestige, but that, strangely, some were attributing the awkward formulation of the question to himself (332). Twenty years later, in a published interview with
Gianni Liceri, Cardinal Franz Koenig of Vienna erroneously called the formulation “a stratagem devised by the General Secretariat,” whose head, Felici, “favored the Roman school”
against Koenig and Franco-German group. Where Is the Church Heading? (Middlegreen, UK,
1986), 27. The question of November 20, to interrupt debate, departed from the precedent
set on November 14, when the assembly had voted on the aptness of the text itself of the
Liturgy schema to be the basis of further work—approving it by a majority of 2162 (placet) to
46 (non placet) (Acta Synodalia, I/3, 55).

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Vatican II was taking. John countered that they should together praise the
Lord that their “great machine” was moving and everything promises good for
the future. Felici should thank God who steered him through the difficult
work so far, and Felici’s year-end diary entry admits that the Catholic Church
needs reform—a rare sign of Felici favoring the goal Pope John had set for
the Council.15 At the same time, he judged negatively Bea and the Unity Secretariat, which has expanded its work from its original task of fostering contacts with non-Catholics to be dealing with important doctrinal topics.16
On February 5, 1963, Felici and the Pope began treating details of
council work then needing attention, but the conversation broadened its
horizon in a manner that fascinated Felici, who noted, “The Pope has very
expansive ideas.”17 Four days later, speaking with Father Roberto Tucci,
S.J., director of La civiltà cattolica, John XXIII spoke of Felici as a decent
person and hard worker, but quite limited in his experience and outlook.18
In late summer 1963, before Vatican II’s Period II opened, Felici composed
a summary note on developments. Pope Paul VI’s appointment of cardinalmoderators agreed with an earlier memo Felici had submitted to the new
pope. But he was upset over those whom Paul VI chose, as some of them,
most likely Cardinals Giacomo Lercaro, Archbishop of Bologna, and LéonJoseph Suenens, Archbishop of Malines-Brussels, were for Felici overly
identified with one Council party and so were “not fit to moderate.”19

15. Carbone, Il “Dario,” 334–53 (after December 17 audience), and 337 (entry of
December 31, including this: “The Church needs a reform, to better respond to the demands
of our day.”).
16. Carbone, Il “Diario,” 226 (Felici registered approvingly, on February 17, 1961, Tardini’s complaint that the Unity Secretariat was exceeding its mandate, as Bea began speaking
and writing on Protestant baptism giving a type of church membership) and 336 (on December 27, 1962, Felici ponders whether, if Tardini had lived, Bea’s activity would not have been
circumscribed and the Unity Secretariat kept from encroaching on areas of the Doctrinal
Commission, as was happening then in revising De fontibus revelationis).
17. Carbone, Il “Diario,” 344. At the time, Pope John’s outlook was affected by having
in hand Msgr. Pietro Pavan’s first draft of the encyclical, Pacem in terris, destined for publication at Easter and addressed “to all persons of good will.” See John’s note of January 7,
1963, expressing satisfaction over the draft, in Pater amabilis, ed. Velati, 482.
18. Giovanni Sale, Giovanni XXII e la preparazione del Concilio Vaticano II nei diari del
direttore della «Civiltà Cattolica» padre Roberto Tucci (Milan, 2012), 160 (diary entry after
Tucci’s audience with John XXIII on February 9, 1963). Pope John had noted earlier Felici’s
limited grasp of the world, on March 24, 1960. See Pater amabilis, ed. Velati, 99, note 82.
19. Carbone, Il “Diario,” 353–54 (note of August 29, 1963). The note also complained
that the specific competencies of the three governing bodies, the Council of Presidents, the
Commission for Coordinating Council Work, and now the four Moderators, were not clearly
stated and delimited. Felici had been from the start critical of the Council of Presidents, the

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Felici found Vatican II’s Period II difficult, especially because he now
had to carry out the decisions made by the four moderators. Tensions
increased when Suenens told the assembly on October 15 that questions
would be put to it to clarify views on De ecclesia’s chapter on bishops, which
had been debated since October 4. Felici had the moderators’ initial questionnaire printed, but Paul VI intervened to postpone voting on it until a
two-week argument clarified how and by whom such questions should
come before the Council members. A new set of questions came to the
assembly for a vote on October 30, to manifest the members’ preliminary
positions on episcopal sacramental ordination, the episcopate as a universal
“college” succeeding the Apostles, and its sharing by God’s ordinance in
supreme authority over the church.20
Felici judged that the moderators acted precipitously in proposing, on
their own, the questions for orientation votes, and he was sure that difficulties were sure to arise, instead of clarifications.21 Two weeks later, after
the votes were taken, the positive outcome on episcopal collegiality occasioned a pointed statement of Felici’s own conviction as a canonist,
namely, “that, if asked, perhaps none of the 1600 Fathers who voted placet
on the episcopal college united with the Supreme Pontiff holding supreme
and full power over the whole church would ever be able to give adequate
theological, juridical, or practical reasons for their vote.” This was serious,
since it touched a defined dogma, that of papal primacy, and so October
30, 1963, was for Felici a day of dishonor for the Council.22
Felici’s diary entries of 1964 attest to his negative view of drafts of the
De ecclesia chapter on bishops and their collegial share in authority. On Janlarge size and make-up of which made them representative of the whole church, but ineffective for decision-making about Council issues (318, a note of August 24, 1962).
20. Carbone, Il “Diario,” 356–68, a single entry on October and November 1963. On
the main issue, see Alberto Melloni, “The Debate on Collegiality,” in Alberigo and Komonchak, History of Vatican II, 3, 64–91 and 98–105; Luis Antonio G. Tagle, Episcopal Collegiality
and Vatican II. The Influence of Paul VI (Manila, 2004), 74–93; and John W. O’Malley, What
Happened at Vatican II (Cambridge, MA, 2008), 167–85.
21. Felici wrote two critiques of the questions drafted by the moderators on episcopal
collegiality, which are now given in Acta Synodalia, VI/2, 373–74 (October 17, 1963, for Paul
VI and Secretary of State Cicognani) and 379–80 (October 21, for Cicognani).
22. Citation from Carbone, Il “Diario,” 367. Felici refers to the third question of October
30, on which 1808 Fathers voted placet, and 336 non placet, on whether the episcopal college, in
communion with the Pope, holds full and supreme power in the church. Tagle, Episcopal Collegiality, clarifies well how the questions arose from the foregoing debate. O’Malley, What Happened, gives on p. 184 the placet votes on the third question wrongly as 2148, which was the total
number of Fathers who voted on the third question (see Acta Synodalia, II/3, 670).

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uary 23, Paul VI expressed reservations over a formulation of this by a subcommission of the Doctrinal Commission, which motivated Felici to give
the Pope on January 31 a set of notes on the emerging “equivocal and confused” text on collegiality. From this beginning, the question of collegiality
returned frequently in Felici’s 1964 audiences with Paul VI, with regular
critical expressions, both oral and written, by the general secretary.23
As the Council’s Period III began in September, Felici told Paul VI
that Cardinal Ernesto Ruffini of Palermo was the wrong person to ask to
exert influence in the Doctrinal Commission for the correction of the collegiality text. Instead, Msgr. Gerard Philips, the adjunct secretary, could
well be asked to rectify the text, after votes on the chapter, in adopting
selected amendments proposed with votes placet iuxta modum.24 The Felici
diary offers no record of the general secretary’s opposition to efforts to
make clear that the famous Nota praevia on collegiality was not directly
explanatory of the final Council text on collegiality (Lumen gentium, no.
22), but instead explained the Doctrinal Commission’s report (expensio
modorum) to the Council members on its handling of amendments on the
topic, which the Note was originally composed to explain.25
23. Carbone, Il “Diario,” 370 (audiences of January 23 and 29), 377–78 (audience of
March 23, with reflection by Felici), 379 (Felici’s doubts, March 27, about Archbishop Pietro
Parenti’s approval of collegiality, which had given Paul VI reassurances), 382 and 391(audiences of April 21 and May 5, on what to do about the problems with collegiality), 393 (audience of May 18, on results of a special task force of periti on the collegiality formulation), and
397 (Cardinal Ottaviani’s misguided recommendation to the commission in early June of
papers stating the extreme anti-collegiality views of the Seminary Congregation’s Secretary,
Archbishop Dino Staffa, and the Lateran professor, Msgr. Ugo Lattanzi). Felici’s critical
memos are in Acta Synodalia, VI/3, 128–29; V/2, 507–09 and 646 –48, and VI/3, 357–59
(September 19). Cardinal Koenig, in his later interview, recalled Felici’s efforts to convince
Paul VI that collegiality was a danger for the church, but Koenig exaggerates in speaking of
Felici’s “daily meetings” with the Pope. Where is the Church Heading? 33 and 35.
24. Carbone, Il “Diario,” 418–19 (Felici on a September 21 exchange between Paul VI
and Cardinal Ruffini; his advice to the pope on September 22 to wait for the votes iuxta
modum, from which Philips could improve the formulations on episcopal collegiality; and on
Felici’s conversation about this with Philips on September 23). In time, Philips composed the
Nota explicativa praevia as asked by Paul VI. See the chronology of the Nota’s genesis, in
Tagle, Episcopal Collegiality, 228–29, and the fuller account by Jan Grootaers, Primauté et collégialité. Le dossier du Gérard Philips sur la Nota Explicativa Praevia (Leuven, 1986).
25. Leo Declerck made this clear in a notable account, “Les reactions de quelques
‘periti’ du Concile Vatican II à la «Nota explicativa praevia» (G. Philips, J. Ratzinger, H. de
Lubac, H. Schauf),” in Istituto Paolo VI, Notiziario, 61 (2011), 47–69. The expensio modorum
became generally available only in 1976, with the publication of Acta Synodalia, III/8, after all
editions and translations of the Council’s documents had placed the Note, over Felici’s signature and without further explanation, immediately after the text of Lumen gentium.

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Felici’s diary casts light on the egregious mistake he made in the aftermath of the Council discussion, September 23–28, 1964, of the draft text
De libertate religiosa. Felici understood, from words of Paul VI, that a new
text should be supplied, but not simply by the Unity Secretariat. For this,
a mixed Doctrinal and Ecumenical commission should be created, with
added persons whom Felici named in his October 9 letter to Cardinal Bea.
One addition was Archbishop Marcel Lefebvre, CSSP, an outspoken
opponent of religious liberty. But Felici had intended to name the other
Lefebvre, Joseph, Cardinal-Archbishop of Bourges, France, a convinced
backer of the declaration. Msgr. Faggiolo, informed wrongly by the subsecretary Morcillo González, had told Felici that the Archbishop of
Bourges was named Marcel, and Felici acted on this—leading to an explosive protest over a threat to the declaration. On October 13, Paul VI sent
word to Felici that he had gone beyond the Pope’s intentions in this matter
and the Unity Secretariat was to revise the schema in the usual way, followed by a normal review by the Doctrinal Commission.26
For summing up on Pericle Felici at Vatican II, the diary offers an
illuminating self-examination from June 1964, on how his temperament
and formation led him toward positions which, in the Council, were conservative, while he considers—serenely, he thinks—the Council’s openings with hopes that they will enrich the church. As background to his
antipathy to several majority positions, he recalled how as spiritual director in Rome’s Major Seminary he had offered alternatives to certain
German and French ideas then circulating on asceticism, liturgy, spiritual formation, and morality. Now he must work impartially amid the
currents of the Council, where the ideas he earlier viewed with concern
are a major presence.27
During the final congregation of December 6, 1965, Suenens spoke
for the assembly cordial words of thanks for Felici’s immense and competent service of Vatican II. But in his memoirs of this day, Suenens
characterized Felici as the implacable adversary, over four years, of all the

26. Carbone, Il “Diario,” 423 (Felici’s entry of late October 9, saying, “Non volevo il
Superiore Generale dello Spirito Santo.”) and 425. Paul VI, in Felici’s audience of October
15, said the problem arose because they had not reviewed the names together. But Felici was
not deeply hostile to Marcel Lefebvre, who admittedly held extreme views, but was a defender
of the faith (426). The diary entry clarifies as confusion over foreign names what otherwise
wrongly appeares to be an extremely partisan action taken by Felici.
27. Carbone, Il “Diario,” 399. In another context, Suenens wrote about hearing how
Felici, after an audience with Paul VI, was overheard complaining about the dangerous
French books the Pope was reading. Suenens, Memoires and Hopes (Dublin, 1992), 317.

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333

positions “our” majority defended. Felici battled with consummate talent
to turn the norms of procedure against “us,” even in the face of huge
majorities.28
A differentiated appreciation, also from Belgium, is that of Jan
Grootaers, who views as decisive for Vatican II’s success the contribution
by Felici and his office, in giving the Council a stability by imposing discipline on the heterogeneous members of the Council, most of whom had
little experience of collaborative work under a set of rules. But Felici was
antipathetic to the four moderators, and he profited from the multiplication of Vatican II governing bodies and lack of clarity about their competencies to gain notable influence for his Secretariat. More deeply, he
remained at odds with fundamental movements of the Council, which the
themes of biblical, liturgical, ecumenical, and lay-apostolate ressourcement
inspired. These had no formative influence on Pericle Felici.29
Karl Rahner as Vatican II Peritus and Interpeter
The thirty-two volume Herder edition of Karl Rahner’s complete
works offers in Volume 21, in two parts, all of Rahner’s works on Vatican
II, as critic, theological expert, and commentator on the documents and
event of the Council.30 The collection has seven sections: (A) two texts
looking toward the Council; (B) seven evaluations in 1962 of preparatory
draft texts for use by Cardinal Franz Koenig of Vienna; (C) five Latin texts
circulated by Rahner during Vatican II as Council peritus; (D) fourteen
articles published during the same years; (E) three commentaries on promulgated Council texts; (F) fourteen articles after Vatican II; and (G) fourteen short articles and reviews after the Council.
A) Rahner wrote in early 1962 on the nature of a council and his
expectations for Vatican II. On June 1, at the Austrian Catholic congress,

28. Léon-Joseph Cardinal Suenens, Mémoires sur le Concile Vatican II, edited by Werner
Van Laer (Leuven, 2014), 56–57. Suenens dictated this text shortly after the Council and further annotated it, on a typed copy, before he used it selectively in his Memories and Hopes, in
the part of that book on the Council.
29. Jan Grootaers, “Pericle Felici: Le “patron” du concile,” in Actes et acteurs à Vatican
II (Leuven, 1998), 301–13.
30. Karl Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum. Beiträge zum Konzil und seiner Interpretation,
edited by Günther Wassilowsky, 2 vols. (Freiburg, 2013–14). The editor’s Freiburg dissertation treated Rahner’s ecclesiological contributions to the Council, Universales Heilssakrament
Kirche (Innsbruck, 2001).

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he called for the Council to not stifle the Holy Spirit’s initiatives present
in charismatic gifts in the Church.31
As a collegial action of the hierarchy, the Council is not exhaustive of
the church, because God also works through charisms, of which officeholders must take account, without replacing them.32 Many proposals for
this council’s action spring from charismatic sources, but will need testing
of their origin from God. While charismatic gifts may be suppressed by
hierarchical fixation on routine, Rahner warned against the other danger of
regarding church history as so many missed opportunities through official
acts suffocating charismatic inspirations. Vatican II seems not to be oriented toward dogmatic declarations, but Rahner hopes that the whole
body of revealed truths will be thought through afresh and reformulated in
the light of contemporary mentalities—anticipating a famous passage of
Pope John XXIII’s opening discourse of Vatican II. The reformulation,
Rahner adds, must preserve the call to conversion embedded in every word
of God to sinful humans.
At Salzburg, Rahner stated again the essential ecclesial duality of
office-institution-tradition and unexpected charismatic gifts. As the
Council approaches, some truths need to be recalled, including how official
inertia can stifle inspirations from God. The gifts call leaders to courage in
risk-taking, and everyone must be ready to endure the clashes sure to arise.
Above all, a sound ecclesiology will hold tenaciously to the role that movements from below have in the Spirit-endowed church.
B) In January 1962, Rahner began helping Cardinal Koenig prepare
for meetings of the Central Preparatory Commission, by studying draft
texts submitted by particular commissions for the Central Commission’s
approval.33 Rahner began by reviewing the draft submitted by the Prepara31. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 1:3–33. The first article began in lectures in different venues and came out in February 1962 in Stimmen der Zeit. The second text circulated in
excerpts in several diocesan papers and other publications. In English: “On the Theology of
the Council,” in Rahner’s Theological Investigations, 5 (Baltimore, 1966), 244–67; and “Do
Not Stifle the Spirit!” in Theological Investigations, 7 (New York, 1971), 72–87. In the following notes, an absence of a reference to an English translation indicates that I was not able to
locate such a text.
32. An earlier essay, “The Charismatic Element in the Church,” appeared in Stimmen
der Zeit 160 (1957), and was translated in The Dynamic Element in the Church (New York,
1964), 42–83.
33. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 1:37–214. Herbert Vorgrimler published passages
of these texts in Sehnsucht nach dem geheimnisvollen Gott (Freiburg, 1990), 95–149. In a letter
to Vorgrimler in April 1962, Rahner said that Cardinal Julius Döpfner of Munich also asked

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tory Theological Commission on guarding the deposit of faith against
errors found in works by Catholics. This prompted an early generalization
over the need to prioritize, over particular points, God’s revelation centered
on the unsurpassable event of the divine Word Incarnate. When Rahner
reached the tenth and last danger to the deposit, on the fate at death of
unbaptized children, he asked pointedly whether everything had to be
defined and every controversy settled by Vatican II. A further theological
draft, on the moral order, is an academic treatise infected with legalism and
lacking a sense of the liberating consolation of the Gospel.34
In the drafts Rahner evaluated before the February and March Central
Commission meetings, attention shifted from doctrine to service, worship,
and the missions. On care of souls, religious life, vocations, and seminaries,
Rahner sensed the purpose as being to improve the existing system without
facing deeper issues about life in milieus no longer homogeneously Catholic.
The March schemas, being more pastoral, put traditionalists on the defensive. Rahner solicited help from his Innsbruck colleague, Josef A. Jungmann,
to treat the text on liturgical renewal, while he singled out several positive
positions elsewhere, such as the missions-draft on restoring the order of permanent deacons not bound to celibacy.35 The last point echoed a 1957 proposal by Rahner, as well as a paragraph stemming from him in the preparatory draft on the Sacrament of Orders presented by the Commission on
Sacraments, of which Rahner was a consultor by correspondence.36
The texts for early May included six chapters of De ecclesia, on which
Rahner offered critiques and alternatives. The draft’s beginning with
to receive his studies of the Council drafts. “A Brief Correspondence from the Time of the
Council,” in Understanding Karl Rahner. An Introduction to His Life and Thought, ed. Herbert
Vorgrimler (New York, 1986), 141–84, at 147.
34. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 1:37–65, especially 37–39 (need of a global and
attractive Christ-centered message), 59–60 (treating many particulars undercuts delight in the
faith for ordinary believers), and 62 (on De ordine morali and its dry demands). Rahner’s critique burst the bounds of cool analysis on the tenth point on the deposit, which he found
schrecklich (59)—dreadful—because it claims to know far too much!
35. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 1:66–80 (sent February 10) and 81–105 (sent
March 16), especially 72 (mostly clichés on religious life), 80 (general focus on existing practices), 86 (diaconate), and 100–05 (by Jungmann, on the liturgy draft).
36. Rahner wrote on the diaconate in Theologie in Geschichte und Gegenwart, ed. Johann
Auer and Hermann Volk, 2 vols. (Munich, 1957), 135–44, followed by “Die Theologie der
Erneuerung des Diakonats,” in Diaconia in Christo, ed. Franjo Seper and Karl Rahner
(Freiburg, 1962), 285–324. Rahner’s contribution to the schema of the sacraments commission is in Acta et Documenta Concilio . . . Vaticano Secundo Apparando, II, III/1: 508–11. In
English, Rahner’s articles on the permanent diaconate are in Theological Investigations, 5:268–
314 and 10:222–33.

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original sin was theologically small-minded, which should have given
way to themes of Ephesians and Colossians on the Incarnate Lord as
center and pinnacle of all creation, showing God’s irrevocable intent to
rescue sinners and communicate divine life, thus uniting and elevating
humankind. Where malice abounded, grace has abounded all the more
(Romans 5:16–21). This biblical theology would reference Scripture’s
variety of ecclesial images, for which the schema shows little interest—
being fixated on the mystical body of Christ, which it does not treat biblically, but instead takes as a source of reasoned conclusions about a body
and its members. The Canon Law Code of 1918 gave another starting
point on church membership, by affirming that baptism makes one “a
person in the church” (can. 87), suggesting that baptized non-Catholics
are “really” members, while Catholics are “full” or “perfect” members.
The schema mentions the college of bishops, but treats so emphatically
the bishops’ subjection to the pope as to obscure their dignity as pastors
succeeding the apostles.37
Rahner reported during May 1962 on the several drafts presented for
the Central Commission’s review at its last meeting in mid-June. The project risks suffocating what is refreshingly new by trying to codify all doctrine
and church life, including topics like high-school seminaries, vocational
education, St. Thomas in theology, mass stipends, and convert Protestant
pastors as Catholic priests, alongside major treatments of bishops and
exempt religious orders, the lay apostolate, religious liberty, and a renewed
Marian doctrine. Rahner found excellent, first, a passage from the Lay
Apostolate Commission which framed lay action within a well-crafted
statement of Catholic social doctrine, as clearly distinguished both from
Marxism and western capitalist materialism, and, second, the Unity Secretariat’s draft countering claims for the state’s duty to promote true religion
and affirming religious liberty as the inalienable right of every human conscience, which governments are to protect without encroaching on the
sanctuary of freedom. On Mary, the Theological Commission did better
work than in its other schemas, by setting the Blessed Virgin’s role in salvation history and clearly predicating “mediation” analogically of Christ
and his mother. What was still needed was an account of how the Church
37. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 1:106–47, with twenty pages on ecclesiology and
then succinct observations on a dogmatic schema on virginity and marriage (sin-centered,
bereft of a positive view of sexuality from the larger tradition), on renewal of religious life (a
draft heavy with commonplaces); on catechetics (Rahner opposed to a single catechism for
the whole church); and on the Eastern Catholic Churches (treating the episcopate very well—
much better than does De ecclesia).

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did doctrinal discernment on Mary and how in this it was under a certain
control while it developed the apostolic heritage.38
During June, Rahner added a report to Koenig on the final chapters
of De ecclesia, treating the Magisterium and the Church-State relation in a
manner contradicting the Unity Secretariat’s draft. To rightly understand
teaching authority, the church’s indefectibility must come first, before
attending to the organ that serves ecclesial continuity in the truth. The
Church/State chapter of the ecclesiology draft should be rejected, since it
mainly restates Pope Gregory XVI’s thesis of 1832 on the state’s “care for
true religion,” which must pertain to the church alone. Teaching this now
would have horrid consequences.39
The final text from this phase was Rahner’s report to Koenig after ten
German theologians met in Mainz, September 9–11, 1962, to discuss the
seven draft schemas distributed for the agenda of Vatican II’s first working
period. Rahner entered in the margins of the booklet itself his many
detailed evaluations and suggested reformulations, on which those meeting
at Mainz agreed. Generalizing, Rahner reported how disappointed the
theologians were over the four doctrinal texts from the Preparatory Theological Commission, because that Commission had taken no account of
the critiques of these drafts advanced by members of the Central Preparatory Commission in its meetings. This obstinacy of the Theological Commission, with its attachment to textbook theology and papal encyclicals,
placed it in sharp contrast with the hope of Pope John XXIII that the
Council would address the Gospel to the world in deeper and more attractive terms than would come from the normal theology of the day.

38. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 1:148–90, sent May 26, 1962. See, for example,
182, on social doctrine, 182–83, on religious freedom (one must dedicate all energies to
approving this—against opposition sure to come), and 188–90, on Mary (the schema avoids
deducing privileges from her divine maternity; is clear that Mary died; but should explain the
magisterium’s role in interpreting the binding sources of revelation; and should end by relating Marian doctrine to glorifying her Son’s unique mediation).
39. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 1:191–207, specifically 191–94, on ecclesial indefectibility. Pp. 199–207 give Rahner’s elaborated case against the Theological Commission’s
Church-State positions, which took over what its President, Cardinal Alfredo Ottaviani,
wrote in his textbook, Institutiones juris publici ecclesiastici, 2 vol. (Rome, 1925), of which a
500-page Compendium came out in 1947-48 and 1956. My first article of this series related
how, in the Central Preparatory Commission, on June 19, 1962, Cardinal Giovanni Battista
Montini spoke, like Rahner (207), of dire consequences of adopting this position, which justified rejecting De ecclesia’s Church/State chapter (“New Light on Vatican Council II,” 620
and 623).

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The September report has a paragraph on the schema De fontibus revelationis, which the Central Commission had treated before Rahner began
helping Koenig. Also, the theologians seconded what they heard was Cardinal Döpfner’s position, namely, to simply strike from the Council agenda
the second doctrinal draft, on defending the deposit of faith. Better to
begin with the texts on liturgical renewal, ecumenical relations with the
Orthodox, and the mass media, which were more promising as starting
points of the Council’s work.40
C) Next are texts which circulated during the Council as alternatives
to or critiques of official draft texts.41 The first is a collaborative text by
Rahner and Joseph Ratzinger in November 1962, which circulated among
bishops and other periti in 2000 copies as an engaging, kerygmatic alternative to the preparatory drafts on the sources of revelation and protecting
the deposit of faith. This mimeographed Latin text, “The Revelation of
God and Man in Jesus Christ,” offers theological gems on the sublime
human vocation given by God who is both hidden and graciously present
to all and then manifest in Christ.42
After the Council members learned on November 8 that they would
soon be treating De fontibus, Rahner produced a Disquisitio brevis on De fontibus, developing the critical analysis he had sketched earlier for Koenig.43

40. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 1:208–14, which critiqued De fontibus, for example,
because (1) it wrongly aims to settle the inner-Catholic debate between Josef Rupert Geiselmann and Heinrich Lennertz over the doctrinal sufficiency of Scripture and (2) needs a fuller
account of divine revelation itself, perhaps by adopting part of Chapter IV of De deposito. The
annotated copy of the book of schemas remains in the papers of Cardinal Koenig in the
Diocesan Archive of Vienna.
41. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 1:215–344, giving Latin originals with German
translations.
42. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 1:218–36. Cardinal Frings put the text in circulation before debate began on De fontibus revelationis on November 14, 1962. An English translation is in Brendan Cahill, The Renewal of Revelation Theology (1960-1962), Tesi Gregoriana, Serie Teologia, 51 (Rome, 1999), 300–17. I treated it as a step toward the Christological
concentration of revelation in Dei Verbum, nos. 2-4, in “The Fullness of Revelation in Christ
in Dei Verbum,” in Josephinum Journal of Theology 23 (2016), 176–204, at 187–89.
43. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 1:237–61, of which 400 mimeographed copies
went out, produced by seminarians of the German-Hungarian College. The text claimed De
fontibus was too long, lacked a pastoral tone, showed no ecumenical sensitivity, and did not
make clear the doctrinal weight of its declarations. Furthermore, the schema takes questionable positions on seven points. Also circulating at the time was Pieter Smulders’s Iudicium
generale on De fontibus, from which Rahner took over the point that the schema affirmed
seven times the Magisterium’s role in guiding Scripture reading, but did not once state the
church’s and magisterium’s submission to God’s word. I gave Smulders’s text in “Pieter

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Third in this section is a Latin disputation text, with ample documentation, composed by Rahner and published as an article in 1962 over the
name of the Apostolic Administrator and later Bishop of Innsbruck, Paul
Rusch.44 This anticipates both the debate and its outcome over the respective contents of Scripture and Tradition in the Mixed Commission (Doctrinal and Unity Secretariat) that revised De fontibus in 1962–63. The argument of Rahner-Rusch carried the day in the Commission, by a majority
vote to side with the Secretariat and not define the insufficiency of Scripture in the eventual Constitution—which left space for Catholic theologians to freely argue the issue.
Rahner also collaborated with others on two ecclesiology texts that circulated in Latin at Vatican II. During Period I, the Council members
received the draft dogmatic constitution De ecclesia on November 23, 1962,
before debating it December 1–7. Rahner worked with Otto Semmelroth
to produce a critique of the draft in the last days of November, of which
1400 mimeographed copies circulated.45 The schema was defective because
its style is scholastic, without pastoral or ecumenical qualities; Scripture is
present mostly in proof-texts for doctrines of the papal encyclicals; a rigid
view of church membership obscures the efficacy of baptism among other
Christians; episcopal ordination should be seen as incorporation into the
world-wide college of bishops headed by the pope; on Church/State relations, the view of civil authority is antiquated and the freedom of personal
conscience given no role; overall, the chapters seem tacked on to each other
instead of developing organically. Consequently, if there is a vote, the
members should vote non placet, to prevent this draft from becoming the
Council’s base-text of ecclesiology.46
As the debate on episcopal collegiality unfolded in October 1963,
Rahner collaborated with Gustave Martelet and Joseph Ratzinger on a
Smulders and Dei Verbum: 2. On De fontibus revelationis during Vatican II’s First Period,
1962,” Gregorianum 82 (2001), 559–93, at 590–93.
44. Paul Rusch, “De non definienda illimitata insufficientia materiali Scripturae,”
Zeitschrift für katholische Theologie, 85 (1962), 1–15, reprinted, with a German translation, in
Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 1:262–97.
45. “Animadversiones de Schemate ‘De ecclesia’,” in Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum,
1:298–339.
46. Rahner and Semmelroth drew this radical conclusion responsibly, as they knew
about Gerard Philips’s alternative ecclesiology draft, commissioned just after Vatican II
opened by Cardinal Suenens, on which they had offered suggestions. Yves Congar documents
that Rahner helped Phillips, in My Journal of the Council (Collegeville, 2012), pp. 97 (October
18, 1962), 122 (October 25), and 208 (November 26). I told of Philips’s draft in “More Light
on Vatican II,” 76–79.

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Latin text, circulated in 2000 mimeographed copies before the crucial orientation votes of October 30, to ward off the objections to this doctrine
that Ruffini and others raised in their speeches.47
The Herder edition of Rahner’s complete works recently added a text
that Rahner submitted to the German bishops in 1965, as a critical evaluation of a late draft of Schema XIII, the eventual Gaudium et spes on the
Church in the modern world.48 This Rahner text appears regularly in
accounts of the conflict that marked the development of Pastoral Constitution, where Rahner’s view attests to a significant rift between bishops and
theologians who were earlier united in the Council’s progressive majority.49
D) Rahner published fourteen articles during the council to inform the
interested public on what the Council was injecting into Catholic doctrine
and life.50 An early 1963 lecture on Scripture and tradition explained the
New Testament as the apostolic church’s inspired objectification in texts of
its own faith, life, and self-understanding, which then the church’s tradition communicates and explains in every age, while the magisterium discerns between what is time-conditioned and what is irrevocably lasting in
this living heritage.51
Before the 1964 Council period, Rahner sketched for the Germanspeaking bishops the problematic of teaching on the Blessed Virgin Mary,
beginning with a characterization of the Marian “maximalists” and “mini47. “De primato et collegialitate episcoporum in regimine totius ecclesiae,” in Rahner,
Das Zweite Vatikanum, 1:340–44. In a letter of October 7, 1963, Rahner told Vorgimler he
was working with others on a text responding to Ruffini’s opening speech in the collegiality
debate (“A Brief Correspondence,” 175). A French-German strategy meeting on October 11
decided that objections to collegiality should be countered. The defense went out over the
names of its three authors and gained notoriety by a complaint about it in the Council Hall
by Cardinal Ottaviani on October 21 (“A Brief Correspondence,” 177; Congar, Journal, 367,
387, and 389).
48. “Animadversiones de schemate ‘De ecclesia in mundo huius temporis,’” in Sämtliche
Werke, 31:1 (Supplements and Index, 2016), 289–323. Early in this series, I surveyed the genesis of Gaudium et spes, based on Giovanni Turbanti, Un concilio per il mondo moderno (2000),
and included a reference to Rahner’s critique. See “New Light on Vatican Council II,” 94–
101, at 100, n. 64.
49. See, for example, Brandon Peterson, “Critical Voices: The Reactions of Rahner and
Ratzinger to ‘Schema XIII’ (Gaudium et spes),” Modern Theology 31 (2015), 1–26, especially
17–23, on Rahner’s positions.
50. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 1:347–582.
51. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 1:347–59. In English, as “Scripture and Tradition,”
in Theological Investigations, 6 (Baltimore, 1969), 98–112. Das Zweite Vatikanum, 1:384–88,
treats this again within a longer survey of the Council’s dogmatic topics emerging in 1963.

JARED WICKS, S.J.

341

malists” then confronting each other. The two groups should learn from each
other and refrain from absolutizing one method and one historical context.
He also questions whether Protestants hold that grace makes possible Mary’s
free human deed of saving faith and whether their New Testament studies
do not slight the grand accounts of Ephesians and Colossians.52 Finally,
there are Rahner’s comments on venerating the saints, on Lumen gentium,
Chapter VII, on the pilgrim church’s union with those in heavenly glory.53
Several articles treated the Council’s emerging doctrine of the episcopate, its collegiality, and the pastoral significance of this teaching.54 On the
church itself, Rahner treated as having long-term significance the ecclesial
self-understanding then emerging.55 In Lumen gentium, he claimed some
passages will have lasting importance, such as calling the church the “sacrament . . . of union with God and of the unity of the whole human race” (LG
1, also LG 9, 48, and AG 1). Thus, the church is sign and promise of salvation, like the morning light, in the midst of a human majority of non-Christians in whom the grace of Christ works under manifold disguises. Correlatively, God offers saving grace for all humans to decline or accept, for grace
is the ultimate dynamic of all human action and efforts at self-understanding
(LG 16). But the “small flock” of Catholics will take for granted the “holy
ordo” of their community, sustained by the Holy Spirit giving their life structure and making adaptations possible as needed (LG 18–29).56
52. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 1:465–79; also, briefly from 1963 at 391–96. See
the summary of the 1964 text in Peter Joseph Fritz, “Karl Rahner’s Marian ‘Minimalism,’” in
Mary on the Eve of the Second Vatican Council, ed. John C. Cavadini and Danielle M. Peters
(Notre Dame, 2017). 156–78, at 166–69. Fritz calls attention, on 171– 72, to Rahner’s 1983
essay, “Courage for Devotion to Mary,” in Theological Investigations, 23, ed. Paul Imhof (New
York, 1992), 127–39. Also, an interview of May 1983, “Marian Devotion Today,” is in Faith
in a Wintry Season. Conversations and Interviews with Karl Rahner in the Last Years of His Life,
ed. Harvey D. Egan (New York, 1990), 84–91.
53. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 1:480–95, translated as “Why and How Can We
Venerate the Saints,” in Theological Investigations, 8, trans. David Bourke (New York, 1977),
3–23.
54. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 1:360–77, translated in Theological Investigations,
6:369–89 (“On Bishop’s Conferences”); 425–64, translated in Theological Investigations 6: 313–
60 (“The Episcopal Office”); 525–45 (on limits of what the magisterium is able to declare on
moral issues in the modern world); and 546–52 (potential pastoral consequences of Lumen
Gentium on the episcopate—for the initial issue of Concilium, in several languages, in 1965).
55. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 1:388–91 (briefly, amid the doctrinal topics on the
agenda in early 1963); 399–406 (the Church ponders its own mystery and mission, a lecture
as Period II opened), and 407–24 (interpretive report after Period II, on the climate of freedom, the new ecclesiological contents, and ecumenical directions).
56. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 1:496–510—a lecture of January 1965 on the conciliar doctrine of the church and the future reality of Christian life. A part takes over what is

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Rahner studied in 1965 the promulgated Lumen gentium, along with
Unitatis redintegratio, on the presence of sin and sinful members in the
church. The texts do not treat this directly, because they urge that what is
good should become better. Doctrine excludes saying the church as acting
subject is guilty of a sinful deed, but the sins of its members give ample
grounds for reformatio perennis (UR 6, LG 8). Because of what the church
stands for, Christ’s victorious mercy and grace, it continues to win out in
ongoing struggles with sin. It is thus indefectible—in which however individual terrestrial members do not share.57
E) After Vatican II Rahner took part in two commentaries on the
Council documents. He gave a concise account of the Council to introduce
the widely used German paperback edition of the documents.58 He also
treated the episcopate in its sacramentality, collegiality, and ministries
(Lumen gentium, nos. 18–27), in the commentary on the Vatican II documents published in added volumes of the second edition of Lexikon für
Theologie und Kirche.59
For Rahner, the sacramental nature of entry into the episcopate (no.
21) means that Christ is present and active in bishops as they carry out
their responsibilities for word, sacraments, and pastoral care. Further, on
episcopal consecration conferring the fullness of sacramental Orders,
Rahner explains this as not being an intensification of presbyterial ordination, but a theologically prior completeness of ministry from which priesthood is conferred in a limited share to presbyters. Rahner lays out the doctrine of no. 22 on episcopal collegiality with great care, since it is “one of
the central themes of the whole Council,” where analysis yields seven
points. On the teaching ministry, in no. 25, he insists that holders of the
papal and episcopal teaching office are duty-bound to constantly renew
their appropriation of revelation given in Christ in order to express it in an
apt manner for contemporary believers.60
in Theological Investigations, 5:353–63 (“Dogmatic Notes on ‘Ecclesiological Piety,’” on the
church as promise and vanguard of the salvation offered to all).
57. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 1:553–73, translated in Theological Investigations,
6:270–94 (“The Sinful Church in the Decrees of Vatican II”).
58. Kleines Konzilskompendium, ed. Karl Rahner and Herbert Vorgrimler (Freiburg,
1966, with 34 reprints), in Das Zweite Vatikanum, 2:587–607. There follow Vorgrimler’s
introductions to each document, attending especially to theological contents, in 2:610–731.
59. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 2:734–68; in English in Commentary on the Documents of Vatican II, ed. H. Vorgrimler, 5 vols. (Freiburg, 1967–69), 1:186–218.
60. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 2:740–41 (on Lumen gentium, no. 21, sacramental
episcopal consecration), 743 (cited) with 746–53 (on no. 22), and 764 (in no. 25, obligation

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F) After the Council, Rahner turned energetically to interpreting the
completed event and documents in fourteen lectures and published articles.61
On December 12, 1965, four days after Vatican II ended, Rahner
spoke in Munich on the Council as a “new beginning” of the Church’s dialogue with the modern world’s ruling powers and ideologies after two centuries of keeping a safe distance. While it was a council of the Catholic
Church, with its singular combination of personal-papal and collegial-synodal leadership, Vatican II repeatedly acted with sensitivity for the positions of other Christians. But Vatican II did not itself rejuvenate the
Catholic body; instead, it gave a vision and directives for this which await
fulfillment and realization. Tasks remain at fundamental levels, for example, in credible witnessing to God and Christ, in serving the human good,
and in accounting for Christian hope while affirming a reasoned ordering
of reality for human survival and flourishing. Deep down, the Council’s
mandated reforms prepare Catholics to live in greater faith, hope, and
charity toward God and humankind. For all this, Vatican II “began the
beginning” of a renewed ecclesial reality.62 In early 1966, Rahner complemented his first account of the Council with a survey of the doctrines and
mandates of all the Vatican II documents.63
Rahner also presented in 1979 two global interpretations of Vatican
II, in which he took the Council as marking a historic transition of
Catholic identity from being centrally identified by traits of European and
North American Western culture to adopting traits of life, worship, and
theology from and for the whole world.64 Traits of this “world church”
include its renunciation of support for the church’s mission and life by civil
coercive power, theological movement from scholastic intellectualism to
of refreshing teaching from God’s revelation); translations in Commentary, ed. Vorgrimler,
1:192–93, 195 (cited) with 197–204, and 214, respectively.
61. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 2:775–985.
62. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 2:775–86, with 1103–06 giving a new opening passage and an insertion from the version of the lecture on May 22, 1966, in Freiburg. In English
in The Church after the Council (New York, 1966). The lecture had a new edition on its 50th
anniversary, with a preface by Cardinal Karl Lehmann and historical introductions by
Andreas R. Battlogg and Albert Raffelt, Das Konzil. Ein neuer Beginn (Freiburg, 2012).
63. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 2:787–800, published with essays by Oscar Cullmann and Heinrich Fries, in Sind die Erwartungenerfüllt? (Munich 1966).
64. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 2:958–81, in English in Theological Investigations,
20, trans. Edward Quinn (New York, 1981), 77–102, of which the March 1979 lecture,
“Basic Theological Interpretation of Vatican II,” was given at Weston College of Theology,
Cambridge, MA, and published in translation by Leo J. O’Donavan, in Theological Studies 40
(1979), 716–27.

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biblical views capable of energizing evangelization, the ecumenical transformation, and optimism about salvation offered universally and realized
widely throughout humanity. This is the abiding significance of Vatican II,
which ranks in importance with the cultural transition, due to St. Paul’s
influence in New Testament times, from an initial Jewish Christianity to
the life and teaching of churches of Gentile Christians. In 1983, Rahner
restated the new traits in an article that attributes them to the humanizing
influence on Vatican II by the Holy Spirit, which seems sadly missing in
the post-conciliar era.65
In three articles of 1966–67 Rahner interpreted Lumen gentium, highlighting once more his January 1965 position on the significance of calling
the church a “sacrament” for all humankind (LG 1, 9, 48), that is, a sign of
Christ’s victorious grace of salvation, which works beyond the church’s
boundaries in thousands of ways (LG 16).66 He valued as well for ecclesial
vitality that “the Church of Christ is truly present in all legitimate local congregations of the faithful,” even in small communities of the diaspora where
“Christ is present and in virtue of his presence, there is brought together
one, holy, catholic and apostolic church” (LG 26).67 Rahner offered as well
an extended theological reflection on the relationship between the episcopal
college and the pope, as inadequately distinct subjects, that always imply
each other, of supreme ecclesial authority (LG 22–23).68
From the affirmation that divine grace also gives aid toward salvation
“to those who, without blame on their part, have not yet arrived at an
explicit knowledge of God” (LG 16), Rahner developed his thesis on
65. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 2:982–85, originally in Wer wird das Antlitz der
Erde erneueren? Spuren des Geistes in unserer Zeit (Freiburg, 1983).
66. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 2:801–806 (“Das Volk Gottes”), published in Das
neue Volk Gottes, ed. W. Sandfuchs (Würzburg, 1966), further developed in “Das neue Bild
der Kirche,” for Geist und Leben, 39 (1966), 4–24, now given as Rahner, Das Zweite
Vatikanum, 2:809–25, translated in The Church After the Council and in Theological Investigations,10:3–29.
67. Briefly, in Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 2:810–12 (“Das Volk Gottes”), then
developed with uncommon depth in 871–84 (“Über die Gegenwart Christi in der Diasporagemeinde nach der Lehre des zweiten Vatikanischen Konzils”), originally in the journal
Lebendiges Zeugnis 21 (1966), 32–45, Festschrift Archbishop Lorenz Jaeger, translated in
Theological Investigations, 10, 84–102. Rahner influenced LG 26 through his draft for Eduard
Schick, Auxiliary Bishop of Fulda, delivered in the Council Hall October 10, 1963. See editor
Wassilowsky’s note in Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 2:1110.
68. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 2:923–38, originally in Euntes Docete 20 (1967),
42–57, Festschrift Archbishop Pietro Parente, translated in Theological Investigations,
10:50–70.

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“atheism and implicit Christianity,” responding to the call implied in
Gaudium et spes, nos.19–21 and 22, para. 5, to dialogue with those claiming
to live without God.69
In three further articles shortly after Vatican II, Rahner challenged
Catholic theology to develop deeper systematic groundings of new themes
that the Council put in the foreground of Catholic teaching. His Notre
Dame lecture of March 1966 surveyed Vatican II’s challenges across the
main theological fields.70 In 1967, Rahner took up the problematic of the
conciliar “pastoral constitution,” which does not lay down universal principles of dogma or commandments, but offers a situation analysis followed
by the summons to action in the world, much as did John XXIII in Pacem
in terris, which the Council followed in Part II of Gaudium et spes, on the
family, culture, economic life, political service, and fostering peace among
nations.71 Also in 1967 Rahner spoke to educators about Christian freedom, noting that while Vatican II gave wide space for discussion, this was
clearly within the givens of the Creed and Catholic dogma, which liberate
persons from the narrowness of their own subjectivity.72
In a 1974 publication, Rahner critiqued Dei Verbum’s account of revelation, in no. 3, where he claimed that the Constitution missed the opportunity, regarding humanity from the first couple to Abraham, to affirm
what the Council teaches elsewhere, namely, the universality of the saving
history of God’s elevating and rescuing grace of Christ.73
G) This collection concludes with a miscellany of fourteen shorter
works by Rahner on Vatican II topics. These include a 1963 letter to the
69. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 2:885–903, with further passages at 1110–13.
Rahner gave this in different venues in the U.S. during October 1967 and published a part as
“The Teaching of the Second Vatican Council on Atheism,” in Concilium (1967), no. 3, 513. It came out in complete form in Theological Investigatons, 9:245–64.
70. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 2:826–49, followed by Rahner’s answers to questions
from Paul Minear, John Meyendorff, Albert Outler, and Yves Congar, on 850–70—in English
in J. H. Miller, ed., Vatican II. An Interfaith Appraisal (London, 1966), 589–608. Rahner’s lecture also came out in The Church after the Council, and in Theological Investigations, 8:13–42.
71. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 2:904–22, published in Zum Kirchenverständnis der
katholischen, evangelischen, and anglikanischen Theologie, Festschrift Josef Höfer (Frieburg,
1967), and in English in Theological Investigations, 10:293 – 317.
72. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 2:939–49, translated in Grace in Freedom, trans.
Hilda Graef (New York, 1969).
73. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 2:950–57, published in Joachim Gnilka, ed., Neues
Testament und Kirche, Festschrift Rudolph Schnackneburg (Freiburg, 1974), and in English
in Theological Investigations, 16:191–98.

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editor of the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung correcting an article on a lecture by Cardinal Bea by an author ignorant of Catholic doctrine on the
obligation of following personal conscience; an appreciation of Pope John
XXIII shortly after his death; and an account just after the 1963 Council
period, on episcopal collegiality, which Vatican II illustrated in practice
and was about to declare doctrinally in Lumen gentium.74
Rahner dealt with the problem of combining the universality of God’s
saving offer with the mandated church mission of announcing the Gospel
and establishing church life amid all peoples, first, in responses to questions on missionary spirituality and, second, in two positive evaluations of
proposals of this, based on the sacramental sign-function of the church, by
Eugene Hillmann, CSSP.75
In other early post-conciliar texts, Rahner critiqued a badly drawn
account of the clergy/laity difference, reviewed positively a three-volume,
ecumenically oriented, anthology of bishops’ discourses at Vatican II and
comments on the Council documents, interpreted Gaudium et spes’s chapter on Christians contributing to culture, and treated sensitively how Vatican II combined development of doctrine with innovations on particular
practices of Catholic life.76
On the twentieth anniversary of the Council’s opening, Rahner evaluated Lumen gentium as a doctrinal milestone which has had some, but not
enough, practical results in the church, and then expressed his ongoing sat-

74. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 2:989–90 (Bea and conscience, February 1, 1963),
991–94 (John XXIII, inaugurator of the “world church,” June 8, 1963), and 995–97 (collegiality, December 21, 1963). The latter two pieces came out in the Innsbruck weekly, Der
Volksbote.
75. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 2:998–1005 (questions to and answers by several
theologians, including Rahner, on “keys” of mission theology, in the French journal of missionary spirituality, Spiritus, 6 [1965]), 1006–08 (Rahner’s foreword to E. Hillman, The
Church as Mission [New York, 1965]), and 1009 (an appreciative note on Hillman’s article,
“The Main Task of the Missions,” in Concilium, 2 [1966], no. 3, 3–7).
76. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 2:1010–11 (critical note on H. Heimerl, “The
Laity in the Constitution on the Church,” Concilium, 2 [1966], no. 3, 68–73); 1012–14
(review in Der Spiegel of the anthology edited by the Protestant Council observer, Johann
Christoph Hampe, Die Autoirtät der Freiheit. Gegenwart des Konzils und Zukunft der Kirche im
ökumenischen Disput, 3 vols. [Munich, 1967]); 1015–21 (a 1967 radio address, on GS 53–62,
translated as “Christian Faith—the Deliverance of the World: Faith and Culture,” in Graef,
ed., Grace in Freedom, 69–77); and 1022–27 (contributions to a discussion following a 1968
lecture by Hubert Jedin on “Tradition and Progress in Church History”).

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isfaction over several Vatican II teachings, especially its “salvific optimism,”
because of the universal outpouring of grace, even into the lives of atheists.77
The final two works of this volume are an interview of Rahner in 1982
by Hanjo Sauer, on revelation theology at Vatican II, and a survey account
of the Council, by Rahner and Adolph Darlap, for The Encyclopedia of Religion, edited by Mircea Eliade, which concludes with a ringing statement of
the Council’s central innovation that is the self-portrayal of the Catholic
“world church.”78

77. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 2:1028–33 (on Lumen gentium, for a series in the
Munich journal, Vaterland, and 1034–37 (an interview on Rahner’s “wonderfully fulfilled
expectations” for dogmatic theology, especially the consoling affirmation of the universal
ambit of saving grace). The interview is translated as “Witness to the Council,” in Faith in a
Wintry Season, 74–78. Rahner also lectured in Freiburg in November 1982, offering another
appreciation of Lumen gentium, translated as “Forgotten Dogmatic Initiatives of the Second
Vatican Council,” in Theological Investigations, 22 (1991), 97–105, in which he calls for theologians to rise from their fatigue to articulate God’s word clearly and appreciatively.
78. Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum, 2:1038–45 and 1124–27 (notes), originally an
appendix to H. Sauer, Erfahrung und Glaube. Die Begründung des pastoralen Prinzips durch die
Offenbarungskonstitution des II. Vatikanischen Konzils (Frankfurt/M., 1983), and 2:1046–73,
from The Encyclopedia of Religion, ed. Mircea Eliade, 15 vols. (New York, 1987) in English
and German, concluding with this: “The world church made its appearance as such in the
council, and it says to the world, at once incomprehensively and self-evidently, that in all the
abysses of its history and all the darkness of its future this world is surrounded by God and
God’s will. In boundless love this God is self-communicated to the world as its ground,
power, and goal. Out of such love, God assures the effectiveness of this offer to the freedom
of history. In the council the church became new because it became a world church” (1071).

Book Reviews
GENERAL
Catholic Education in the Wake of Vatican II. Edited by Rosa Bruno-Jofré and Jon
Igelmo Zaldivar. (Toronto: University of Toronto Press. 2017. Pp. x, 348.
$75.00. ISBN 978-1-4875-0206-5.)
This edited collection is the product of one of numerous small conferences
held around the world focusing on Catholic education fifty years after Vatican
Council II. This particular symposium was held in 2015 in the Basque country and
was entitled “Catholicism and Education: Fifty Years after Vatican II.” It was
sponsored largely by Canadian support, and despite delegates from Spain, France,
and Chile the volume is largely dominated by Canadian perspectives; much of it is
seen through the lens of Canadian issues, particularly issues that were faced by
female religious involved in running schools after Vatican II. There are two or three
very good chapters on Catholic schools in Spain and France detailing and providing
us with valuable historical expositions. The book also addresses some key issues
challenging Catholic education and provides some interesting insights. However,
it is difficult to see who the audience is for this book or what the rationale is for it.
The collection claims to discuss the Declaration on Christian Education
(Gravissimum Educationis, 1966) and its implications for Catholic education, but
the contributors largely ignore any discussion of this Declaration because they
claim it is limited, vague, and problematic. Instead, they focus almost entirely on
the other documents of Vatican II and on subsequent discussions of them inspired
by the “spirit of Vatican II.” The Declaration is of course one of the more traditionally minded documents of Vatican II and largely re-states what Catholic education aims to achieve in fairly conservative terms. There is very little in this document that justifies the progressive perspectives advocated in this volume.
Most chapters revolve around the themes of change, progressive education,
anti-elitist ideology, secularization, liberal political advocacy, democracy, and pluralism. While all of these are legitimate concerns, none are adequately outlined or
given a theoretical basis for discussion—they are largely assumed in discussion and
represent the largely negative stance of the authors to the institutional Church and
its running of Catholic educational institutions. In chapter 8 we are told how
teaching congregations “recalibrated their goals in terms of their own understanding of reality, charism, and priorities within a gendered situational context.” This
chapter and others detail how the sisters in these congregations were treated with
disrespect by priests, bishops, and government bodies and how they decided to
abandon some schools in favor of political advocacy, but without telling us which
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documents of Vatican II encouraged their understandings of reality. The chapters
fail to mention the laity except in how the sisters sought to “encourage” them, and
yet the story of the last fifty years since Vatican II has been the story of the laity
dominating not only the teaching workforce but the leadership positions in
Catholic schools. Not to hear their voice in this collection is a major omission.
The book has a limited understanding of the forces of secularization, and apart
from advocating for largely progressive or liberal secular positions in education, the
chapters do not address or identify any central issues. Some chapters make a valuable contribution to the debate if incoherent as an overall collection. The concluding chapter summarizes what the book is trying to achieve, but the collection in my
view fails to address the implications of Vatican II for Catholic schools today.
JAMES ARTHUR

University of Birmingham, UK

MEDIEVAL
Franciscans and the Elixir of Life: Religion and Science in the Later Middle Ages. By
Zachary A. Matus. [The Middle ages Series.] (Philadelphia: University of
Pennsylvania Press. 2017. Pp. 203. $59.95. ISBn 978-0-812-249-217 cloth;
ISBn 978-0-812-294-064 e-book.)
In the decades and centuries after its formation in 1209, the Franciscan Order
acquired a certain reputation for alchemical pursuits. These co-existed uneasily
with various statutes of the Friars Minor (101), as well as papal bulls (55–6), that
all rendered the legitimacy of alchemy doubtful, whether by associating it with sorcery or counterfeiting. Throughout his compact book on Franciscans and the Elixir
of Life, Zachary a. Matus sets out to explore this tension during the late thirteenth
century and much of the fourteenth.
The first chapter sets the stage by tracing Franciscan attitudes towards nature
as God’s creation back to the order’s founder, Francis of assisi, and his successors.
Matus argues convincingly that alchemy, even if its status was more precarious than
that of other fields of knowledge, ties in with the broader tendency of engagement
with creation that was such a prominent feature of early Franciscanism. Throughout the three remaining chapters, The author’s three protagonists are roger Bacon,
Vitalis of Furno, and John of rupescissa, among whom Vitalis rightly receives less
attention. Matus describes how they engaged with alchemy and how this related to
their biographies, shaped by the intellectual, liturgical, and ritual life of the Franciscan Order. as the strongest portion of the book, the second and third chapters
explore three unique conceptions of the elixir of life developed by the book’s protagonists and how these related to apocalypticism (much indebted to Joachim of
Fiore), respectively. The fourth chapter presents alchemy, especially as practised by
Bacon and rupescissa, as a “subjunctive science,” that is, one that engages with the
world as it should be rather than how it really is. according to Matus, the same
frame of mind characterizes rituals generally and those practised by Franciscans

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specifically. While science (up until the present day, one might add) definitely has
episodes that could be construed as describing the world as it should be, historians
of science might well adopt a more cautious stance than Matus does when he pronounces on the limits of what would have been possible in the medieval cosmos as
his protagonists envisioned and experienced it (100, 117–8, 137–8).
In general, Matus chose an apt title for his study. His book is not a comprehensive account of all early Franciscans who really or purportedly engaged with
alchemy, nor does it claim to be. Such a synthesis remains a desideratum. It would
also have to deal more explicitly with actual laboratory (rather than ritual) practice,
transmutational (in addition to medical) alchemy, and include a number of figures
whose alchemical interests or biographies remain disputed or largely obscure (e.g.,
Elias of Cortona and Paul of Taranto, whom Matus only mentions in passing on
26 and 42, respectively). Instead, the book at hand focuses on protagonists for
whom both engagement with alchemy is documented and sufficient biographical
evidence is available. While some readers may not be entirely convinced by various
of his readings and arguments, Matus has written an accessible, contextualizing
study on how three individual Franciscans engaged with the elixir of life and
embedded it into their apocalyptic speculations. In so doing, he has drawn widely
on specialist scholarship (much of it written in Italian) and presents its findings to
a wide international audience. Thus, the book offers intriguing glimpses of religion
and science in the later Middle ages and will hopefully inspire further research on
the subject of alchemy among the Franciscans as well as other religious orders.
Wolfson College, University of Oxford

MIKE a. ZUBEr

EarLY MODErn EUrOPEan
Martin Luther in Rom: Die Ewige Stadt als kosmopolitisches Zentrum und ihre Wahrnehmung. Edited by Michael Matheus, arnold nesselrath, and Martin Wallraff. [Bibliothek des Deutschen Historischen Instituts in rom, Band 134.]
(Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. 2017. Pp. xviii, 534. €109,95; $126.99/£100.00.
ISBn 978-3-11-030906-5.)
Comprising twenty-two essays by Italian, German, and anglo-american
scholars, this volume is an interdenominational commemoration of the quincentennial of Martin Luther in rome (1510 or 1511). The editors organized them
under subtitles concerning Luther’s visit; rome’s urban environment and elites;
pope and curia; theology and devotion; and art, culture, and learning. The strengths
of the collection are that the contributions are of uniform quality and together provide a view of the workings of power, prestige, and elite culture in rome that is free
from the creedal partiality that has impaired previous studies. The composite view
that emerges is that rome was much like other early modern capitals of regional
states where finance and military matters were perhaps the most conspicuous
aspects of administration, that it was a growing city and the site of renaissance
masterpieces, both completed and in the making, and that is was a productive eco-

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351

nomic asset to the papacy. That it was the residence of Christendom’s chief priest
made rome different. It was an international city attracting sedentary expatriate
communities—including Germans, and uncounted pilgrims who traveled there for
its spiritual benefits—including Luther. as an aggressive Italian state builder and
defender of liberties of the church, Julius II made rome for rulers from even
beyond the alps (including and especially Emperor Maximilian) a strategic state in
international politics, both ecclesiastical and secular.
Compared to what is known now about rome, what contributors wrote about
Luther in rome is meager. What he saw and experienced there primarily has to be
sensed vicariously through contemporary sources left by others. The rome that
Luther saw was a city in the middle of urban renewal—a transitory state of demolition and construction, the best example of which is St. Peter’s Basilica. The structure that others would later jest as the house built by German sins was not even a
partial frame when Luther was there. and since his visit left no footprint in rome’s
official records, when and why he was in the city, whom he met, and even where
he stayed are all matters of shrewd appraisal of likelihood. For example, it now
appears more likely that Luther traveled as a pilgrim and not in an official capacity
in the appeal of his Erfurt brothers against Johann Staupitz’s assumption of oversight of augustinian establishments across Germany. Given the limitations, contributors reiterated two observations. First, Luther’s experiences were restricted to
those of a pious tourist. Having stayed there for perhaps a month, he certainly
could not have come to know much about rome’s inner workings, its traditions of
art and music, humanistic expression, decision-making, or reform aspirations.
Second, his characterization of rome as the focus of anti-Christian mischief—
backed by the assurances of having experienced it firsthand—is valueless as a genuine recollection of the city he visited, but creations of the 1530s and ’40s, when
confessional enmity had fermented a personal bitterness. Granted that they are not
trustworthy in themselves, historians should not however be quick to divorce them
wholly from Luther’s actual visit to rome. recollections even decades after an
event often carry lasting emotional resonance. They may, therefore, reflect the
experience of a young outsider—an anonymous German in the most foreign city he
ever visited, and one where influential insiders flourished and prevailed. nor did
any contributor study Luther’s images of rome in detail. Certainly Luther was also
sensing rome vicariously through contemporary sources left by others; namely, it
was northern humanists of the more acerbic and patriotic sorts who created the
rome that Luther loved to hate.
Concordia University Chicago

KUrT STaDTWaLD

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Un prélat français de la Renaissance: Le Cardinal de Lorraine entre Reims et l’Europe.
Edited by Jean Balsamo, Thomas Nicklas, and Bruno Restif. [Travaux d’humanisme et Renaissance, No DXLVI.] (Geneva: Librairie Droz. 2015. Pp.
472. $66.00 paperback. ISBN 978-2-600-01889-0.)
Charles de Lorraine, cardinal de Lorraine and archbishop of Reims, became
one of the principal leaders of the Catholic reform in France during the mid-sixteenth century. A member of the Guise branch of the Lorraine dynasty, Charles de
Lorraine (1524–1574) personified a Renaissance prince and a reforming prelate
during a tumultuous period of religious change and confessional division. His religious and political engagement in the first two decades of the French Wars of Religion (1559–1629) made him a controversial and polarizing figure.
Un prélat français de la Renaissance. Le Cardinal de Lorraine entre Reims et l’Europe offers a historical portrait of the cardinal de Lorraine from various perspectives.
This collective volume publishes twenty-five essays by historians, art historians, literary scholars, and other specialists on the cardinal de Lorraine and his historical
context. The volume produces a nuanced view of the cardinal as a religio-political
leader and a literary and artistic patron (Jean Balsamo, Bruno Restif). Several essays
treat the documentary record and historiographical literature on the cardinal de
Lorraine (Vladimir Chichkine, Isabelle de Conihout, Antoine Pietrobelli, Claude
Langlois, Jean-Marie Le Gall).
Charles de Lorraine served as archbishop of Reims and also played numerous
other clerical roles. He embodied a reforming bishop, transforming his diocese of
Reims into a major center of Catholic reform (Bruno Restif). Isabelle Balsamo
assesses the archbishop’s artistic patronage in the cathedral of Reims, while Patrick
Demouy focuses on the devotional activities and penitential processions that he
encouraged. The cardinal promoted Catholic reform throughout the kingdom by
sponsoring Jesuit missions in France and supporting other religious orders
(Madeleine Molin). Joseph Bergin analyzes the “ecclesiastical empire of the
Guises,” focusing particularly on the cardinal de Lorraine’s role as abbot of the royal
abbey of Saint-Denis, where royal family members were interred. As archbishop of
Reims, Lorraine crowned three French kings and engaged in religious politics in
order to promote Catholic reform in the kingdom. The cardinal and his brother—
François de Lorraine, duc de Guise—advised the young François II during his
short reign (1559–1560). Charles de Lorraine maintained a broad clientele in the
province of Champagne and beyond through his benefices and urban associations
(Mark Konnert and Mark Greengrass).
Charles de Lorraine’s attitudes toward heresy gradually shifted between the
1540s and 1570s. Theologian Claude d’Espence provided the young cardinal with
spiritual guidance, but the he later fell under suspicion of heresy (Peter Walter).
The cardinal promoted a religious reform program based on religious harmony and
Christian unity in the mid-sixteenth century (Alain Tallon). Lorraine later organized a major theological discussion between Catholic and Calvinist theologians at
the Colloquy of Poissy (1561), but the meeting utterly failed to produce any theo-

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353

logical compromise between the increasingly divided confessions (Max Engammare). The cardinal de Lorraine seems to have gradually embraced strict antiheresy policies, pressing for executions of Huguenots who had participated in the
Conspiracy of amboise and justifying massacres of Protestants. Calvinist writers
such as François Hotman demonized the cardinal as a “tiger” and a “viper” for his
“cruelty and avarice” toward Protestants. Hugues Daussy traces the crystallization
of this negative image of the cardinal.
Lorraine engaged in European politics through relationships in Germany,
Italy, Scotland, and the netherlands (Eric Durot, Matteo Provasi, Federica Veratelli, Jules Versele, and François Pernot). The cardinal de Lorraine conducted several diplomatic missions and acted as one of the main negotiators for the peace of
Cateau-Cambrésis in 1559 (Thomas nicklas). He participated in the papal conclave for the election of Julius III, and his brother, the cardinal de Guise, took part
in two additional conclaves (alain Cullière). Yet, electoral politics at the conclaves
probably disrupted the cardinal’s relationship with Jean du Bellay (Loris Petris).
The cardinal fostered Catholic reform in his family’s duchy of Lorraine and the
Three Bishoprics (Stefano Simiz). The cardinal de Lorraine actively deliberated in
the final stages of the Council of Trent in 1562–1563, rejecting compromise with
Protestantism and defending French Gallicanism. This book expands our understanding of a pivotal figure in the Council of Trent, the French Wars of religion,
and the broader Catholic reformation.
Northern Illinois University

BrIan SanDBErG

LaTE MODErn EUrOPEan
Catholic Labor Movements in Europe. Social Thought and Action, 1914–1965. By Paul
Misner. (Washington D.C.: The Catholic University of america Press. 2015.
Pp. xiv, 341. $65.00. ISBn 978-0-8132-2753-5.)
The collective task of putting Catholicism back into the history of twentiethcentury Europe continues to gather momentum. Paul Misner makes an important
contribution with his new monograph, which serves as a chronological successor to
his well-regarded Social Catholicism in Europe: from the onset of industrialization to the
First World War (1991). In this second volume, Misner sets himself the goal of providing a transnational history of how the movements, ideas, and institutions of the
Social Catholic world—comprising, in his capacious definition, trade unions and
social and spiritual organizations as well as a wide range of intellectual reviews and
more informal networks—expanded their social, intellectual, and political power,
within and without the confessional boundaries of Catholicism in the decades from
World War I to the 1960s. Misner rightly has no doubt as to the importance of this
process. The ideas and institutions of Social Catholicism, as he demonstrates, constituted an energetic component of European Catholicism in this period, but they
also contributed significantly to the amalgam of political, social, and economic ideas
that comprised the mid-century democratic settlement of Western Europe after

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1945. This is therefore a story which matters and one which he presents very effectively, in a series of largely chronological chapters which criss-cross the territories of
the western half of Europe from the Low Countries, to Germany, France, austria,
and Italy. His approach is sympathetic, though certainly not uncritically so: he
demonstrates the engagement of the more reactionary elements of Social Catholicism with the various authoritarian and corporatist projects of the 1930s and 1940s,
but he emphasizes also how the ideas and institutions of Social Catholicism were
predominantly a force for good, contributing to processes of social emancipation,
welfare provision, internationalism, and the achievement of an enhanced economic
and political democracy. This is a vision of Social Catholicism which finds its centre
of gravity in north-western Europe, and it is not surprising that much of his book is
devoted to the Low Countries and to the territories of western Germany. France
and Italy fit less well into this model and are correspondingly somewhat more marginal to his account. It is also one which prioritizes the internal momentum of Social
Catholicism over broader forces. What carried its ideas and institutions forward, as
presented by Misner, was less the currents of the age than the ceaseless energy of
debate, organization, and practice within Social Catholic ranks. This is, thus, a book
full of the names of the individuals and organizations who contributed to the different institutions, international networks, and publications of the Social Catholic
world. This leads Misner occasionally into somewhat teleological logics, whereby
each successive generation built on the achievements of the preceding ones, and laid
the basis for those who would come after them. It is also, consequently, somewhat
top-down in its approach. We learn much about leaders but less about the mentality
of the rank and file, or the simple hard work of those militants who kept Catholic
trade unions, spiritual organizations, and periodicals going in difficult times. above
all, this is a book which, as is so often the case in studies of twentieth-century
Catholicism, is better on beginnings than endings. In particular, the book struggles
to retain its momentum after 1945. after the war, Social Catholics had achieved
much of what they had striven for over the previous half-century: their ideas were
widely accepted, within and beyond Catholic ranks, and the new socio-economic
structures of the states of Western Europe bore the imprint of their priorities of
social justice and economic democracy. and yet, as Misner shows, within twenty
years, much of the infrastructure and sense of collective purpose of this Social
Catholic world had been disassembled, as confessional organizations were replaced
in the 1960s by Catholic participation in more fluid and open organizational structures, where their influence is much less easy to trace. Misner has, in sum, charted
where Social Catholicism came from in twentieth-century Europe, but the task that
remains is to analyze where it led next.
Balliol College, Oxford

MarTIn COnWaY

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355

LaTIn aMErICan
Cachita’s Streets: The Virgin of Charity, Race and Revolution in Cuba. By Jalane D.
Schmidt. [The religious Cultures of african and african Diaspora People.]
(Durham, nC: Duke University Press. 2015. Pp. xii, 357. $26.95 paperback.
ISBn 978-0-8223-5937-1.)
The Virgin of Charity, nicknamed endearingly as Cachita, has been part of
Cuban national identity for many centuries. She appeared in 1612 floating toward the
east coast, according to the official document in 1687 reported by a one of the three
men who saw her and rescued the image; Cachita then insisted on remaining with
the slave population at El Cobre, a copper mine in the mountains, near Santiago but
far from Havana. She is usually considered iconically mulata (i.e., a woman of Spanish—white—and african—black—race), but also associated, though separately, with
the Santería oricha hybrid Ochún, a goddess with rivers and lakes and oceans, with
lush fertility. This work is focused on religious processions and performances, ranging
from 1612 to 2012, while she makes clear that Cachita has evolved historically in
political, racial, and regional ways as well. Even the political ways of Fidel Castro
during his long revolution failed to destroy the devotion to the Virgin of Charity,
though she has evolved principally among older people in Cuba along with Cubans
and Cuban-americans in the United States. Yet the various religious groups and
their visions of Cachita shifted, changed, and altered as the island moved through the
more than eighty years that the author studies most closely.
although all sections are careful and captivating, Part IV (1959-1998) is particularly strong. as Fidel’s revolution brought the masses to political rallies, the
Catholic and other religious processions in the streets and plazas, often simultaneously, were eliminated. While initially Catholics tried to continue with their celebrations, two years later Castro and his administration declared the country “atheist” (207). While the revolution continued to use José Martí as a center of Cuban
identity, pushed aside were Catholicism, United States interests, and Cachita. as
the national Catholic Congress went forward in the early months of 1959, concerns about the revolution responded to its anti-Communist concerns, as one
headline of the Diario de la Marina objected “Social Justice, yes, but Communism,
no” (p. 206). By 1961, religious processions were more and more restricted and
atheism more authoritatively commanded. The Virgin and her processions and
even her schools were proscribed; fidelistas called her “fascist.” (p. 219).
a striking event took place on September 8, 1961, when the annual feast day
of the Virgin of Charity led to a riot, causing the death of a young man, arnaldo
Socorro. The events began when the government moved the time of her celebration, outside of Havana’s Church of Our Lady of Charity, from five o’clock on
Sunday afternoon to very early in the morning. Most of the crowd arrived at the
normal time, only to discover that the church’s image was inside; the parish priest
and auxiliary bishop of the city came outside to say that the procession would be
canceled. Descriptions of the event varied significantly between Catholics inter-

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viewed by the author and the current newspaper El Mundo, by now taken over
completely by the government. The interviews suggested that the young man was
a martyr for the Church; El Mundo and the government claimed him to be the
“humble worker” of the revolution. Those events completely ended all religious
processions, and quite quickly a number of priests and members of religious orders
were thrown out of the country. Meanwhile, many lay Catholics left for exile. religious Cubans did not return to Catholic streets until many years later, the most
important moment being that of the arrival of Pope John Paul II in 1998. after
that time, religious processions began to be permitted and the Virgin of Charity
reappeared publicly. In 2012, the image was carried to the Plaza of the revolution
in Santiago for Pope Benedict XVI’s pontifical Mass there, attended by thousands.
The Pope then followed her back to her home in the mountains, where she had
belonged since the seventeenth century. Clearly, the Virgin of Charity, patron of
Cuba, was still one of the world’s most important Marian shrines, despite the years
of repression by Fidel’s government.
The book is one of the best histories of Marian devotion that I have read, and
one of the best books on Cuba overall. I would particularly recommend that it be
used in classes for cultural studies in Cuba or, in fact, anywhere interested in Latin
america. Cubans in the United States and in Cuba will be fascinated as well.
LInDa B. HaLL

The University of New Mexico

aMErICan
Stewards of the Mysteries of God: Immaculate Conception Seminary, 1860–2010. By
robert James Wister. (South Orange, new Jersey: Immaculate Conception
Seminary, 2010 Pp. 496)
For the 150th anniversary of the archdiocese of newark’s historic institution
for educating “Stewards of the Mysteries of God” (its motto), robert J. Wister provides an outstanding narrative of one seminary’s progress from the immigrantChurch era to the twenty-first century. His meticulous attention to contexts and
lived experience of a seminary community for each period makes his story a model
of scholarship and enjoyable to read.
For new Jersey, the diocese of newark was established in 1853—one of ten
sees created that year as Irish and German immigration to the United States
surged. In 1855, founding Bishop James roosevelt Bayley, Mother Elizabeth
Seton’s nephew, opened male-only Seton Hall College in Madison. In 1860, the
college was relocated to South Orange, closer to newark, and in its new building a
seminary was opened. Like most antebellum U.S. bishops, Bayley started a seminary to train diocesan priests locally to diminish the dependence on recruiting
priests from Europe. Fire destroyed the building in 1866; a new three-story Gothic
structure, still in use, took its place. Despite seminarians’ services in staffing the
college, the institution struggled with debts, low enrollment, and calls for its clos-

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357

ing. Bishop Michael a. Corrigan’s family wealth rescued it. Its standards were
high, and its state charter enabled seminarians to earn a bachelor’s degree for collegiate studies and a master’s degree for theology—credentials not available at most
diocesan seminaries.
For the early twentieth century, Wister integrates the seminary story with the
Holy See’s new direction for priesthood formation worldwide, hence addressing the
condemnation of Modernism (1907), the Oath against Modernism (1910) mandated for faculties, the creation of the Sacred Congregation of Seminaries and Universities (1915) to issue regulations and require reports, and the Code of Canon Law
(1917) that outlines the Church’s first-ever organizational plan for the seminary. In
light of Church authority’s hostility toward new directions in theological learning,
Wister profiles seminarian Will Durant, enrolled 1909–1911, whose restless intellect prompted him to leave the Church. He went on to publish his bestselling, The
Story of Philosophy, and, with wife ariel, the eleven-volume Story of Civilization.
as new Jersey’s Catholic population grew, newark’s diocesan area was
reduced with the formation of new dioceses at Trenton in 1881 and Paterson and
Camden in 1937. In the latter year, newark was raised to an archdiocese. To
expand enrollment, the seminary was relocated in 1927 from the Seton Hall
campus to two mansions at Darlington in the scenic isolation of northern new
Jersey. Wister vividly portrays archbishop Thomas Walsh’s wily depression-era
fundraising to construct an imposing seminary building there to accommodate 275
and was completed in 1938.
Between the World Wars, Msgr. Thomas McLaughlin, seminary rector
1922-1937, like counterparts elsewhere and at the legalistic Walsh’s behest,
enforced the era’s vision of seminary life that kept the students at their rural
redoubt during the summer. The “Teutonic Irishman” (111), McLaughlin had
taken seminary and graduate studies with the Jesuits at Innsbruck, austria. a
“terror in his own right,” (143) this classic rector enforced detailed rules keeping
seminarians’ personal freedom and initiative narrow to ensure docility and humility.
He and Walsh required of students high academic performance and bilingual skills
to serve a multi-ethnic flock. They developed a high-quality priest faculty with
doctorates from European universities. Seton Hall College continued conferring
bachelor’s degrees on seminarians, but its own accreditation prompted ending the
master’s degree in theology in 1932.
For the period 1961–2010, Wister presents the seminary culture in a complex
transition from the Walsh-McLaughlin legacy to positive responses to current educational and theological standards. During Vatican II (1962–1965), anticipation of
change created varied expectations in the seminary community’s sometimes bewildered staff and faculty and assertive seminarians. The U.S. Bishops’ Program of
Priestly Formation (1971) gave official guidance for Vatican II’s vision for renewing
seminary life and learning. Finally, in 1974, accreditation with the Middle States
association enabled the seminary to confer the Master of Divinity and Master of

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arts degrees. Expanded programs attracted lay persons and religious sisters to
enroll as the enrollment of seminarians declined. By the 1970s, the archdiocese’s
financial difficulties raised questions about its role in subsidizing the seminary. The
change of archbishops from cautious Thomas a. Boland (1952–1974) to Peter L.
Gerety (1974–1986) broadened the range of ideas and personnel engaged in seminary decisions. as seminary professor and administrator, Wister provides an
insider’s fascinating account of the issues arising when the seminary was relocated
to a new building at Seton Hall University in 1983 and how forcefully seminary and
university leaders clashed over issues related to integrating priesthood formation
into the university’s structure as a School of Theology. Eventually, the archbishop’s
canonical role in priesthood formation was affirmed. The volume concludes with a
summary of seminary developments of the last two decades.
Stewards of the Mysteries of God reveals the author’s exhaustive research, deep
understanding of priesthood formation, engaging writing, thoughtful attention to
contexts, eye for the human side of every issue, and illuminating profiles of key figures. Christopher J. Kauffman’s foreword highlights the volume’s significance.
Historic photos complement the narrative. The volume advances the understanding of Catholic priesthood formation, new Jersey’s Catholic history, and the state’s
educational and cultural past.
The Catholic Historical Review

JOSEPH M. WHITE

Notes and Comments
Causes of saints
at an ordinary Public Consistory on May 19, 2018, Pope francis declared the date
of october 14, 2018 for the canonization of six Blesseds. their paths to sainthood
were cleared in March 2018 when he approved a series of decrees related to their
causes. the six to be canonized:
• Pope Paul Vi (Giovanni Battista Montini), supreme Pontiff; born in Concesio,
italy, on 26 september 1897 and died at Castel Gandolfo, italy, on 6 august
1978.
• archbishop oscar arnolfo Romero Galdámez of san salvador; born in Ciudad
Barrios, el salvador, on 15 august 1917 and killed in san salvador, el salvador, on 24 March 1980.
• Reverend francesco spinelli, diocesan priest; founder of the institute of the sisters adorers of the Blessed sacrament, born in Milan, italy, on 14 april 1853
and died in Rivolta d’adda, italy, on 6 february 1913.
• Reverend Vincenzo Romano, diocesan priest; born in torre del Greco, italy, on
3 June 1751 and died there on 20 December 1831.
• Mother Maria Katharina Kasper, founder of the institute of the Poor Handmaids of Jesus Christ; born on 26 May 1820 in Dernbach, Germany, and died
there on 2 february 1898.
• sister María felicia of Jesus in the Blessed sacrament (née María felicia Guggiari echeverría), professed nun of the order of the Discalced Carmelites; born
in Villarica, Paraguay on 12 January 1925, and died in asunción, Paraguay, on
28 april 1959.
• anna Kolesárová, layperson; born in Vysoká nad uhom, slovakia, on 14 July
1928 and killed there in hatred of the faith on 22 november 1944.
in light of their heroic virtue the following venerable servants of God were
declared:
• Reverend Bernardo Łubieński, professed priest of the Congregation of the
Most Holy Redeemer; born in Guzów, Poland, on 9 December 1846 and died
in Warsaw, Poland, on 10 september 1933.
• Cecilio Maria Cortinovis (né antonio Pietro), professed religious of the order
of friars Minor Capuchin; born in nespello, italy, on 7 november 1885 and
died in Bergamo, italy, on 10 april 1984.
• Giustina schiapparoli, founder of the Congregation of the Benedictine sisters
of Divine Providence of Voghera; born in Castel san Giovanni, italy, on 19 July
1819 and died in Voghera, italy, on 20 november 1877.
359

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• Maria schiapparoli, founder of the Congregation of the Benedictine sisters of
Divine Providence of Voghera; born in Castel san Giovanni, italy, on 19 april
1815 and died in Vespolate, italy, on 2 May 1882.
• Maria antonella Bordoni, layperson, of the third order of saint Dominic,
founder of the Lay fraternity of the Little Daughters of the Mother of God,
now Little Daughters of the Mother of God; born on 13 october 1916 in
arezzo, italy, and died in Castel Gandolfo, italy, on 16 January 1978.
• alessandra sabattini, layperson; born on 19 august 1961 in Riccione, italy, and
died in Bologna, italy on 2 May 1984.
in april 2018 Pope francis authorized the decree recognizing eight new Venerable
servants of God. the group of three priests and five women religious come from
india, spain, Portugal, Canada, and italy:
• father Varghese Payapilly, founder of the sisters of the Destitute (sD). a priest
of the archdiocese of ernakulam, india, sought to serve the poor, the destitute,
and the aged often forsaken by their families or living on the street. He started
a religious congregation in 1927, later called as the sisters of the Destitute. His
congregation conducts institutions serving those in need in india, including
homes for the elderly and disabled, schools, and hospitals.
• father emanuele nunes formigão, a diocesan priest, founder of the Congregation of the Religious sisters of the Reparation of our Lady of fatima; born in
tomar (Portugal) on January 1, 1883, and died in fatima on January 30, 1958.
• father Ludovico Longari, a member of the Congregation of Priests of the Most
Holy sacrament; born in Montodine (italy) on June 20, 1889, and died in Ponteranica (italy) on June 17, 1963.
• sister elizabeth Bruyère, founder of the Congregation of the sisters of Charity
of ottawa; born in L’assomption (Canada) on March 19, 1818, and died in
ottawa on april 5, 1876.
• Mother Margherita Ricci Curbastro (born: Constance), founder of the Congregation of the Handmaids of the sacred Heart of Jesus in agony; born in Lugo
di Romagna (italy) on october 6, 1856, and died there on January 7, 1923.
• Mother florenza Giovanna Profilio, founder of the institute of the franciscan
sisters of the immaculate Conception of Lipari; born in Pirrera (italy) on
December 30, 1873, and died in Rome on february 21, 1956.
• Mother Maria Dolores of Christ the King (born: Maria Di Majo), founder of
the Congregation of the Missionary Handmaids of Christ the King; born in
Palermo (italy) on December 16, 1888, and died there on June 27, 1967.
• sister Justa Domínguez de Vidaurreta and idoy, superior of the spanish
Province of the society of the Daughters of Charity of saint Vincent de Paul,
born in azpeitia (spain) on november 2, 1875, and died in Madrid (spain) on
December 18, 1958.

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361

ConfeRenCes
on september 24, 2018, fordham university’s Center on Religion and Culture
will sponsor a conference “Dulles at 100: Celebrating the Legacy and Promise of
the thought of avery Cardinal Dulles, s.J.” at the Lincoln Center campus in new
York, noon to 7:30 p.m. admission is free. Check the Center’s website for information soon to be announced.
on october 1–3, 2018, a conference titled, “Reforming Church History. the
Rise of the Reformation as an era in early Modern european Historiography,”
will take place at the Gotha Research Library (friedenstein Castle), Gotha, Germany. the conference addresses: when did the Reformation itself become a subject
and an era of historiography in its own right? since the late 16th century, works
have been published in which the Reformations (e.g. the Wittenberg, Zurich and
Genevan Reformations) are embedded into a greater historical timeframe and context. How was this historical phenomenon constructed by authors of the various
confessional churches and dissenting fractions? What functions and intentions did
they serve? to what extent did the Reformation change church historiography as a
whole? How can one describe the different confessional understandings of the one
Christian church history? the conference is conceived as an interdisciplinary forum
for church historians, theologians, secular historians, and experts in historical law
and philosophy. it will combine historiographical and systematic approaches and
include all confessions and dissenting movements. the conference will take place
at the one of the most prominent historic libraries in Germany. the numerous and
unique manuscripts, early printed books, correspondences and literary estates it
holds form a reference collection for the history of Protestantism in europe from
the 16th to the 18th century. for further information, contact: sascha salatowsky,
forschungsbibliothek Gotha, schloss friedenstein, schlossplatz 1, D-99867
Gotha. Email: sascha.salatowsky@uni-erfurt.de
on october 26–28, 2018 the Haskins society will hold its 37th annual conference at the university of north Carolina at Chapel Hill. accepted papers cover all
areas of the society’s interests in the Middle ages, including (but not limited to)
anglo-saxon, anglo-norman, Viking, Plantagenet, and Capetian periods and
regions. this year’s featured plenary speakers include William Chester Jordan
(Princeton), theodore evergates (McDaniel), and alice Rio (King’s College,
London). as in the past, the conference will begin with a new Research forum to
highlight new research questions and methods and works in progress. on the eve
of the conference (october 25) the Dorothy ford Wiley Lecture will be delivered
by Katherine smith (Puget sound). Details about registration, accommodation,
and traveling to Chapel Hill will be posted on the Haskins society website.
on april 4–9, 2019, the university of notre Dame’s Cushwa Center for the
study of american Catholicism will sponsor a conference on “Global History and
Catholicism” at the notre Dame Conference Center. this conference will
explore the intersection between global history—arguably the most significant

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NOTES AND COMMENTS

development in historical scholarship over the last generation—and the history of
the Catholic Church, one of the world’s most global institutions. Papers and panels
will consider the ways in which globalism has shaped the Catholic Church, but also
explore the impact of Catholic actors and entities on globalism from the late eighteenth century to the present. Jeremy adelman, the Henry Charles Lea Professor
of History at Princeton university, will deliver the keynote address for the conference. adelman is in the process of writing a global history of Latin america.

DiGitaL CoLLeCtions
Newberry Library
to promote wider public engagement with 1.7 million digital images
now online, the newberry Library of Chicago has announced a major revision to
its policy regarding the re-use of collection images: images derived from collection
items are now available to anyone for any lawful purpose, whether commercial or
non-commercial, without licensing or permission fees to the library. applying to
everything from the pictures researchers take in the library’s reading rooms to the
1.7 million high-resolution newberry images currently available online, the revised
policy aims to encourage users to interact more freely with collection items as they
produce new scholarly and creative work.
“By modifying our rights policy, we’re reinforcing our commitment to a core
component of the newberry’s mission: to promote and provide for the effective use
of our collections while fostering life-long learning and civic engagement with the
humanities,” said alice schreyer, Vice President for Collections and Library services. “We are continually adopting new methods of making our collections not only
more accessible but more approachable, and we’re excited to see how our users
respond to these much less restrictive guidelines for image re-use.”
Many newberry items now available online are part of the public domain, and
can be used and shared freely without violating copyright law. these items include
french Revolution pamphlets recently added to internet archive and made available as a data set as part of a “Digitizing Hidden Collections” grant from the Council on Library and information Resources.
though the newberry no longer assesses permissions fees, users remain responsible for determining whether material is in the public domain, whether it is protected by copyright law or other restrictions, or whether a particular activity constitutes fair use.
the newberry’s new image rights policy follows the recent expansion of its digital collections, including the addition of a significant portion of the everett D.
Graff Collection—now digitally available to scholars and the general public for the
first time. the Graff Collection totals more than 130,000 images of books, manuscripts, maps, photographs, and other objects documenting indigenous peoples in
the americas and the settlement of the american West.

NOTES AND COMMENTS

363

all subsequent additions to the newberry’s quickly growing digital collections,
including a soon-to-be-released collection of sheet music and significant additions
to the edward e. ayer Digital Collection, will also be freely accessible.
“in the digital age, people want to discover interesting collection material at the
newberry and integrate it into their work as fluidly as possible,” said Jennifer
Dalzin, Director of Digital initiatives and services. “With this new policy, the
newberry is removing barriers to innovative re-use, collaboration, and new kinds
of scholarship.”
Early European Books from ProQuest
early european Books from ProQuest containing 53,000 works is the most
comprehensive digital collection of rare books and incunabula available. now
scholars can trace the history of printing in europe from its origins in the 1450s to
1700 in the most comprehensive digital collection of rare books and incunabula.
explore the two-and-a-half centuries following Gutenberg’s invention of movable
type in the mid-15th century, a time when europe experienced an unprecedented
proliferation and dissemination of literature.
Drawing from a diverse array of primary sources in the original languages, this
collection opens the door to the kind of in-depth scholarship that was once limited
to fragile manuscripts housed in far-away institutions. as one might expect, religious works dominate, but there is no shortage of secular material concerning every
field of human thought and activity. the subject matter spans the depth and
breadth of the Renaissance era, with scholarly editions and translations covering
science, literature, history, theology, customs, and geography. users will find original works by the leading figures of the era, including:
•
•
•
•

astronomer and alchemist tycho Brahe,
Michelangelo Buonarrati the Younger (nephew of painter Michelangelo),
Philosophes Blaise Pascal and Rene Descartes,
theologian John Calvin, and more.

Developed and produced in collaboration with scholars, rare book librarians,
bibliographers and other expert, early european Books contains millions of fullysearchable pages scanned directly from the original printed sources in high-resolution full color. each item is captured in its entirety, complete with binding, edges,
endpapers, blank pages and any loose inserts. the result is a wealth of information
about the physical characteristics and histories of the original.

fiLM
Hesburgh, a feature-length documentary film about the life and legacy of father
theodore M. Hesburgh, C.s.C., president of the university of notre Dame and
civil rights champion, directed by Patrick Creadon and produced by Christine
o’Malley and Jerry Barca, is available from o’Malley-Creadon Productions. Run
time: 104 minutes.

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NOTES AND COMMENTS

Hesburgh offers a unique glimpse at more than fifty years of american history as
seen through the eyes of the long-time president of the university of notre Dame
and america’s most well-known Catholic priest. educator, civil rights champion,
advisor to presidents, envoy to popes, theologian and activist, Hesburgh was called
on by countless world leaders for advice on the challenging issues of the day. He
built a reputation as a savvy political operator with a penchant for bridging the divide
between bitter enemies. through it all, he remained a man armed with a fierce intelligence, a quick wit and an unyielding moral compass—a timeless example of bipartisan leadership that would serve us in today’s increasingly polarized times.
Hesburgh’s World Premiere took place in the american film institute’s film festival June 17, 2018 at the e street Cinema in Washington, DC.

PuBLiCations
Vittorio Berti has edited a collection of articles on “i sinodi siro-orientali: sinodalità siriaca in terra di Persia (iV–Vii secolo)” for Cristianesimo nella storia
(Volume 38, number 3 [2017]). He has provided an introduction, “sinodalità e
chiesa siro-orientale: un inquadramento” (pp. 631–36), which is followed by four
articles: nunzia Di Rienzo, “Risemantizzare la memoria: il conflitto tra Papa bar
aggai e Miles di susa nell’ottica del catholicos di seleucia” (pp. 637–54); emidio
Vergani, “il sinodo di Mar isaac (410): appunti e alcune linee di indagine” (pp.
655–71); Vittorio Berti, “il sinodo itinerante di Mar aba del 540” (pp. 673–728);
and Bishara ebeid, “Christology and Deification in the Church of the east: Mar
Gewargis i, His synod and His Letter to Mina as a Polemic against Martyriussahdona” (pp. 729–82)
“Lettres en contexte” (Xe–Xiie siècles)” is the theme of four articles published in
the issue for January-March, 2018 (Volume 61, number 241), of Cahiers de civilisation médiévale. following an introduction by Benoît Grévin (pp. 1–10), are “Construire une hiérarchie épiscopale: flodoard de Reims et la correspondance de l’archevêque
foulque (vers 850–vers 950,” by edward Roberts (pp. 11–25); “L’utilisation des lettres dans la Vita de Grégoire le Grand par Jean Diacre,” by Pierluigi Licciardello (pp.
27–42); ”Les lettres dans les Vies d’Édouard le Confesseur,” by Maïté Billoré (pp. 43–
60); and “”L’Historia Compostellana: l’évêque en action au miroir des lettres (premier
quart du Xiie siècle),” by amélie De Las Heras (pp. 61–74).
three articles in Wissenschaft und Weisheit for 2016 (Volume 79) take up the
relations between st. francis of assisi and st. Dominic and between the franciscans and Dominicans: Klaus unterburger, “franziskus und Dominikus. ihre Rolle
im Prozess der neuformierung des Christlichen im Hochmittelalter” (pp. 85–100);
edith feistner, “Der Laie franziskus im Vergleich zum Kleriker Dominikus.
ordensgründerlegenden und ordensidentität von thomas von Celano bis Jacobus
de Voragine” (pp. 101–17); and susanne ehrich, “Bauen am Himmlischen
Jerusalem. Die frühen Dominikaner und franziskaner in der schriftlichen und
bildlichen auslegung der Johannes-offenbarung” (pp. 118–41).

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365

the Görres-Gesellschaft devoted its general assembly of 2016 to the theme “Reformation—Zu einem strukturprinzip der Christentums- und Religionsgeschichte.”
the papers presented on that occasion have been published in its journal, Historisches
Jahrbuch, for 2017 (Volume 137). after a “Kurzer sektionsüberblick” by thomas
Brechenmacher and Mariano Delgado (pp. 3–6) we find “”Re-formation als strukturprinzip der Religionsgeschichte,” by Johann figl (pp. 7–23); “Re-form and Reformation. Zu erneuerungsbewegungen in Kirche und Gesellschaft an Beispielen aus
den mittelalterlichen Bettelorden,” by andreas sohn (pp. 24–51); “Rückkehr zur
ecclesia primitiva. Wandlungen in Luthers Vorstellung von der alten Kirche als
Maßstab reformatorischen Handelns,” by Volker Leppin (pp. 52–67); “Die Pluralisierung des Protestantismus und die Rede von der ‘ecclesia semper reformanda,’” by
andrea strübind (pp. 68–84); “Die theresianisch-josephinischen Reformen und die
staatskirchlichen Reforbestrebungen,” by Harm Klueting (pp. 85–103); “Reform und
Reformation im Judentum,” by Klaus Hermann (pp. 104–33); “Zwei katholische
Reformen angesichts der Moderne? Pius X. und die ‘Modernisten,’” by Claus arnold
(pp. 134–46); and “Die Kirchenreform des Zweiten Vatikanischen Konzils: von
Johannes XXiii. bis franziskus,” by Joachim schmiedel (pp. 147–60).
the north american editors and the european editor of the Archive for Reformation History—Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte invited twenty-six eminent scholars in
europe and north america to write brief, programmatic essays for the volume (108)
for 2017 published on the occasion of the beginning of the Protestant Reformation.
the articles are divided into the following seven sections“; ”Reformation and Modernity: enduring Questions”; “Reformation History—Global, european, national?”;
“Luther, Copernicus, and 1517 in Context”; “the Reformations and the Media:
Printing and the Creation of identity through texts and images”; “Dissent, Violence,
and toleration”; “transforming Languages and identities: the Global impact of the
Reformations”; and “Representations of the Global impact of the Reformations.”
Analecta Augustiniana has joined the parade of periodicals commemorating the
five-hundredth anniversary of the Reformation with four articles in its volume for
2017 (LXXX): Giancarlo Pani, “Le 95 tesi di Lutero del 1517: storia di un mancato dialogo” (pp. 9–29); angelo Maria Vitale, “Da egidio da Viterbo a Girolamo
seripando: Percorsi di riforma nel pensiero agostiniano” (pp. 31–46); franz Posset,
“a trio of augustinian Reformers: Johann von staupitz, Martin Luther and
Wenceslaus Linck during the early Reformation” (pp. 47–72); and Rafael Lazcano,
“Lutero en españa: Losídices de libros prohibidos del siglo XVi” (pp. 73–107).
the issue of Studies: An Irish Quarterly Review for winter, 2017/18 (Volume
106, number 424), contains ten brief papers that were presented at a conference
entitled “Reformation 500,” jointly organized by the Church of ireland Historical
society and the Catholic Historical society of ireland, and held in Christ Church
Cathedral, Dublin, and Dublin City university on october 20–21, 2017.
the quincentennial of the beginning of the Protestant Reformation is commemorated in the issue of The Australasian Catholic Record for october, 2017

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(Volume 94, number 4), with articles by Dean Zweck, “Luther@500: Reformation
and Reconciliation” (pp. 387–97); franz Posset, “Luther @500: Catholic interest
in Martin Luther” (pp. 398–414); William W. emilsen, “the Reformation as
‘tragic necessity’ Revisited” (pp. 415-26); Robert M. andrews, “Luther’s Reformation and sixteenth-Century Catholic Reform: Broadening a traditional narrative” (pp. 427–39); and Josephine Laffin, “teaching Reformation History” (pp.
440–50).
Annali dell’Istituto storico italo-germanicco in Trento—Jahrbuch des italienischdeutschen historischen Instituts in Trient in its second number for 2017 (Volume 43)
publishes the second installment of “historical perspectives” on the relationship
between science and religion, this one by italian historians: fernanda alfieri and
Kärin nickelsen, “introuction” (pp. 9–15); Chiara Crisciani, “alchemy and Christian Religiousness: the Latin Middle ages” (pp. 17–38); Maria Conforti, “Myth,
nature, and Chance: Medical Histories and Religion” (pp. 39–56); fernanda
alfieri, “the Weight of the Brain. the Catholic Church in the face of Physiology
and Phrenology (first Half of the nineteenth Century” (pp. 57–77); Renato G.
Mazzolini, “theological advocates of the unity of the Human species (1815–
1853)” (pp. 79–93); Lucia Pozzi, “Catholic Discourse on sexuality and Medical
Knowledge. Changing Perspectives between the nineteenth and the twentieth
Centuries” (pp. 95–114); and telmo Pievani, “Contingency, ethics of finitude,
and theology” (pp. 115–30).
Annales de Bretagne et des Pays de l’Ouest presents eleven brief articles on
“tolérance et intolérance des religions en europe, XVie-XViiie siècle” in its first
number for 2018 (Volume 125), following an “introduction” by Didier Boisson
(pp. 7–8): Laurent tatarenko, “La Confédération de Varsovie du 28 janvier 1573:
une politique de tolérance au service des privilèges nobiliaires” (pp. 9–23); Patrick
Cabanel, “un éloge catholique de la tolérance en 1600: le commentaire de l’édit de
nantes par Pierre de Beloy” (pp. 25–31); thomas Guillemin, “Jalons pour une
étude du corpus huguenot sur la tolérance au moment de la Révocation” (pp. 33–
44); sara Graveleau, “La Tolérance des religions de Henri Basnage de Veauval
(1684)” (pp. 45–57); Luc Daireaux, “De la tolérance à la liberté de religion: Les
pouvoirs face à la question protestante, france, 1685–1791” (pp. 59–70); Céline
Borello, “Droit naturel, intolérance et tolérance à l’égard des huguenots au XViiie
siècle” (pp. 71–82); ines sonntag, “L’image des «turcs» dans les débats des temps
modernes sur la tolérance” (pp. 83-95); Julien Léonard, “une tolérance à géométrie
variable: catholiques et protestants, chrétiens et juifs, pouvoir royal et francisation”
(pp. 97–109); natalia Muchnik, “une intolérance bien légère? Les judaïsants d’anvers (XVie et XViie siècles)” (pp. 111–22); nicolas Richard, “La tradition laïque
tchèque, heritage de l’intolérance de l’époque modern: problème historiographique
ou question historique?” (pp. 123–36); and françois Brizay, “fondamentalisme et
intolérance: le regard d’historiens des guerres de Religion sur le djihadisme contemporain” (pp. 137–50); susanne Lachenicht, “Conclusions” (pp. 151–59).

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367

oBituaRY notiCe
Robert L. Bireley, S.J.
(1933–2018)

Reverend Robert L. Bireley, s.J., of the Jesuits’ u.s. Midwest Province and
teacher of history for over forty years at Loyola university Chicago, died at his
province’s healthcare center, st. Camillus, in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin, on March
14, 2018. He was born in evanston, illinois, July 26, 1933, had been a Jesuit since
1951, and a priest since 1964.1 He made his theological studies for ordination along
with his German confreres at the school of sankt Georgen, in frankfurt am Main,
Germany, which prepared him with the language and with several personal contacts to become a well-published scholar on relations of religion and politics on the
Catholic side in Bavaria, austria, and the Holy Roman empire during the thirty
Years War.
Doctoral studies at Harvard (1965–1972) led Bireley to dissertation research in
Munich and Rome on the role of adam Contzen, s.J., who had published in 1620
an 800-page treatise, Libri decem de politicis, on government and Christian political
action, and who served from 1624 to 1635 as confessor to the Bavarian archduke
and elector, Maximillian. Bireley thus entered a little studied area of Jesuit history,
that of Counterreformation militancy in the central years of the thirty Years War.
a stroke of archival luck came when he found in the Roman Jesuit archives copies
of 109 letters of the order’s superior General, Muzio Vitelleschi, to Contzen, with
1. for Bireley’s more detailed account at age 82, see “Reminiscences and Reflections,”
Catholic Historical Review, 101 (2015), 731–53.

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NOTES AND COMMENTS

political content, during the latter’s service to Maximillian. His dissertation identified Contzen’s promotion of the fateful 1629 edict of Restitution, issued by
emperor ferdinand ii demanding the return of formerly Catholic lands and institutions taken over by Protestants since 1555—a striking case of ideas moving persons to historic action. But this act was an “overreach,” leading to Catholic defeats
when the Protestant swedes under King Gustavus adophus entered the war and
the france of Cardinal Richelieu attacked to counter any Hapsburg increase in
power. His dissertation, translated into German, was published under the auspices
of the Bavarian academy of sciences.2
from this beginning Bireley published three other monographs on the religious
and political motivations advanced during the thirty Years War by the Jesuit court
confessors in Munich, Vienna, Paris, and Madrid, as the superior General and
through him Pope urban Viii sought to guide them. But serious difficulties
resulted for the empire from the “holy war” ideal of Contzen and William Lamormaini, s.J., the emperor’s confessor, before Catholic moderates won out over
their militant approach in 1635.3
Beginning from Contzen’s opus magnum, Bireley identified five other Catholic
writers on morality, politics, and statecraft who between 1589 and 1640 entered the
lists against Machiavelli’s positing of immoral action as essential to building and
maintaining a strong state. these “antimachiavellians” rehearsed the philosophical
and theological objections to Machiavelli, but went on to advance other, practical
arguments, as they sketched successes due to moral politics and the deleterious
effects of immoral governance in states and peoples. this strain of Christian thought
agreed with the Renaissance and with ignatian spirituality on the nobility of active
and moral service in public affairs.4 in a recent contribution, Bireley made Giovanni
Botero’s text of this tradition available in translation with an introduction.5
in the 1990s Bireley drew upon his own teaching, and on a surge of recent
research and reinterpretation, to portray the Catholic Church in the early modern
“refashioning” of itself from 1450 to 1700, as it adapted to the broad social, spiri-

2. Maximillian von Bayern, Adam Contzen, S.J., und die Gegenreformation in Deutschland
1624–1635 (Göttingen, 1975).
3. Religion and Politics in the Age of the Counterreformation: Emperor Ferdinand II, William
Lamormaini, S.J., and the Formation of Imperial Policy (Chapel Hill, nC, 1981); The Jesuits and
the Thirty Years War: Kings, Courts, and Confessors (new York, 2003); and Ferdinand II:
Counter-Reformation Emperor, 1578–1637 (new York, 2014).
4. The Counter-Reformation Prince: Anti-Machiavellianism or Catholic Statecraft in Early
Modern Europe (Chapel Hill, nC, 1990), on the works of Giovanni Botero (1589), Justus Lipsius (1589), Pedro de Ribadeneira, s.J. (1595), adam Contzen, s.J. (1620), Carlo scribani, s.J.
(1624), and Diego saavedra fajardo (1640). also by R. Bireley: “Machiavelli’s influence,” in
Encyclopedia of the Renaissance, ed. Paul f. Grendler, 5 vols. (new York, 1999), 4:11–15.
5. Botero, The Reason of State (Cambridge, uK, and new York, 2017), in the series,
Cambridge texts in the History of Political thought, directed by Quentin skinner.

NOTES AND COMMENTS

369

tual, political, and even geographical developments of early modernity.6 although
historians apply “counterreformation” accurately to policies of Catholics during the
thirty Years War, neither it nor “Catholic reform” explain the sixteenth- and seventeenth-century flood tide of missionary outreach into the americas, south asia,
and the far east from the iberian peninsula and france. “tridentine Catholicism”
is only partially serviceable, because the influential new agents of Christian formation, the Capuchins, Jesuits, and ursulines, were founded before trent began in
1545. for Bireley a better understanding comes from attending to developments to
which the early modern church adapted that were underway before Luther
emerged, such as state-building in the monarchies of england, france, and spain,
with analogous changes in German and italian—including papal—territories, the
european overseas expansion, the Renaissance privileging of human action in the
world, and the revolutionary transformation brought by printing. in 2008 he complemented The Refashioning with a dense survey of literature on the era and with a
concise statement, with added nuances, of his thesis in his 2008 Presidential
address of the american Catholic Historical association.7
a concluding observation on Bireley’s tone of writing: He clearly admired the
“anti-machiavellians” who showed around 1600 that persons of Christian principle
could serve well in public life. But his several accounts breathe both conviction and
no little warmth on the emblematic figure of Catholic refashioning, the genial st.
francis de sales (1567–1622), for his precious guidance, especially in Introduction
to the Devout Life (1609), to ordinary persons on how to live with spiritual depth in
all the various callings of early modern life and service.
Columbiere Center, Clarkston, MI

JaReD WiCKs, s.J.

6. The Refashioning of Catholicism, 1450–1700. A Reassessment of the Counter Reformation
(Basingstoke, uK, and Washington, DC, 1999), in the Macmillan series, european History
in Perspective, but also published by Catholic university of america Press. an italian translation appeared in 2010. also by Bireley: “Redefining Catholicism: trent and Beyond,” in
The Cambridge History of Christianity, vol. 6, Reform and Expansion 1500–1660, ed. R. PoChia Hsia (new York, 2007), 145–61, followed by chapters by other authors on the new
men’s religious orders, female sanctity, and devotion to saints in the same era. Later chapters
treat the inquisitions and several Catholic interactions with other faiths in the andes, China,
and india.
7. “early Modern Catholicism,” in Reformation and Early Modern Europe: A Guide to
Research, ed. David M. Whitford (Kirksville, Mo, 2008), 47–58; and “early Modern
Catholicism as a Response to the Changing World of the Long sixteenth Century,” Catholic
Historical Review, 95 (2009), 219–39.

Periodical Literature
GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS
The Unpublished Encyclicals of the Pontificate of Pope Pius XI: De Ecclesia
Christi, 1931. John Pollard. Cristianesimo nella storia, 38 (3, 2017), 813–66.
Il magistero e il ministero di Paolo VI sulla pace. †Pietro Card. Parolin. Istituto
Paolo VI, notiziario 73 (June, 2017), 32–44.
Il fondo Santa Sede nell’Archivum Romanum Societatis Iesu (ARSI) tra Antica e
Nuova Compagnia: analisi archivistica e prospettive di ricerca. Sergio Palagiano. Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu, LXXXVI (I, 2017), 99–144.
Les Actes de Paul et Thècle dans la tradition latine. Recherches sur les manuscrits
des diverses formes de la Passio Theclae et leur signalement dans la Bibliotheca
hagiographica latina. Jean-Daniel Kaestli. Analecta Bollandiana, 135 (Dec.,
2017), 265–358.
Les Fêtes des Martyrs dans les livres issus de la réforme liturgique de Vatican II:
Saint Laurent et quelques anciens Martyrs célébrés à Rome. Philippe Beitia.
Ephemerides Liturgicae, CXXXI (Oct.–Dec., 2017). 395–424.
La benedizione nuziale nell’evoluzione canonica e liturgica della tradizione latina.
Urania Mancini. Vivens Homo, XXIX (Jan.–June, 2018), 31–72.
Ein neuer Zeuge des Ordos der Osternach in Jerusalemer Tradition. Edition,
Übersetzung und liturgiegeschictlicher Kommentar mit Anmerkungen zur
Überlieferung der altgeorgischen Version des hagiopolitischen Lektionars.
Heinzgerd Brakmann and Tinatin Chronz. Ostkirchliche Studien, 66 (1, 2017),
112–71.
Der Ordensname. Theologie, Entwicklung and Besonderheiten der klösterlichen
Namensänderungen insbesondere in Österreich und Süddeutschland. Tarcisius Sztubitz O.Cist. Analecta Cisterciensia, LXVII (2017), 109–211.
La presencia de la Orden de San Agustín en Bilbao. Nere Jone Intxaustegi Jauregi.
Analecta Augustiniana, LXXX (2017), 167–84.
Diuinitus apparuit. I cinquecentocinquanta anni della “Venuta” del Madonna del
Buon Consiglio Genazzano. Rocco Ronzani. Analecta Augustiniana, LXXX
(2017), 231–47.
“… du salt dy ratten von treyben unde voriagen Amen.” Heilige als Schützer vor
Pesttieren. Konrad M. Müller. Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 137 (2017), 35–
70.
The Age of Reform as an Age of Consolation. Ronald K. Rittgers. Church History,
86 (Sept., 2017), 607–42.
370

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371

Reformation Centennials, 1617–2017: The Church’s Celebration of the Reformation at 100 Year Intervals. Jack D. Ferguson. Concordia Historical Institute
Quarterly, 90 (Fall, 2017), 9–48.
Religión, estado y nación en España y México en el siglo XIX: una perpectiva comparada. Manuel Suárez Cortina. Historia Mexicana, 67 (July–Sept., 2017),
341–400.

ANCIENT
The Historical Geography of Asia Minor at the Time of Paul and Thecla. The
Roman Provinces and the means of Communication. Angelo Di Berardino.
Augustinianum, LVII (Dec., 2017), 341–70.
A Letter of Antoninus Pius and an Antonie Rescript concerning Christians. Christopher P. Jones. Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies, 58 (1, 2018), 67–76.
Il martirio e gli animali: Blandina, Perpetua e Tecla. Roberta Franchi. Augustinianum, LVII (Dec., 2017), 307–40.
A Man for the Times: Jesus and the Abgar Correspondence in Eusebius of Caesarea’s Ecclesiastical History. James Corke-Webster. Harvard Theological
Review, 110 (Oct., 2017), 563–87.
La politica e l’ortodossia di Ossio di Cordova (313–357). Vittorino Grossi. Augustinianum, LVII (June, 2017), 225–55.
L’affresco dell’Agnus Dei nel cimitero di Panfilo: puntualizzazioni iconografiche.
Dimitri Cascianelli. Vetera Christianorvm, 53 (2016), 47–66.
Martin de Tours: martyr ou confesseur? Un débat opposant Sulpice Sévère et
Paulin de Nole, et finalement arbitré par Grégoire de Tours. Luce Pietri.
Revue d’histoire de l’Église de France, 103 (July–Dec., 2017), 189–99.
La tensa relación epistolar entre Augustín y Jerónimo. Raúl González Salinero.
Vetera Christianorvm, 53 (2016), 185–96.
Victricius, the cupidus aedificator of Martyrial Worship in Gaul and the City of
Rouen between the 4th and 5th Centuries. Luigi Lafasciano. Vetera Christianorvm, 53 (2016), 123–40.
The Vandal Conquest of North Africa: The Origins of a Historiographical Persona. Éric Fournier. Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 68 (Oct., 2017), 687–718.
Who was Arnobius the Younger? Dissimulation, Deception and Disguise by a
Fifth-Century Opponent of Augustine. N. W. James. Journal of Ecclesiastical
History, 69 (Apr., 2018), 243–61.
The Neonian Baptistery as Performance Space: The Purpose of the Scripture
Quotes in The Four Niches. Michael H. Marchal. Studia Liturgica, 47 (2,
2017), 164–77.
The Latin Translations of the Acts of the Council of Chalcedon. Tommaso Mari.
Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies, 58 (1, 2018), 126–55.

372

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

Donne e ministeri nella Chiesa antica: alcune osservazioni preliminari. Emanuela
Prinzivalli. Augustinianum, LVII (June, 2017), 5–17.
Donne e ministeri nella Chiesa antica. Cettina Militello. Augustinianum, LVII
(June, 2017), 19–34.
La questione delle ‘Gammadiae’: Rassegna degli studi. Cristina Cumbo. Augustinianum, LVII (Dec., 2017), 515–39.
De Utilitate Cantorum: Unitive Aspects of Singing in Early Christian Thought.
Frazer MacDiarmid. Anglican Theological Review, 100 (Spring, 2018), 291–
309.
The Close Proximity of Christ to Sixth-Century Mesopotamian Monks in John of
Ephesus’ Lives of Eastern Saints. Matthew Hoskin. Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 69 (Apr., 2018), 262–77.

MEDIEVAL
Le origini del monoenergismo/monotelismo. Carlo dell’Osso. Augustinianum,
LVII (June, 2017), 209–24.
Von Columban und den Folgen seines Wirkens. Dieter von der Nahmer. Studi
Medievali, LVIII (June, 2017), 131–72.
Kings and Kingship in the Writings of Bede. Conor O’Brien. English Historical
Review, CXXXII (Dec., 2017), 1473–98.
Royal Marriage and Conversion in Bede’s Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum.
Máirín MacCarron. Journal of Theological Studies, 68 (Oct., 2017), 650–70.
Miscellanies, Christian reform and early medieval encyclopaedism: a reconsideration of the pre-bestiary Latin Physiologus manuscripts. Anna Dorofeeva. Historical Research, XC (Nov., 2017), 665–82.
“Les saintes icônes” ou “les icônes des saint(e)s.” Le lancement du premier iconoclasme vu à partir de l’Histoire brève de Nicéphore et de la Chronique de Théophane. Panayotis Yannopoulos. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 112 (July–Dec.,
2017), 569–86.
Entre Orient et Occident, l’architecture religieuse médiévale du nord de l’Albanie.
Études architecturales comparatives à travers les méthodes de l’archéologie du
bâti: les églises Sainte-Parascève de Balldrent et Saint-Nicolas de Lezha.
Brunilda Bregu. Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome, Moyen Âge, 128 (2,
2016), 553–69.
The Codex Sinaiticus Liturgicus Revisited: A New Edition and Critical Assessment
of the Text. Alexandra Nikiforova and Tinatin Chronz. Orientalia Christiana
Periodica, 83 (1, 2017), 59–125.
A Revision in the Dating of Euthymios the Younger of Thessalonike. Richard
Greenfield. Analecta Bollandiana, 135 (Dec., 2017), 247–64.
A ninth-century Old English homily from Northumbria. Donald Scragg. AngloSaxon England, 45 (Dec., 2016), 39–49.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

373

Per omnia ecclesiastica officia promotus. A normative perspective on the career of
bishops in the church province of Reims (888–1049). Jelle Lisson. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 113 (Jan.–June, 2018), 5–37.
Pastoral Care and Prognostics in the Carolingian Period. The Case of El Escorial,
Real Biblioteca di San Lorenzo, ms L III 8. Carine van Rhijn. Revue Bénédictine, 127 (Dec., 2017), 272–97.
Reconsidering Religious Migration and Its Impact: The Problem of ‘Irish Reform
Monks’ in Tenth-Century Lotharingia. Steven Vanderputten. Revue d’histoire
ecclésiastique, 112 (July–Dec., 2017), 588–616.
Debating the Role of the Laity in the Hagiography of the Tenth-Century AngloSaxon Benedictine Reform. Christopher Tolin Riedel. Revue Bénédictine, 127
(Dec., 2017), 315–46.
Liturgy or private devotion? Reappraising Warsaw, Biblioteka Narodowa, I.
Gerald P. Dyson. Anglo-Saxon England, 45 (Dec., 2016), 265–84.
Landscapes of devotion: the settings of St. Swithun’s early vitae. Jennifer A.
Lorden. Anglo-Saxon England, 45 (Dec., 2016), 285–309.
Gli studi su S. Benigno di Fruttuaria: una storiografica frazionata. Alberto Sanna.
Bollettino Storico-Bibliografico Subalpino, CXV (I, 2017), 41–74.
La lettre du prieur R. de la Trinité de Fécamp au prieur Dominique de SaintBénigne de Dijon: un témoin d’échanges multiformes au sein des réseaux de
confraternité. Stéphane Lecouteux. Revue Bénédictine, 127 (Dec., 2017), 347–
63.
‘Suppressor of Plunderers and Robbers’. The Actions and Views of Bishop Fulbert
of Chartres concerning Church Property (1006–1028). Wannes Verstrepen.
Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 112 (July–Dec., 2017), 619–61.
Monasteri dell’Abruzzo adriatico: un dossier documentario (1019–1065). Carlo
Tedeschi. Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome, Moyen Âge, 128 (2, 2016),
363–401.
Le dossier hagiographique de saint Godehard, évêque de Hildesheim au XIe siècle.
Klaus Krönert. Analecta Bollandiana, 135 (Dec., 2017), 359–401.
La costa dalmata e i rapporti tra le due sponde dell’Adriatico attraverso le fonti del
monastero benedettino delle isole Tremiti (sec. XI). Erica Morlacchetti.
Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome, Moyen Âge, 128 (1, 2016), 237–52.
Le monastère de S. Elia di Carbone, ses archives et l’histoire de la Basilicate médiévale. Adele Di Lorenzo, Jean-Marie Martin, and Annick Peters-Custot.
Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome, 128 (2, 2016), 345–61.
La mise en livre des archives du haut moyen âge: le caso du second liber traditionum
de l’abbaye de Saint-Pierre-au-Mont-Blandin (milieu du XIe siècle). Georges
Declercq. Bibliothèque de l’École des Chartes, 171 (July–Dec., 2013), 327–64.
Lay Support and the Impetus for Church Reform. Kriston R. Rennie. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 112 (July–Dec., 2017), 664–82.

374

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

A historical and canonical analysis of the answers of Patriarch Nicholas III Grammatikos to the Athonite monks. Ioan Cozma. Orientalia Christiana Periodica,
83 (II, 2017), 253–76.
Take no care for the morrow! The rejection of landed property in eleventh- and
twelfth-century Byzantine monasticism. Dirk Krausmüller. Byzantine and
Modern Greek Studies, 42 (Apr., 2018), 45–57.
Domus, grangia, honor et les autres. Désigner les pôles cisterciens en Languedoc et
Gascogne orientale (1130-1220). Didier Panfili. Le Moyen Âge, CXXIII (2,
2017), 311–38.
Sapientes nostri. I Dialogi (o Antikeimenon) di Anselmo di Havelberg e la circolazione dei testi di Gregorio di Nazianzo nell’Europa latina del XII secolo.
Riccardo Saccenti. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 113 (Jan.–June, 2018), 39–63.
L’abate Sugerio e i suoi orizzonti mimetici: san Dionigi (non l’Areopagita) tra
Saint-Denis e Hagia Sophia sullo sfondo della rottura tra Oriente e Occidente
cristiani. Ernesto Sergio Mainoldi. Studi Medievali, LVIII (June, 2017), 23–
43.
Reconsidering William of Saint-Thierry’s Sources for the Vita Prima. James
France. Analecta Cisterciensia, LXVII (2017), 212–33.
Aelred of Rievaulx and the Saints of Hexham: Tradition, Innovation, and Devotion in Twelfth-Century Northern England. Lauren L. Whitnah. Church History, 87 (Mar., 2018), 1–30.
The Author of the Life of Christina of Markyate: The Case for Robert de Gorron
(d. 1166). Katie Ann-Marie Bugyis. Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 68 (Oct.,
2017), 719–46.
La communauté monastique de Vaucelles dans le deuxième tiers du XIIe siècle.
Benoît-Michel Tock. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 112 (July–Dec., 2017),
683–706.
Occupying and transcending a provincial see: the career of Euthymios Malakes.
Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies, 42 (Apr., 2018), 58–78.
La construction d’un ordre juridique de l’enseignement. La politique scolaire
d’Alexandre III et sa réception jusqu’au concile de Latran IV. Thierry
Kouamé. Journal des Savants (July–Dec., 2017), 277–301.
Forma Templi—Gedanken zur Planung mittelalterlicher Cistercienserkirchen.
Thomas Küntzel. Analecta Cisterciensia, LXVII (2017), 289–312.
Guibert of Gembloux’s De destructione monasterii Gemblacensis. Literary legacy and
issues of authorship against the backdrop of the “decline” of traditional
monasticism. Sara Moens. Bulletin de la Commission royale d’Histoire, 182
(2016), 275–301.
El monasterio de Santa María de Huerta entre los siglos XII y XVI: relaciones con
Aragón y con los poderes nobiliarios regionales. Máximo Diago Hernando.
Hispania Sacra, 70 (2018), 267–82.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

375

Un livret inédit sur saint Georges: une passion latine réécrite et son abrégé
liturgique. François Dolbeau. Journal des Savants (July–Dec., 2017), 303–
52.
Gefallene Engel? Bemerkungen zu einem Glaubenskrieg in der Katharerforschung.
Kathrin Utz Tremp. Deutsches Archiv für Erforschung des Mittelalters, 73 (1,
2017), 215–24.
Eine Cistercienserreform in Saint-Victor zu Beginn des 13. Jahrhunderts?
Beobachtungen zu einer neuen Handschrift der Carta Caritatis posterior und
der Instituta Capitula Generalis Ordinis Cisterciensis. Mit Edition. Matthias
M. Tischler. Analecta Cisterciensia, LXVII (2017), 234–78.
Pope Innocent III and the Annulment of Magna Carta. Richard Helmholz. Journal
of Ecclesiastical History, 69 (Jan., 2018), 1–14.
Libri per il paradiso: aspetti di mentalità neicolofoni armeni del XIII secolo. Anna
Sirinian. Orientalia Christiana Periodica, 83 (II, 2017), 277–92.
La città contro il vescovo. Il capitolo di San Salvatore nella crisi dell’episcopi torinese (1226–1264). Francesco Cissello. Bollettino Storico-Bibliografico Subalpino, CXV (I, 2017), 75–124.
“Originalia penes scriptores remaneant.” Il processo orvietano per la canonizzazione di Ambrogio da Massa (1240–41). Roberto Paciocco. Studia
Medievali, LVIII (June, 2017), 93–129.
Denarii et pecunia: la riflessione francescana sulla moneta nei commenti alla Regolo.
Roberto Lambertini. Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome, Moyen Âge, 128 (2,
2016), 309–21.
L’ordine dei templari in Capitanata: storia, sviluppi, aspetti e problematiche.
Luciana Petracca. Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome, Moyen Âge, 128 (2,
2016), 403–35.
“Un uomo del suo tempo.” Raimondo Lullo prima della conversione. Giorgia Proietti. Antonianum, XCII (Oct.–Dec., 2017), 565–81.
Entre milieu universitaire et espace monastique: la vie et l’œuvre de Jean de Limoges, nouveaux regards. Nicolas Michel. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 112
(July–Dec., 2017), 707–33.
Un témoin de la production du livre juridique à Oxford: Poitiers, Mediathèque
François Mitterrand, ms 122 (139). Frédéric Cohn. Cahiers de civilization
médiévale, 60 (Oct., 2017), 337–66.
La bolla Laudanda tuorum per la conferma della fondazione del monastero di Miramar. Luca Polidoro. Antonianum, XCII (Oct.–Dec., 2017), 525–34.
Les droits seigneuriaux sous les abbés Bernard Ier et Thomas Ier du Mont-Cassin
(fin du XIIIe siècle): norme et pratique à Cervaro et Sant’Angelo. Albane
Schrimpf. Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome, Moyen Âge, 128 (2, 2016),
453–68.

376

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

Le miniature del Vangelo arabo della Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana di Firenze,
codice Orientali 387 (Mardin, 1299 d.C.). Massimo Bernabò, Sara Fani,
Margherita Farina, and Ida G. Rao. Orientalia Christiana Periodica, 83 (II,
2017), 293–447.
The Next Best Thing to a Saint? Peter Lombard and the Sentences in the Principia
of John of Naples. Kirsten Schut. Recherches de Théologie et Philosophie médiévales, LXXXIV (2, 2017), 343–81.
Le transfert de la collégiale de Celles à Visé sous l’évêque de Liège Adolphe de La
Marck en 1338. De la piété d’un prince-évêque. Jean-Louis Kupper. Revue
d’histoire ecclésiastique, 113 (Jan.-June, 2018), 94–130.
Entre volonté réformatrice et valorisation personnelle: le Registre de Gilles li
Muisis (Bibliothèque royale de Belgique, ms IV 119). Ingrid Falque. Revue
d’histoire ecclésiastique, 113 (Jan.–June, 2018), 131–60.
Devotion and Dissent in Late-Medieval Illuminated World Chronicles. Nina
Rowe. Art History, 41 (Feb., 2018), 12–41.
Drei Urkunden des Generalpriors Guido von Belregard aus dem Jahre 1374. Hans
Schneider. Analecta Augustiniana, LXXX (2017), 111–27.
I senseri dei Pellegrini e l’organizzazione dei viaggi da Venezia per la Terra Santa.
Sergio Baldan. Studi Veneziani, LXXIV (2016), 15–46.
Notes sur deux canonistes méridionaux du XIVe siècle: Guillaume de Rosières et
Aymeric de Montal. Nicolas Laurent-Bonne. Bibliothèque de l’École des
Chartes, 171 (July–Dec., 2013), 365–82.
William of Pagula’s Speculum religiosorum, Abbas vel Prior and Uthred of Boldon:
The Authorship and Circulation of Two Fourteenth-Century Monastic Treatises. Tristan Sharp. Revue Bénédictine, 127 (Dec., 2017), 364–87.
Joan of Arc as prisonnière de guerre. Rémy Ambühl. English Historical Review,
CXXXII (Oct., 2017), 1045–76.
El valor eclesial de las naciones del Concilio de Constanza (1414–1418). Federico
Tavelli. Estudios Eclesiásticos, 92 (July-Sept., 2017), 461–508.
Das Ende im Blick. Pierre d’Ailly, das Konstanzer Konzil und das Weltende.
Olivier Ribordy. Historisches Jahrbuch, 137 (2017), 183–217.
Pour une histoire des miscellanées humanistes dans les orders religieux: à propos de
la circulation de quelques œuvres de Girolamo Aliotti au XVe siècle. Cécile
Caby. Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome, Moyen Âge, 128 (1, 2016), 101–16.
The Early Reception of Jean Gerson’s Legacy in 15th Century Italy. Preliminary
Assessment. Yelena Mazour-Matusevich. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 112
(July–Dec., 2017), 735–56.
Why was astrology criticised in the Middle Ages? Contribution to further research
(on the basis of selected treaties of professors of the University of Krakow in
the 15th century). Sylwia Konarska-Zimnicka. Saeculum Christianum, XXIV
(2017), 91–99.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

377

Between Papacy and Empire: Cardinal Henry Beaufort, the House of Lancaster,
and the Hussite Crusades. Mark Whelan. English Historical Review,
CXXXIII (Feb., 2018), 1–31.
Das Register des am Basler Konzil tätigen päpstlichen Kollektors Andreas de
Montecchio (†1454). Christopher Kast. Deutsches Archiv für Erforschung des
Mittelalters, 73 (1, 2017), 125–65.
Benedictinos, cartujos y jerónimos en la Seville de finales de la edad media (1441–
1504). Silvia María Péres González. Studia Monastica, 59 (1, 2017), 77–101.
Prelaten, edelen en steden. De samenstelling van de Staten van Brabant in de vijftiende eeuw. Mario Damen. Bulletin de la Commission royale d’Histoire, 182
(2016), 5–274.
La provisión de beneficios en la catedral de Lleida durante el episcopado de Antoni
Cerdà (1449–1459). Albert Cassanyes Roig. Hispania Sacra, 70 (2018), 223–
36.
Propaganda, fiscalidad e ideal cruzadista durante el reinado Enrique IV de Castilla.
Pablo Ortego Rico. Hispania Sacra, 70 (2018), 237–66.
Neue Texte aus dem Briefwechsel des Eneas Silvius Piccolomini (vor 1450). Claudia Märtl. Deutsches Archiv für Erforschung des Mittelalters, 73 (1, 2017), 167–
91.
Aneas Silvius Piccolomini, Nicholas of Cusa, and the Crusade: Conciliar, Imperial,
and Papal Authority. Norman Housley. Church History, 86 (Sept., 2017),
643–67.
Alberti e i maestri di spirito degli Osservanti su alcune questioni morali. Remo L.
Guidi. Archivio Storico Italiano, CLXXV (4, 2017), 647–88.
El Cardenal Jiménez de Cisneros y su Obra Litúrgica. Juan Manuel Sierra López.
Ephemerides Liturgicae, CXXXI (Oct.–Dec., 2017), 425–42.
Sangre real e imbecillitas: la marginación política del Obispo de Huesca Juan
Alonso de Aragón y Navarra (1459–1526). Jaime Elipe Soriano. Jerónimo
Zurita, 92 (2017), 75–93.
Arte medievale in Dalmazia: notizie dall’Archivio generale dei frati predicatori.
Haude Morvan. Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome, Moyen Âge, 128 (1,
2016), 213–25.
La biblioteca conventuale di Sant’Agostino di Crema tra XV e XVI secolo. Nicolò
Premi. Augustiniana, 67 (3–4, 2017), 229–51.

SIXTEENTH CENTURY
The Gendering of Dynastic Memory: Burial Choices of the Howards, 1485–1559.
Nicola Clark. Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 68 (Oct., 2017), 747–65.
The Impetus for Reform in Erasmus of Rotterdam’s New Testament. Hilmar M.
Pabel. Erasmus of Rotterdam Society Yearbook, 38 (1, 2018), 25–54.

378

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

a Missed Encounter: Tranquillus Andronicus and Erasmus of Rotterdam.
Bratislav Lučin. Erasmus of Rotterdam Society Yearbook, 38 (1, 2018), 55–63.
Luther’s Ninety-Five Theses and the Origins of the Reformation Narrative. C. Scott
Dixon. English Historical Review, CXXXII (June, 2017), 533–69.
Martin Lutero nel V Centenario della Riforma. Nuove tendenze interpretative.
Antonio Russo. Gregorianum, 99 (1, 2018), 103–18.
Luther et catholicisme: des rapports complexes. Yves Krumenacker. Revue d’histoire
de l’Église de France, 103 (July-Dec., 2017), 201–17.
The Wrath of Martin Luther: Anger and Charisma in the Reformer. Susan C.
Karant-Nunn. Sixteenth Century Journal, XLVIII (Winter, 2017), 909–26.
Setting Luther into His Historical Place: My Quarrels with the German Orthodoxy in Luther Research. Volker Leppin, Sixteenth Century Journal, XLVIII
(Winter, 2017), 927–43.
The Word-Prophet Martin Luther. Ronald K. Rittgers. Sixteenth Century Journal,
XLVIII (Winter, 2017), 951–76.
Did Luther Really Say? Context for Luther’s Comments on the Wends. David J.
Zersen. Concordia Historical Institute Quarterly, 90 (Fall, 2017), 49–60.
Nuevos testimonios sobre las obras de la Iglesia de El Salvador de Caravaca (1526–
1539). Indalecio Pozo Martínez. Carthaginensia, XXXIII (July-Dec., 2017),
459–78.
Reformationszeit am Oberrhein. Ursachen und Wirkungen der konfessionellen
Spaltung der Region. Wolfgang Hug. Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 137 (2017),
79–138.
The Sistine Ceiling with regard to Jews and Turks, and Michelangelo two journeys
to Venice. Andrea Donati. Studi Veneziani, LXXIV (2016), 257–91.
A Church in Transition: The Intriguing Use of the Pallium in Tudor England.
Paul Ayris. Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 69 (Jan., 2018), 25–38.
Sulle tracce della Sindone nella documentazione finanzaria di casa Savoia. Patrizia
Cancian. Bollettino Storico-Bibliografico Subalpino, CXV (II, 2017), 429–51.
¿Fue san Ignacio un místico? Manuel Ruiz Jurado. Estudios Eclesiásticos, 92 (Apr.–
June 2017), 327–44.
“Bernardinus Franciscanus,” teologo interlocutore dell’eterodosso Pietro Speciale
da Cittadella. Vincenzo Vozza. Il Santo, LVII (1–2, 2017), 203–22.
Miguel Servet. Teólogo iluminado. Daniel Moreno Moreno. Jerónimo Zurita, 92
(2017), 43–54.
Jewish Antiquity in the Sixteenth Century: Calvin’s Reception of Josephus. Kirk
Essary. Church History, 86 (Sept., 2017), 668–94.
Ritratto di Marcello Cervini en orientaliste (con precisazioni alle vicende di Petrus
Damascenus, Mosè di Mārdīn ed Heliodorus Niger). Prima parte. Giacomo
Cardinali. Bibliothèque d’Humanisme et Renaissance, LXXX (1, 2018), 77–98.

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379

Custodian of wisdom: the Marciana Reading Room and the transcendent knowledge of God. Jarrod Michael Broderick. Studi Veneziani, LXXIII (2016), 15–
94.
Il pittore Giovanni Battista Ponchini “dal secolo alla chiesa.” Vincenzo Mancini.
Studi Veneziani, LXXIV (2016), 309–20.
Rural Seigneurs and the Counter Reformation: Parishes, Patrons, and Religious
Reform in France, 1550-1700. Elizabeth Tingle. Church History, 87 (Mar.,
2018), 31–62.
Il Cristo ‘tedesco’ di Tiziano nella chiesa evangelica luterana a Venezia. Fabrizio
Biferali. Studi Veneziani, LXXIII (2016), 241–47.
“Persecutors Under the Cloak of Policy”: Anti-Catholic Vengeance and the
Marian Hierarchy in Elizabethan England. Robert Harkins. Sixteenth Century
Journal, XLVIII (Summer, 2017), 357–84.
The Holy Maid of Wales: Visions, Imposture and Catholicism in Elizabethan
Britain. Alexandra Walsham. English Historical Review, CXXXII (Apr.,
2017), 250–85.
‘The Word did everything’: Readers, Singers and the Protestant Reformation in
Scotland, c. 1560–c.1638. Jane Dawson. Records of the Scottish Church History
Society, 46 (2017), 1–37.
John Knox, the Scottish Church, and Witchcraft Accusations. Stuart Macdonald.
Sixteenth Century Journal, XLVIII (Fall, 2017), 637–52.
Presenting the Most Christian King: Charles IX’s Performance of Catholic Ritual
in the Royal Tour of France (1564–1566). Linda Briggs. French History, 32
(Mar., 2018), 2–24.
I manoscritti parmensi di Ludovico Beccadelli e il suo epistolario. Maria Chiara
Tarsi. Aevum, XCI (Sept.–Dec., 2017), 703–726.
El archivo del Monasterio Cisterciense de Nuestra Señora de Belmonte (Asturias,
España) en la historiografía moderna (1572–1807). Guillermo Fernández
Ortiz. Hispania Sacra, 70 (2018), 295–304.
Das Nonnenkloster Amtenhausen im Spiegel der Korrespondenz (Glückwunschschreiben) mit Äbten von St. Georgen zu Villingen (1580–1779) und des
Tagebuchs von Abt George Gaisser (1621–1655). Karl Volk. Freiburger
Diözesan-Archiv, 137 (2017), 139–58.
Conversione, battesimo e vestizione religiosa di un adolescente ebreo (Abraam
Alpronth) nella basilica del Santo, a Padova (1582). Antonio Poppi. Il Santo,
LVII (1–2, 2017), 233–37.
Il Carmelo di Santa Maria degli Angeli e Santa Maria Maddalena de’ Pazzi centro
di culto savonaroliano a Firenze. Chiara Vasciaveo. Vivens Homo, XXIX (Jan.–
June, 2018), 127–42.
Stabat Mater Dolorosa: Mary at the Foot of the Cross. Robert S. Miola. Sixteenth
Century Journal, XLVIII (Fall, 2017), 653–79.

380

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Actas de la visita sede vacante de 1587: un nuevo documento original de José Calassanç. Joan Florensa and Aniol Noguera. Archivum Scholarum Piarum, XLI
(2017), 191–221.
Il coro della basilica di S. Giorgio Maggiore. Sergio Baldan. Studi Veneziani,
LXXIII (2016), 287–320.
‘A Savage Conversion’. Unbelief and Demonic Posession in Pierre de Bérulle’s
Traité des Énergumènes (1599). Ismael del Olmo. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique,
113 (Jan.-June, 2018), 189–209.
El ocio de las órdenes religiosas en el principado de Asturias (siglo XVI al XIX).
Miguel Dongil y Sánchez. Studia Monastica, 59 (1, 2017), 103–17.
Grazio Maria Grazi tra Bellisario Bulgarini e Federico Borromeo. Scuola,
erudizione e collezionismo librario tra Siena, Venezia e Milano (XVI–XVII
sec.). Marco Cavarzere and Maurizio Sangalli. Studi Veneziaia, LXXI (2015),
45–120.

SEVENTEENTH AND EIGHTEENTH CENTURIES
(EASTERN HEMISPHERE)
Nuns, Family, and Interfamilial Dynamics of Art Patronage in Post-Tridentine
Roman Convents. Marilyn Dunn. Sixteenth Century Journal, XLVIII
(Summer, 2017), 323–56.
Cofradías, Familiares de la Inquisición y Oficios Reales en la Basílica Alicantina y
El Corregimiento de Murciay Cartagena en 1600-1665: Los Martínez de
Vera y Los Briones. Vicente Montojo Montojo. Carthaginensia, XXXIII
(July–Dec., 2017), 479–504.
Henry Jacob, James I, and Religious Reform, 1603–1609: From Hampton Court
to Reason-of-State. John Morgan. Church History, 86 (Sept., 2017), 695–727.
Uno scisma mancato: Paolo Sarpi, William Bedell e la prima traduzione in italiano
del Book of Common Prayer. Stefano Villani. Rivista di Storia e Letteratura Religiosa, LIII (1, 2017), 63–111.
Tears and Weeping on Jesuit Missions in Seventeenth-Century Italy. Orsolya
Száraz. Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu, LXXXVI (I, 2017), 7–47.
Conformitas Crucis Christi. Zum Motiv der Kreuzesnachfolge in der jesuitischen
Druckgraphik des 17. Jahrhunderts im Licht der Vision von La Storta. Steffen
Zierholz. Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu, LXXXVI (I, 2017), 49–97.
Early Modern Mendicancy: Franciscan Practice in the Bohemian Lands. Martin
Elbel. Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 69 (Jan., 2018), 39–56.
The Culture of Catechesis and Lay Theology. Jetze Touber. Church History and
Religious Culture, 98 (1, 2018), 31–55.
Ottoman textiles and Greek clerical vestments: prolegomena on a neglected aspect
of ecclesiastical material culture. Nikolaos Vryzidis. Byzantine and Modern
Greek Studies, 42 (Apr., 2018), 92–114.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

381

Counties without borders? Religious politics, kinship networks and the formation
of Catholic communities. James E. Kelly. Historical Research, XCI (Feb.,
2018), 22–38.
Abadologio (siglos X–XX) y libro de gradas (1614–1830) del monasterio de San
Isidro de Dueñas. Ernesto Zaragoza. Studia Monastica, 59 (1, 2017), 119–62.
Reawakening the “Old Evangelical Zeal”: The 1617 Reformation Jubilee and Collective Memory in Strasbourg and Ulm. Christopher W. Close. Sixteenth Century Journal, XLVIII (Summer, 2017), 299–321.
La confrérie dans le métier. Spirituel et temporal corporatifs à Paris aux XVIIeXVIIIe siècles. Mathieu Marraud. Revue d’histoire moderne et contemporaine, 65
(Jan.–Mar., 2018), 118–42.
The Conversion of Jacob Reihing: Academic Controversy and the Professorial
Ideal in Confessional Germany. Richard Kirwan. German History, 36 (Mar.,
2018), 1–20.
Rethinking St. Peter’s: Papirio Bartoli and the Ship of the Church. Pablo González
Tornel. Sixteenth Century Journal, XLVIII (Fall, 2017), 589–614.
Questioni di bioetica nel Seicento italiano: Fabio Chigi, Virgilio Malvezzi, Sforza
Pallavicino. Aevum, XCI (Sept.–Dec., 2017), 763–80.
Which religious history for the (two) early modern Netherlands before 1648?
Questions, trends and perspectives. Violet Soen. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique,
112 (July–Dec., 2017), 758–87.
Les témoignages des Capucins des Pays-Bas espagnols dans l’enquête sur le scandale causé par l’Augustinus de Jansénius (1644). Gert Partoens. Augustiniana,
67 (3–4, 2017), 253–78.
Le “Notizie Historiche” del P. Giancarlo Caputi de S. Barbara (continuazione).
Archivum Scholarum Piarum, XLI (2017), 3–66.
Knowers by Nature and the Burdens and Blessings: On John Goodwin’s Arminian
Turn. David Parnham. Church History, 87 (Mar., 2018), 63–98.
Confréries de métier et corporations à Paris (XVIIe–XVIIIe siècles). David Garrioch. Revue d’histoire moderne et contemporaine, 65 (Jan.–Mar., 2018), 95–116.
Une alliance française? Missionaires capucins et voyageurs réformés à la cour safavide. Nicolas Fornerod. XVIIe siècle, 70 (Jan., 2018), 25–46.
Deux étapes d’Henschenius et de Papebroch durant leur voyage littéraire de 1660–
1662: la Vénétie et la Toscane. Bernard Joassart. Analecta Bollandiana, 135
(Dec., 2017), 402–26.
Celebraciones teresianas en el Siglo de Oro. Ignacio Arellano. Hispania Sacra, 70
(2018), 283–93.
On Female Political Alliances: Sor María de’Ágreda’s Communities of Letters.
Nieves Romero-Díaz. Hispanic Review, 86 (Winter, 2018), 91–111.

382

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

“The Father and his Eldest Son.” The Depiction of the 1667 Muscovite Palm
Sunday Procession by the Metropolitan of Gaza Paisios Ligaridis and its Significance. Ovidiu Olar. Revue de l’Histoire des Religions, 235 (Jan.–Mar.,
2018), 5-36.
Domesticating Religious “Fanaticism” in Eighteenth-Century Germany. Simon
Grote. Church History and Religious Culture, 98 (1, 2018), 111–38.
Crown Patronage and Heritor Rivalry in Eighteenth-Century Scotland: a Case
Study of the Nigg Secession. Gordon Gair. Records of the Scottish Church History Society, 46 (2017), 38–74.
Invention et élaboration d’une tradition: saint Eldrad, citoyen et patron de
Lambesc (Bouches-du-Rhône). Noël Coulet. Revue d’histoire de l’Église de
France, 103 (July–Dec., 2017), 219–46.
Gelehrte Unterweisung—Die Embleme der Stadtkirche Mariä Himmelfahrt in
Tiengen. Hans-Otto Mühleisen und Dorothea Scherle. Freiburger DiözesanArchiv, 137 (2017), 159–96.
Surrogate Fathers: The Lazarists as Jesuit Successors in the Eighteenth Century,
1759–1814. Seán A. Smith. Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 69 (Jan., 2018),
57–85.
Commémorer les guerres de Religion au XVIIIe siècle: le bicentenaire de la
Délivrance à Toulouse. Maïté Recasens. Annales du Midi, 129 (July–Sept.,
2017), 371–88.
The French Protestant enlightenment of Rabaut Saint-Étienne: Le Vieux Cévenol
and the sentimental origins of religious toleration. Bryan A. Banks. French
History, 32 (Mar., 2018), 25–44.
Of Meat, Men and Property: The Troubled Career of a Convert Nun in Eighteenth-Century Kiev. Liudmyla Sharipova. Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 69
(Apr. 2018), 278–99.
Joseph Milner and his Editors: Eighteenth- and Nineteenth-Century Evangelicals
and the Christian Past. Paul Gutacker. Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 69
(Jan., 2018), 86–104.

NINETEENTH AND TWENTIETH CENTURIES
(EASTERN HEMISPHERE)
De l’ecclesia médiévale à la societas moderne. Relecture de la dynamique sécularisante de l’Occident (Notes critiques). Richard Figuier and Christophe Grellard. Revue de l’Histoire des Religions, 235 (Jan.–Mar., 2018), 133–46.
How Formal Anglican Pew-Renting Worked in Practice, 1800–1950. J. C. Bennett. Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 68 (Oct., 2017), 766–83.
Contested Augustinian Revival in the Netherlands during the Nineteenth Century.
Brian Heffernan. Analecta Augustiniana, LXXX (2017), 185–207.
La secularización en Cataluña en los informes episcopales (1800–1867). Antonio
Molinar Prada. Hispania Sacra, 70 (2018), 305–19.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

383

Il piano di “ristabilimento delle case religiose per i Regolari dell’uno e dell’altra
sesso” nel Piemonte del 1815. Andrea Pennini. Rivista di Storia e Letteratura
Religiosa, LIII (1, 2017), 171–86.
Historiografía de la Compañia de de Jesús restaurada en España (1815–2017).
Manuel Revuelta González. Estudios Eclesiásticos, 92 (Apr.–June 2017), 301–
26.
The Catholic Apostolic Church in Scotland. Tim Grass. Records of the Scottish
Church History Society, 46 (2017), 75–102.
Daniel O’Connell, Repeal, and Chartism in the Age of Atlantic Revolutions.
Matthew Roberts. Journal of Modern History, 90 (Mar., 2018), 1–39.
Literatura misional y hagiografía en el siglo XIX: Jacinto Juanmartí, un misionero
jesuita en Filipinas (1833–1897). María Aguilera Fernández. Hispania Sacra,
70 (2018), 321–38.
‘It is not you who must learn civilization from other nations…’. Adam Mickiewicz
on modernity and modern Western civilization. Monika Stankiewicz-Kopeć.
Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 112 (July–Dec., 2017), 789–811.
Helping Self-Help: The potential of the street-child in ragged school literature,
1844–1872. Laura M. Mair. Records of the Scottish Church History Society, 46
(2017), 103–29.
Disraeli, the East and Religion: Tancred in Context. J. P. Parry. English Historical
Review, CXXXII (June, 2017), 570–604.
“Un coup d’État de Dieu”: approches catholiques du 2 décembre 1851, entre
théologie et politique. Luca Sandoni. Revue d’histoire de l’Église de France, 103
(July–Dec., 2017), 247–70.
From Zouaves Pontificaux to the Volontaires de l’Ouest: Catholic Volunteers and the
French Nation, 1860–1910. Martin Simpson. Canadian Journal of History, 53
(Spring–Summer, 2018), 1–28.
P. Gianbattista Perrando de S. Venanzio, Prepósito General de la Orden de las
Escuelas Pías (1861–1868) (continuazione). Adolfo García-Durán. Archivum
Scholarum Piarum, XLI (2017), 67–190.
Dall’ultramontanismo alla romanità. Il percorso romano di Léon Dehon tra Pio IX
e Leone XIII. Luca Sandoni. Rivista di Storia e Letteratura Religioso, LIII (1,
2017), 137–69.
Between Delegitimization of Religion and Sacralization of the Profane. Discussing
Knowledge in Anticlericalism of the Second Half of the Nineteenth Century.
Lisa Dittrich. Annali dell’Istituto storico italo-germanico in Trento, 43 (1, 2017),
59–84.
“Energetic Education”. Monism, Religious Instruction, and School Reform in Finde-Siècle Germany. Christoffer Leber. Annali dell’Istituto storico italo-germanico in Trento, 43 (1, 2017), 85–113.

384

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

The ‘Affair of the Photographs’: Controlling the Public Image of a NineteenthCentury Stigmatic [Louise Lateau]. Tine Van Osselaer. Journal of Ecclesiastical
History, 68 (Oct., 2017), 784–806.
P. Tezelin Halusa O.Cist (1870–1953) in bio-bibliographischer Darstellung.
Alkuin Schachenmayr O.Cist. Analecta Cisterciensia, LXVII (2017), 313–46.
“Der Katholik muß vor allem Gott lieben und dessen Gebote halten.” Anstandsbücher als Mittel zur Selbstvergewisserung, Orientierung und Abgrenzung
des katholischen Milieus im späten Kaiserreich. Marc von Knorring. Historisches Jarhbuch, 137 (2017), 304–26.
Early Pentecostalism in Twentieth Century Scotland. Kenneth Roxburgh. Records
of the Scottish Church History Society, 46 (2017), 130–64.
The Christ Myth Debate: Radical Theology and German Public Life, 1909-1913.
George S. Williamson. Church History, 86 (Sept., 2017), 728–64.
The French Benedictine Monasticism during the First World War. Case study: the
Abbey of Saint Benoit from En Calcat. Iulia-Marius Morariu. Studia Monastica, 59 (1, 2017), 189–96.
Anglicanism and Interventionism: Bishop Brent, the United States, and the British
Empire in the First World War. Michael Snape. Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 69 (Apr., 2018), 300–25.
Continuity and Change in the Luba Christian Movement, Katanga, Belgian
Congo, c.1915–50. David Maxwell. Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 69 (Apr.,
2018), 326–44.
Monsignor John Joseph Nevin: Academic, War Chaplain, Parish Priest. Damian
John Gleeson. Australasian Catholic Record, 95 (Jan., 2018), 51–65.
Daniel Mannix: The Man, the Myth, the Mystery. Max Vodola. Australasian
Catholic Record, 95 (Jan., 2018), 66–82.
Das missionarische Wirken der Russischen Orthodoxen Kirche als Thema des
Landeskonzils 1917/18. Zum 100-jährigen Jubiläum eines schiksalhaftern
Ereignisses. Eine Würdigung des Buches von Alexander Kraveckij, Cerkovnaja missija v rpochu peremen (meždu propoved’ju i dialogom. Günther
Schulz and Erhard Glier. Ostkirchliche Studien, 66 (1, 2017), 3–111.
Konfessionelle Netzwerke der Russlanddeutschen. Zur Verfolgung der Katholiken
in der Sowjetunion (1917-1939). Katrin Boeckh. Historisches Jahrbuch, 137
(2017), 268–303.
L’amitié d’un moine catholique et d’un jeune diacre orthodoxe nommé Athénagoras, Salonique 1918. Patrice Mahieu. Istina, LXIII (Jan.–Mar., 2018),
27–45.
Der “Verlag der Schulbrüder” in Unterkirnach und die Verehrung der heiligen
Theresia vom Kinde Jesu. Johannes Werner. Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 137
(2017), 217–24.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

385

“The Shari’a must go”: Seduction, Moral Injury, and Religious Freedom in Egypt’s
Liberal Age. Jeffrey Culang. Comparative Studies in Society and History, 60
(Apr., 2018), 446–75.
The Vietnamization of Personalism: The Role of Missionaries in the Spread of
Personalism in Vietnam, 1930-1961. Phi Vân Nguyen. French Colonial History, 17 (2017), 103–34.
“Der Untergang des Abendlandes wird ekklesiologisiert.” Ein Kulturkampf am
Ende der Weimarer Republik. Todd H. Weir. Historisches Jahrbuch, 137
(2017), 327-50.
Bienheureuse Maria Gabriella Sagheddu. Une vie pour l’unité et son héritage
œcuménique. Gabriella Masturzo. Collectanea Cisterciensia, 80 (1, 2018), 42–
60.
“One Lord, One Faith, One Baptism” in the Land of ein Volk, ein Reich, ein Führer:
The Fifth Baptist World Congress (Berlin, 1934). Blake McKinney. Church
History, 87 (Mar., 2018), 122–48.
Die Auseinandersetzung zwischen der katholischen Kirche in Aachen und den
Nationalsozialisten um die Bedeutung Karls des Großen. Christian Bremen.
Historisches Jahrbuch, 137 (2017), 351–90.
“There is no medicine and not a gram of insulin in Freiburg now”—Berichte ausländischer Beobachter über die Situation der Kirchen in Baden bei Kriegsende
1945. Ulrich Bayer. Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 137 (2017), 225–42.
The Augustinian Province of Bohemia: Trials and Resurrection. William Faix.
Analecta Augustiniana, LXXX (2017), 209–28.
Crafting Aboriginal Nations in Taiwan: The Presbyterian Church and the Imagination of the Aboriginal National Subject. Ek-hong Ljavakaw Sia. Asian
Studies Review, 42 (June, 2018), 356–75.
Le Séminaire monastique supérieur du Monastère de Neamţ (1949–1952). IonuţConstantin Petcu. Istina, LXIII (Jan.–Mar., 2018), 47–70.
Misiones interiores y cambio social en la España de Franco. Una visión a través de
la actividad misionera de la Asesoría Eclesiástica de Sindicatos. Francisco
Bernal García. Hispania Sacra, 70 (2018), 339–63.
The Politics of Ecumenism in Uganda, 1962–1986. J. J. Carney. Church History, 86
(Sept., 2017), 765–94.
Le concept de “double communion” dans le projet de Mgr Elias Zoghby. Quel
modèle d’unité? Gabriel Hachem. Cristianesimo nella storia, 38 (3, 2017), 867–
80.
Déchirements au couvent Notre-Dame-du-Chêne de Nancy: un conflit sur les
formes légitimes de désobéissance dans l’ordre dominicain (1975–1980). Yann
Raison de Cleuziou. Revue d’histoire de l’Église de France, 103 (July–Dec.,
2017), 271–95.

386

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

La Iglesia y su nuevo status en la Constitución de 1978. La mención expresa del término “Iglesia Católica.” Pablo Martín de Santa Olalla Saludes. Estudios Eclesiásticos, 92 (July–Sept., 2017), 509–39.

AMERICAN
Contested Words: History, America, Religion. Catherine A. Brekus. William and
Mary Quarterly, 75 (Jan., 2018), 3–36.
Connecting Protestants in Britain’s Eighteenth-Century Atlantic Empire. Katherine Carté Engel. William and Mary Quarterly, 75 (Jan., 2018), 37–70.
Lutheran History in North America: A Bibliography of Works Published in 2017.
Todd D. Zittlow. Concordia Historical Institute Quarterly, 91 (Spring, 2018),
45–58.
Defying Indian Slavery: Apalachee Voices and Spanish Sources in the EighteenthCentury Southeast. Alejandra Dubcovsky. William and Mary Quarterly, 75
(Apr., 2018), 295–322.
“A Church Shall Be Called the First African Baptist Church of St. Catherine’s”:
The 1843 Founding Covenant of a Sea Island Congregation. John Saillant.
Georgia Historical Quarterly, 102 (1, 2018), 59–81.
“The Catholics of the South”: An Editorial By Abbé Napoleon Joseph Perché,
Editor of Le Propagateur Catholique, January 26, 1861. Kenneth J. Zanca.
Louisiana History, LVIII (Fall, 2017), 404–16.
The Vicariate Apostolic of Brownsville: Frontier Bishops of the Roman Catholic
Church in South Texas 1874–1966. Gilbert Cruz. Catholic Southwest, 28
(2017), 38–46.
Mennonite Missionary S. S. Haury’s Account of the Running Buffalo Shooting,
1884. John Truden (ed.). Chronicles of Oklahoma, XCV (Winter 2017–18),
472–79.
Arthur Ernst Michel, 1862–1955: His Life and Ministry. Milton L. Rudnick.
Concordia Historical Institute Quarterly, 90 (Summer, 2017), 9–26.
Experiences in the Parsonages of The Lutheran Church in Southern Illinois
During the War Years of 1917–1918 Described by an Eyewitness at the
Request of the Officers of the Historical Society. Justus Christian William
John Lohrmann. Concordia Historical Institute Quarterly, 90 (Summer, 2017),
39–50.
The American Association for the Advancement of Science committee on evolution and the Scopes trial: race, eugenics and public science in the U.S.A.
Alexander Pavuk. Historical Research, XCI (Feb., 2018), 137–59.
Cuban Poor Clares in Texas. Felicia Guarra Senette. Catholic Southwest, 28 (2017),
25–36.
“To Share in Fear and Suffering”: Dorothy Day at Koinonia Farm. Ann M. Trousdale. Catholic Southwest, 28 (2017), 47–62.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

387

Bill Hansen: A Catholic Activist in the Civil Rights Movement. Paul T. Murray.
American Catholic Studies, 128 (Fall, 2017), 25–50.
To “Prepare White Youngsters”: The Catholic School Busing Program in the
Archdiocese of Chicago. Kevin Ryan. American Catholic Studies, 128 (Fall,
2017), 51–77.
The Alamo Christian Foundation. Ronald J. Gordon. Arkansas Historical Quaterly,
LXXVI (Autumn, 2017), 218–47.
Bishop Humberto Medeiros, Advocate for Farm Workers: The Brownsville Years,
1966–1970. Richard Gribble, C.S.C. Catholic Southwest, 28 (2017), 2–24.
Louisiana’s Abortion Wars: Periodizing the Anti-Abortion Movement’s Assault of
Women’s Reproductive Rights, 1973–2016. Caroline Hymel. Louisiana History, LIX (Winter, 2018), 67–105.
The Legend of Marcus Whitman and the Transformation of the American Historical Profession. Sarah Koenig. Church History, 87 (Mar., 2018), 99–121.

LATIN AMERICAN
Con la cruz en ristre: fray Bernardo Boyl, pimer apóstol de América, en la Columbeis de Giulio Cesare Stella, una imagen ignaciana. Manuel Antonio Díaz
Gito. Bibliothèque d’Humanisme et Renaissance, LXXX (1, 2018), 167–86.
Los obispos de Cartagena de Indias durante el siglo XVIII: criollos y regalismo.
Manuel Serrano García. Hispania Sacra, 70 (2018), 211–22.
The Routes of Intransigence: Mexico’s ‘Spiritual Pilgrimage’ of 1874 and the
Globalization of Ultramontane Catholicism. Brian Stauffer. The Americas, 75
(Apr., 2018), 291–324.
Bautistas y presbiterianos en la política religiosa de Francisco J. Múgica y Sidronio
Sánchez Pineda, 1920–1924. Leticia Mendoza Garcia. Historia Mexicana, 67
(Jan.–Mar., 2018), 1199–1248.
“Su hija Inés: Católicas laicas, el Obispo Luis María Martínez, y el conflict religioso michoacano, 1927–1929. Matthew Butler. Historia Mexicana, 67 (Jan.–
Mar., 2018), 1249–94.

Other Books Received
Bayne, Tim. Philosophy of Religion: A Very Short Introduction. (New York: Oxford
University Press. 2018. Pp. xii, 133. $11.95 paperback.)
Bellabarba, Marco, and Gustavo Corni (eds.). Il Trentino e trentini nella Grande
guerra. Nuove prospettive di ricerca. [Annali dell’Istituto storico italo-germanico
in Trent, Quaderni, 100.] (Bologna: Società editrice il Mulino. 2017. Pp. 201.
€19,00 paperback.)
Bernardini, Giovanni et al. (eds.). L’età costituente. Italia 1945–1948. [Annali dell’Istituto storico italo-germanico in Trent, Quaderni, 99.] (Bologna: Società
editrice il Mulino. 2017. Pp. 424. €35,00 paperback.) One of the eighteen
essays published in this volume is “La Chiesa cattolica e la democrazia costituente” by Enrico Galavotti (pp. 237-57).
Boin, Douglas. A Social and Cultural History of Late Antiquity. [Wiley Blackwell
Social and Cultural Histories of the Ancient World.] (Hoboken, NJ: Wiley
Blackwell. 2018. Pp. xx, 285. $44.95 paperback.)
Bucci, Onorato. Le origini e lo sviluppo della famiglia e del matrimonio fra matrilinearità e patrilinearità. Un itinerario storico-giuridico e un percorso storiografico.
[Pontificio Comitato di Scienze Storiche, Atti e documenti, vol. 42.] (Vatican
City: Libreria Editrice Vaticana. 2017. Pp. 261. €32,00 cloth.)
Cefalu, Paul. The Johannine Renaissance in Early Modern English Literature and
Theology. (New York: Oxford University Press. 2017. Pp. xiv, 352. $80.00
cloth.)
Collins, Paul. Absolute Power: How the Pope became the Most Influential Man in the
World. (New York: Public Affairs. 2018. Pp. xvi, 366. $28.00 cloth.) The
nineteenth century is covered in seventy-seven pages, and the next fifty-eight
years in eighty-nine pages. The author has selected events and documents that
allow him to criticize the popes and express his own liberal views. He considers John XXIII to be “probably the most important [pope] since the Reformation” and Humanae Vitae “the most disastrous papal statement of modern
times” and “an act of papal arrogance.” This book should be regarded as propaganda rather than history.
Crooks, James. We Find Ourselves Put to the Test: A Reading of the Book of Job.
(Montréal: McGill-Queen’s University Press. 2018. Pp. xiv, 167. $29.95
cloth.)
Davis, Stephen J. Monasticism: A Very Short Introduction. (New York: Oxford University Press. 2018. Pp. xx, 142. $11.95 paperback.)
388

OTHER BOOKS RECEIVED

389

Magocsi, Paul Robert. Carpathian Rus’: A Historical Atlas. (Grand Isle, VT:
Carpatho-Rusyn Research Center; distributed by University of Toronto
Press. 2017. Pp. vi, 80. $45.00 cloth.)
Mölich, Georg, et al. (eds.). Die Zisterzienser im Mittelalter. (Köln: Böhlau Verlag.
2017. Pp. 393. €50,00 cloth.)
Reynolds, Gabriel Said. The Qur’ān & the Bible: Text and Commentary. (New
Haven: Yale University Press. 2018. Pp. xx, 1008. $40.00 cloth.)
Rutherford, Janet E., and David Woods (eds.). The Mystery of Christ in the Fathers
of the Church: Essays in Honour of D. Vincent Twomey SVD. (Dublin: Four
Courts Press; distributed by International Specialized Book Services. 2012.
Pp. 244. $74.50 cloth.) Among the thirteen essays published here are 7.
“Bede, Annus Domini, and the Historica ecclesiastica gentis anglorum,” by Máirín
Mac Carron (pp. 116-34), and 12. “Augustine, sixteenth-century reformations
and escaping predestination,” by Janet E. Rutherford (pp. 192–206).
Sullivan, Karen. The Danger of Romance: Truth, Fantasy, and Arthurian Fictions.
(Chicago: University of Chicago Press. 2018. Pp. viii, 299. $35.00 paperback.)
Wimpfheimer, Barry Scott. The Talmud: A Biography. [Lives of Great Religious
Books.] (Princeton: Princeton University Press. 2018. Pp. xiv, 299. $26.95
cloth.)
Wood, Ian. The Transformation of the Roman West. [Past Imperfect.] (Leeds, UK:
Arc Humanities Press. 2018. Pp. x, 160. $14.95 paperback.)
Wu, John C. H. Beyond East & West. Foreword by John Wu, Jr. (Notre Dame, IN:
University of Notre Dame Press. 2018. Pp. xxv, 384. $27.00 paperback.)
Originally published in 1951, John C. H. Wu’s spiritual autobiography was
praised for its moving description of his conversion in 1937 and his early years
as a Catholic. This new edition includes a foreword written by his son, John
Wu, Jr.