THE CATHOLIC
HISTORICAL REVIEW
VOL. 104

SUMMER 2018

NO. 3

Saint Geneviève and the Anointing of the Sick
THOMAS M. IZBICKI*
By the twelfth century anointing of the sick, the sacrament of Extreme
Unction, was tied to penance and was the province of priests. Nonetheless, the Scholastics treated the past role of holy persons not ordained to
the priesthood as healers, who anointed with oil. The example they
treated most often was that of Saint Geneviève of Paris. The theologians concluded that prayers of saints might be more effective than those
of a priest in physical healing, but any anointing they did was not
sacramental, neither forgiving venial sins nor abolishing “remnants of
sin” to prepare the soul for the afterlife.
Keynotes: Ministry to the sick, healing, anointing, Extreme Unction, St. Geneviève of Paris, Miracle of the Burning Ones, Ergotism, Thomas Aquinas, Albertus Magnus, Bonaventure, three
main scholastics

C

hristian ministry to the sick has a long history. Only gradually did it
become the province of the ordained clergy. Reminders exist of an earlier involvement in this ministry of lay persons and saints who were not
ordained, who anointed the sick.1 When the Scholastics systematized the
seven sacraments, they presented arguments for clerical ministry to those in
danger of death, but they felt obliged to confront evidence of healing prac-

* Dr. Izbicki is Humanities Librarian Emeritus at Rutgers University.
1. The canonists eventually reserved ministry to the sick to parish priests and (with their
permission) deacons; see Thomas M. Izbicki, The Eucharist in Medieval Canon Law (Cambridge, 2015), 202. However, a canon attributed the seventh-century Council of Reims said
that women and lay men had been permitted to carry communion to the sick; see Decretum
Gratiani, ed. Emil Friedberg (Corpus Juris Canonici 1; Leipzig, 1922), col. 1323: De consecratione Distinction 2 c. 29, “Peruenit ad notitiam nostram, quod quidam presbiteri in
tantum paruipendant diuina misteria, ut laico aut feminae sacrum corpus Domini tradant ad
deferendum infirmis. . . .”

393

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SAINT GENEVIÈVE AND THE ANOINTING OF THE SICK

ticed by the saints by anointing, distinguishing it from sacramental ministry,
although both types of healing involved divine action through the person
anointing. Their arguments about healing by holy persons as possibly sacramental, advanced to be refuted, will be documented below. They dealt especially with the healings effected by saints like Geneviève of Paris, whose
ability to cure the sick or possessed was tied to acts of anointing but also to
holiness of life.2 Although a formal role for lay persons had long ceased in
practice, the Scholastics found it necessary to distinguish the use of blessed
oils by saints in healing from the sacramental anointing of the dangerously
ill by priests. That rite became known as Extreme Unction in authoritative
texts like the Sentences of Peter Lombard. One important factor distinguishing saintly healing from Extreme Unction was the close relationship of the
sacrament to penance, healing souls of sin even when bodies were dying.
Anointing of the sick has been a part of Christianity since biblical times.
Anointing by the apostles was mentioned in Mark’s gospel [Mk. 6:13]:
They cast out many demons, and anointed with oil many who were sick
and cured them.3

A more detailed text about anointing the sick in found in the Epistle of
James [Js. 5:13–15]:
Are any among you sick? They should call for the elders of the church and
have them pray over them, anointing them with oil in the name of the
Lord; and the prayer of faith will save the sick man, and the Lord will
raise him up; and if he has committed sins, he will be forgiven.4

This text, which was highlighted by Peter Lombard when discussing the
origins of the sacraments, ties physical healing to the forgiveness of sins, a
connection which shaped the sacrament of Extreme Unction.5 Both pas2. The Penitential of Cummean complicated matters by conflating the intercession of
the saints with the ministry to the sick described in the Epistle of James; see Medieval Handbooks of Penance: A Translation of the Principal “Libri poenitentiales: and Selections from Related
Documents, ed. John T. McNeill and Helena M. Gamer (New York, 1938), 100.
3. Andrew Cuschieri, Anointing of the Sick: A Theological and Canonical Study (Langham,
MD, 1993), 61–62. These texts are quoted from the Revised Standard Version of the Bible.
The Council of Trent cited this text as proof that Christ established the sacrament; see
Charles W. Gusmer, And You Visited Me: Sacramental Ministry to the Sick and Dying (New
York, 1989), 6–7.
4. The Vulgate Latin reads, “Infirmatur quis in vobis? Inducat presbyteros ecclesiae, et
orent super eum . . . ungentes cum oleo in nomine Domini. . . .”
5. The Sentences, trans. Giulio Silano, vol. 4 (Toronto, 2007–10), 136. Cuschieri,
Anointing of the Sick, 1–11, 91–92. Oil of the sick was more readily distinguished from chrism
than from the oil of catechumens; see ibid, 94–96.

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sages fit into a larger Judeo-Christian context of anointing with oil for
healing and consecration.
For centuries anointing was used to address many ailments, including
those which threatened death. Beginning in the third century, we know
that oil was consecrated by bishops for anointing by clergy and lay persons,
even by the sick themselves. There is evidence of lay anointing from Italy,
Gaul and Visigothic Spain in liturgical texts from several centuries. The
evidence also includes a letter of Pope Innocent I, reflecting Roman usage,
which mentions anointing by the laity.6 However, there was increasing
sentiment, noted by the Venerable Bede, for anointing by priests. An
important step dates from Merovingian times when Caesarius of Arles
employed the Epistle of James to compose a “specifically clerical” rite of
anointing, connecting it with penance. The Carolingian reformers and
their successors concluded that sacramental anointing was a spiritual rite,
connected to penance and that priests were the proper ministers. Recipients of the sacrament should be those in danger of death, who needed to
be cleansed of spiritual stains. An additional factor was a fear that the
ailing lay person might turn to magic, even using sacred things, in attempts
to heal themselves. These sentiments were reflected in the decrees of Carolingian councils, including those held in the German and Italian lands
possessed by Charlemagne, which required anointing by priests.7 The rite
used for visiting the sick which prevailed in the West was originated at
Cluny and spread via the Roman pontifical. It coupled anointing with
penance, viaticum and prayers, preparing the dying for the transition from
earthly life to the afterlife.8
The movement toward clerical administration also required greater
responsibility from these ministers. Disciplinary canons of councils con6. Michael G. Lawler, Symbol Sacrament: A Contemporary Sacramental Theology
(Omaha, 1995), 162–63; Gusmer, And You Visited Me, 23. On blessings of oil, see Antoine
Chavasse, Études sur l’onctione des infirmes dans l’église du III e au XI e siècle, vol. 1 (Doctoral
thesis, Lyon, 1942), 29–89.
7. Cuschieri, Anointing of the Sick, 17–29, 161–66; Lawler, Symbol Sacrament, pp. 163–
64; Frederick Paxton, Christianizing Death: The Creation of a Ritual Process in Early Medieva
Europe (Ithaca, 1996), 50–51. On the fear of magic using sacred things; see Philippe Rouillard, “The Anointing of the Sick in the West,” in Handbook for Liturgical Studies, vol. 4, ed.
Anscar J. Chupungco (Collegeville, MN, 1997), 171–90 at 172; Thomas M. Izbicki, “Manus
temeraria: Custody of the Eucharist in Medieval Canon Law”, in: Proceedings of the Thirteenth
International Congress of Medieval Canon Law, Esztergom, 3–8 August 2008, ed. Peter Erdö
and Sz. Anzel Szuromi (Monumenta Iuris Canonici, series C; Vatican City, 2010), 539–52.
8. Rouillard, “The Anointing of the Sick in the West,” 176–77. This rite, which
required a priest, was systematized in the ritual issued by Paul V in 1614.

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SAINT GENEVIÈVE AND THE ANOINTING OF THE SICK

demned clergy who charged for the rite of anointing (simony) or failed to
perform it, allowing a parishioner to die without spiritual comfort. Thus,
the rite was well on its way to being called the Last Anointing, Extreme
Unction, which became its universal name by the twelfth century in the
West. Because of this connection of the rite with mortality, there was a
continuing concern among the clergy that the ailing faithful dreaded
asking for anointing from fear of imminent death.9
Theological connections of sin to illness tied anointing to the sacrament
of penance, until it became more a spiritual than a physical healing rite.10 Ultimately, theologians, including Peter Abelard and Hugh of Saint Victor, concluded that unction had a twofold end, primarily cleansing the soul but secondarily possible healing of the body. This conclusion strengthened the belief
that a priest or bishop was the proper minister of unction administered to
those in danger of death.11 The connection of unction to penance helps
explain the practice of anointing the five senses, the feet and the loins, the
means of sin.12 Some medieval theologians regarded extreme unction, like
confirmation, as originating with Christ but not promulgated fully until after
the Holy Spirit was manifested at Pentecost.13 The Scholastics differed on the
spiritual effect of Extreme Unction. The Franciscans and the canon lawyers
regarded it as removing venial sins, but the Dominicans said it removed “remnants of sin” (reliquiae peccati). Nonetheless, physical healing remained a
desired effect of the rite.14 The Scholastics by the thirteenth century had raised
theoretical questions whether anointing by a truly holy person might be more
effective than that by a sinful member of the clergy and whether a saint, even
if not ordained, could administer the sacrament of anointing.
9. Cuschieri, Anointing of the Sick, 38–42. A capitulary of Charlemagne forbade letting
the sick die without anointing, reconciliation and viaticum; see Medieval Handbooks of
Penance, 389.
10. This connection was drawn in the early Church; see Gonzalo Florez, Penitencia y
unción de los enfermos (Madrid, 1993), 317–23; José Luis Larrabe, La iglesia y el sacramento de
la unción de los enfermos (Salamanca, 1974), 14-19, 25–30.
11. Cuschieri, Anointing of the Sick, 43–44, 48–49, 63–64, 72, 167–0; Bernhard
Poschmann, Penance and the Anointing of the Sick (New York, 1964).
12. Cuschieri, Anointing of the Sick, 102–104, 106. The most common form of this rite
in the Middle Ages begins with the eyes, using the words, “Per istam sanctam unctionem et
suam piissimam misericordiam parcat tibi dominus quicquid oculorum uicio deliquisti. . .”;
see, for example, Johannes de Burgo, Pupilla oculi, University of Pennsylvania MS Codex 75,
fol. 104vb.
13. See, for example, Dionysius Carthusianus, Divi Dionysii Carthvsiani in sententiarum Librvm IIII. Comentarii Locuoletissimi. . . (Venice, 1584), 310B.
14. Cuschieri, Anointing of the Sick, 67–68; Larrabe, La iglesia y el sacramento de la unción
de los enfermos, 54–72.

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File: Extreme Unction (1485) Rogier Van der Weyden (Wikimedia Commons)

Geneviève or Genovefa has long been revered as the patron saint of
Paris with her major feast on January 3. She is best known for having saved
the city from Attila the Hun in the year 451 AD. Geneviève also was a
well-known healer and exorcist. For example, she anointed and exorcised
three married women, as an early hagiographer reports:
She entered into each of the matron’s houses with a prayer and blessed
them and anointed them with oil, cleansing them of their troublesome
demons.

An aid in her work was holy oil blessed by the bishop of Paris. Geneviève’s
was so assertive, showing her authority through prayers, processions, healings, and collection of revenues, that Lisa Bitel has described it as “bishoplike,” so like a clerical role that it is reported to have antagonized some.
Moreover, her vessel of oil was reputed to have been refilled miraculously
when it was found empty during the bishop’s absence:
For the bishop who should bless the oil for her had gone away. She lay
down on the ground begging help from heaven with her sacred prayers
in delivering the afflicted ones. As she arose from her prayers, the vessel
in her hand filled itself with oil.

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SAINT GENEVIÈVE AND THE ANOINTING OF THE SICK

Once the saint was dead, the vessel was retained as a relic. As the hagiographer says, drawing on his own observation:
And three times six years after her death, I myself saw the vessel with the
oil which had materialized by her prayers and I decided to write the story
of her life.15

Other vitae added stories about Geneviève related to oils. One
recorded the expulsion by the saint of a demon from a flask of oil bought
by a woman from a merchant. Perhaps more important for Geneviève’s
cult was the report that a lamp burned endlessly before her tomb. The oil
from that lamp was believed to be useful in effecting cures. Both of these
stories would enter into later hagiographic texts.16
Geneviève’s healing role, especially her practice of anointing, entered
theological discourse beginning in the mid thirteenth century. Her cult had
endured in Paris, where she was invoked for deliverance from floods and
excessive rain.17 Geneviève also was venerated as a healer, receiving ex voto
offerings from those she helped.18 The saint may have come to the attention of the university’s masters through liturgy, hagiographic readings, or
festal sermons.19

15. Acta sanctorum for January 3, accessed online on December 17, 137–53, esp. 142–
43, 725 (addenda). The longest early text of the saint’s vita is translated in Sainted Women of
the Dark Ages, ed. Jo Ann McNamara and John E. Halborg (Durham, NC, 1992), 17–37 at
34-36; Lisa M. Bitel, Landscape with Two Saints: How Genovefa of Paris and Brigit of Kildare
Built Christianity in Barbarian Europe (Oxford, 2009), 58, 63, 70–71.
16. Acta sanctorum for January 3, 147, 149. On oil of the lamp, see Cuschieri, Anointing
of the Sick, 14–15. This effusion of oil places resembles the miracles of the myroblytes, saints
whose tombs gushed miraculous oil; see Sylvia Elizabeth Mullins, “Myroblytes: Miraculous
Oil in Medieval Europe,” Ph.D. Dissertation, Georgetown University, 2017.
17. For a sermon crediting the saint with saving Paris from floods, see Catalogus codicum
hagiographicum Latinorum antiquorum saeculo XVI qui asservantur in Bibliotheca Nationali
Parisiensi ediderunt hagiographi Bollandiani, vol. 3 (Paris, 1893), 275. On Geneviève as protector against floods, see Moshe Sluhovsky, Patroness of Paris: Rituals of Devotion in Early
Modern France (Leiden, 1998), 29–46, 54, 56–58, 86–87, 90, 145–49, 217–19. One invocation of the saint’s aid against flood is dated to 1206.
18. Bitel, Landscape with Two Saints, 95, esp. Figure 4.1, 195–97, 213–20. Among
those who offered an ex voto was Erasmus, who was healed of a fever; see Sluhovsky, Patroness
of Paris, 26–27, 69, 103.
19. See the sermon by Stephen of Tournai on the theme Sapientia vincit maliciam (Sap.
7:30) in Johannes Baptist Schneyer, Repertorium der lateinischen Sermones des Mittelalters für
die Zeit des Mittelalters 1150–1350, vol. 5 (Beiträge zur Geschichte der Philosophie und Theologie des Mittelalters 43/5; Münster, 1974), 510. By the early fifteenth century there were
brief miracle plays in French focused on Geneviève; see Edward J. Gallagher, “Civic
Patroness and Moral Guide: The Role of the Eponymous Heroine in the Miracles de Sainte

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The feast of the saint which most likely drew attention of her healing
power was not the major one in January. Nor was the commemoration of
the translation of Geneviève a likely occasion, whether celebrated separately or being added to the feast of Saints Simon and Jude as a commemoration. However, a third feast with a focus on healing had been added on
November 26. The feast of the miracle of the “Burning Ones” (miraculum
ardentium) recalled an outbreak of ergotism in Paris during the reign of
King Louis VII (1129 AD). The ending of the outbreak was attributed to
Geneviève after supplications were offered in the cathedral of Notre Dame
in the presence of her relics.20 A collect for the saint’s feast, found in a late
fifteenth century missal, invokes her in the context of enjoying both spiritual and physical health by her merits and intervention.21 The portraits of
the saint ordinarily depicted her with a long candle, sometimes with an
angel lighting it while a demon tries to extinguish it.22 In a few cases, however, an illumination shows a procession with Geneviève’s relics to invoke
her against floods or ergotism, the latter invocation being made on the
feast of the miraculum ardentium.23
Geneviève’s January feast and the commemoration of the translation
of her relics in October were mentioned at least as early as the mid ninthcentury martyrology of Usuard.24 She also was mentioned in the vitae of
Saint Germain of Auxerre, who, together with Lupus of Troyes, led
Geneviève to embrace a religious life.25 More to our point, a life of
Geneviève from the twelfth or thirteenth century repeated stories of the
Geneviève (c. 1429) from MS 1131 from the Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève, Paris”, Studia
Neophilologica 80 (2008), 30–42.
20. Acta sanctorum for January 3, 137–38. For the place of these feasts on liturgical calendars of Paris, see, e.g., Bibliothèque National de France, MS Latin 1052, fol. 1r, 5v–6r,
accessed via Gallica, http://gallica.bnf.fr, October 17, 2016; Roger S. Weick, The Medieval
Calendar: Locating Time in the Middle Ages (New York, 2017), 37–70 at 38, 40, 44.
21. Missale Parisiense (Paris, 1497), fol. XXva, “Beate genouefe uirginis domine deus
gloriosis meritis adiuuemur et eius sacro interuentu corporis et anime sanitate gaudentes
gratia cooperante saluemur,” http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k991398b/f556.image,
accessed on August 29, 2017.
22. This iconography has been checked the Index of Christian Art, ArtSTOR and
Google Images.
23. See the website of the Bibliothèque Saint Geneviève, http://www-bsg.univ-paris1.
fr/procession-de-la-chasse-de-sainte-genevieve-origines-et-causes, accessed on October 19,
2016.
24. Martyrologium Usuardi in Acta sanctorum for June 3, 8, accessed online on December
17, 2016, “Tertia Nonarumque dies celebrat Genovefam.” For a mention of the translation of her
relics, see the Auctaria for October 19 in ibid, 633–44.
25. Acta sanctorum for July 31, 211–12, 216, accessed online on December 17, 2016.

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saint’s effecting cures with oil; and it retold the story that the lamp burning
at her tomb yielded an oil useful in cures.26
The older stories about the saint came together with her healing of
ergotism in thirteenth and fourteenth century vernacular hagiography. The
saint’s healing role appears in a life of the saint in French verse. The miracle
of the Burning Ones was included in that text, saying that the epidemic
was eased as soon as Geneviève’s relics were carried into Notre Dame.27
Some other miracles in this life reflect the older traditions. In one story,
Geneviève anoints and cures a child with multiple disabilities.28 Another
combines the healing of a female servant possessed by devils with the
miraculous refilling of the saint’s ampule of oil.29 An inversion of this story
has the saint drive devils out of a vessel of oil a maid servant had bought
from a merchant.30 This connection of Saint Geneviève with miraculous oil
continued in the vernacular. In the verse text, the lamp before the saint’s
tomb never runs out of oil, which has healing properties.31 Versions of
these stories appeared in French prose lives of the saint.32 A sixteenth-century edition of Usuard’s martyrology added the miraculum ardentium and
its liturgical commemoration to mention of the earlier feasts.33
Saint Geneviève’s role as a healer became part of the medieval theology of the sacraments through the twelfth-century Sentences of Peter Lombard and its commentators. The belief that there were seven sacraments—
baptism, confirmation, penance, the Eucharist, Extreme Unction, holy
orders and matrimony—had become canonical with the Sentences, which
provided a systematic collection of key theological, especially patristic texts
for study.34 By the thirteenth century, commenting on the Sentences was de
rigueur for students of theology at the University of Paris, many of these
lectures circulating as written commentaries or compiled questions on the
meaning of the texts.35 These Paris-trained theologians regarded priests as
26. Acta sanctorum for January 3, 152.
27. Lennart Bohm, La vie de Sainte Geneviève: Poème religieux (Uppsala, 1955), 199–200.
28. Bohm, La vie de Sainte Geneviève, 178–79.
29. Bohm, La vie de Sainte Geneviève, 184–85.
30. Bohm, La vie de Sainte Geneviève, 176–77.
31. Bohm, La vie de Sainte Geneviève, 188–89.
32. Anders Bengtsson, La vie de sainte Geneviève: Cinq versions en prose des XIVe et XVe
siècles (Stockholm, 2006), 37–38, 42, 44, 73, 80, 82, 105–06. The miracle of the burning ones
appears in ibid, 85.
33. Acta sanctorum for January 3, 137.
34. The Sentences, trans. Silano, vol. 4, 3–233.
35. Gillian R. Evans and Philipp W. Rosemann, Mediaeval Commentaries on the Sentences of Peter Lombard: Current Research, 3 volumes (Leiden, 2002–10). Rosemann, Peter

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401

the usual ministers of the sacraments, able to absolve penitents and consecrate the Eucharist, anoint the sick. A wedding couple administered the
sacrament of matrimony to one another, but they were instructed to do so
in the presence of their priest.36 Bishops confirmed the newly baptized and
ordained priests. Certain of these rites, baptism, confirmation and holy
orders were believed to impose a character on the soul. The imposition of
a character by confirmation and orders required a bishop, but the theologians allowed an exception to the rule about the clergy as the usual ministers of the sacraments for baptism in an emergency. In such cases, any lay
person, male or female, could act if no priest was present, using whatever
water was available, with their acts imposing a character upon the soul. (At
least one theologian believed that Christ consecrated all waters for baptismal use by contact with his body when John the Baptist baptized him in
the River Jordan [Matt. 3:13-17].37) Performance of the rite was allowed
to the laity when a newly born child was in danger of dying without that
essential, saving sacrament. Even then a priest was expected to determine
whether the rite had been administered correctly, even possibly in an
abbreviated form and in the vernacular, performing a conditional baptism
when a defect in the original rite made this necessary.38
This near clerical monopoly on sacramental functions was treated,
among other places, in discussions of Extreme Unction. Peter Lombard
had treated the sacrament briefly in Distinction 23 of Book IV of the Sentences.39 In typical Scholastic fashion, commentators on the Sentences posed
arguments pro and con about a statement before moving on to an explication of doctrine and replies to rejected arguments. They did exactly that
Lombard (Oxford, 2004). Antoninus of Florence granted that someone in danger of a violent
death or infirm might confess to a lay person but that this was not necessary. Moreover, if
that person survived, confession to a priest was still necessary; see Tractatus de instructione seu
directione simplicium confessorum (Cologne: Zell, 1469), fol. S2v.
36. See, for example, the Praecepta antiqua of Rouen in Mansi 23.383, “Et hoc tamen
non fiat sine praesentia Sacerdotis.” Local steps were made to prevent clandestine marriages
without banns even before the Council of Trent acted against those unions; see Charles Donahue, “Thoughts on Diocesan Statutes: England and France, 1200–1500,” in Canon Law,
Religion and Politics: Liber amicorum Robert Somerville, ed. Uta-Renata Blumenthal, Anders
Winroth and Peter Landau (Washington, DC, 2012), 253–71 at 259–62, 265–70.
37. Richard of Middleton, Scriptum super quarto sententiarum (Venice, 1489), sig. n 4ra,
“ad hoc vt fit huius sacramenti materia. quam ordinationem Christus instituit suo facto. ad
cuiusmodi similitudinem dicitur aquas consecrasse quando fuit baptizatus. eo quod illo facto
aquam ordinauit ad hoc vt esset materia sacramenti baptismatis.”
38. Thomas M. Izbicki, “Baptism, Confirmation and the Eucharist,” in The Cambridge
History of Medieval Canon Law, ed. Anders Winroth and John Wei (forthcoming).
39. The Sentences, trans. Silano, 136–38. Florez, Penitencia y unción de los enfermos, 334.

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when discussing the questions who was the proper minister of this last
sacrament. They concluded uniformly, despite the theoretical objections
they raised, that an ordained priest was the proper minister, while a bishop
was supposed to consecrate the holy oils.40 Although anointing by lay
person had long ago ceased, this issue of sacramental ministry was serious
enough to be treated methodically by more than one theologian. In addition, ministry to the sick by religious was prohibited in canon law. A decree
of the First Lateran Council (1122 AD) forbade abbots and monks from
visiting the sick and anointing them. Coupled with the council’s prohibition of celebrating public masses and imposing penances, it is likely that
monks had been ministering to the faithful in ways the secular clergy
believed were theirs alone.41 This canon entered Gratian’s Decretum, as the
canon Interdicimus [C. 16 q. 1 c. 10].42
Among the theoretical objections presented by theologians to the
priestly role in the administration of Extreme Unction, the anointing role
of Geneviève was treated most often. With Geneviève, the Parisian commentators intended to explain away not just the healing role of a saint as
not sacramental, but the fact that she was a woman and thus not eligible
for priestly orders.43 Although this objection was no longer of practical
importance, it allowed theologians to defend the priestly role in the administration of Extreme Unction. Who was the very first commentator on the
Sentences to mention Saint Geneviève is unclear. Nor can we be certain on
which source Parisian theologians might have been drawing when they
mentioned her. Those writers who referred to the saint’s role in anointing
the sick were members of the orders of friars. Among them were three
towering figures in medieval theology, Albertus Magnus, Thomas Aquinas,
40. A Companion to Philosophy in the Middle Ages, ed. Jorge G. Gracia and Thomas B.
Noone (London, 2003); The Cambridge Companion to Medieval Philosophy, ed. Arthur S.
McGrade (Cambridge, 2003).
41. Conciliorum oecumenicorum generaliumque decreta, vol. 2, pt. 1, ed. Alberto Melloni
and Davide Dainese (Turnhout, Belgium, 2013), 93 (c. 16), “Interdicimus abbatibus et
monachis publicas poetitentias dare, infirmos visitare et unctiones facere et misssas publicas
cantare.” Anne J. Duggan, “Conciliar Law 1123–1215: The Legislation of the Four Lateran
Councils,” in The History of Medieval Canon Law in the Classical Period, 1140–1234: From
Gratian to the Decretals of Gregory IX, ed. Wilfried Hartmann and Kenneth Pennington
(Washington, DC, 2008), 318–66 at 326.
42. Corpus Juris Canonici, 1.763. The Ordinary Gloss on this text emphasized the role
of bishops over that of parish priests in rites forbidden to monks; see Decretum divi Gratiani
(Lyon: Ioannes Pidaeius, 1553), 721–22.
43. For a look at the history of the exclusion of women from holy orders, see Gary
Macy, The Hidden History of Women’s Ordination: Female Clergy in the Medieval West (Oxford,
2008).

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Tomb of Saint Geneviève in Eglise Saint-Étienne-du-Mont in Paris (Wikimedia
Commons)

and Bonaventure. They employed the case of Geneviève to buttress their
teachings by distinguishing spiritual healing as the primary function of
Extreme Unction from physical healing, the secondary purpose of the
sacrament, which might be affected by miracles.
Albertus may have been the first to cite Geneviève’s anointings in discussions of Extreme Unction when commenting on the Sentences, but he
did not deal with her in this context directly as a lay minister of the sacrament. Instead this Dominican pointed out in his commentary, in order to
reply to the argument, that Geneviève had used an oil which was “sanctified and blessed” to help the sick, a reference to the oil blessed by the
bishop of Paris mentioned in her legend, as evidence that she had administered the sacrament of Extreme Unction by helping body and soul. This
argument maintained that the various anointings done by Christians, especially by saints, muddled the distinction between other acts of anointing
and Extreme Unction.44 In his reply to that argument, Albertus said
44. Albertus Magnus, Scriptum super quartum sententiarum (Basel, 1506), sig. aaa [7]va,
“Adhuc vnctiones multe leguntur facte a sanctis sicut de beata Genovefa legitur quod vnxit
oleo infirmos santificato et benedicto et conualuerunt in corpore et anima: ergo videtur quod
illa fuit vnctio extrema.”

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Geneviève’s anointings for healing and those by other saints had to be distinguished properly from certain other rites, the anointing of catechumens
or of priests and kings, not because of illness but to strengthen them.45
Albertus also presented an argument that there was no proper form of
Extreme Unction because Geneviève and the saints of Egypt blessed their
own oil for use in curing the sick.46 Albertus did not at first answer this
argument in its entirety. Instead he argued that a specific form was needed
to grant grace, just as was true of the other sacraments.47 Eventually, however, he did reply that the anointings done by saints were not necessarily
spiritually effective. They did not remove “the remnants of sins” (reliquiae
peccatorum) as a sacrament did. Moreover, these acts derived their effects
from the “devotion and sanctity of the one who blessed” the oil. However,
more was needed than blessed oil, a correct form of administration was
essential to effect Extreme Unction, and such a form was not used by a
saint like Geneviève.48 Thus these saints had not administered a sacrament.
It was not, however, the only such objection Albertus raised. In his
tract on the sacraments, the friar brought forward the example of Saint
Columba, an Irish abbot but not a bishop, who distributed an oil he had
consecrated. Albertus replied by distinguishing between anointing with
Columba’s oil and the sacrament of Extreme Unction, administered with
olive oil consecrated by a bishop.49
45. Albertus Magnus, Scriptum super quartum . . . super quartum sententiarum, sig. aaa
[7]vb, “Ad hoc quod obijcitur de vnctione sanctorum sicut sancta genouefe et aliorum quorundam in uitas patrum per hoc autem quod additur ad alleuiationem vtriusque infirmitatis etc.
distinguitur ab vnctionibus puerorum in cathecismo vnctionibus aliorum qui vnguntur non
propter infirmitatem sed vt fortes sint ad opera.” Albertus, in another argument, references
the anointing of priests and kings; see ibid sig. aaa [7]va.
46. Albertus Magnus, Scriptum super quartum . . . super quartum sententiarum, sig aaa
[8]va, “Secunda autem ex hoc quod Genouefa et sancti patres in Egypto miserunt oleum a se
benedictum ad vngendum infirmos et sanabantur. Inde sic vnctio sanctorum non requirit
formam aliam quam sanctificationem materie: ergo nec vnctio extrema.”
47. Albertus Magnus, Scriptum super quartum . . . super quartum sententiarum, sig. aaa
[8]va.
48. Albertus Magnus, Scriptum super quartum . . . super quartum sententiarum, sig. [1]ra,
“Ad illud quod dicendum quod vnctiones sanctorum non certitudinaliter consequuntur suum
effectum nec sunt ad purgandas reliquias peccatorum: ideo falsum est quod substantialis actus
huius sacramenti idem sit cuum actu vnctionis que causatur ex deuotione et sanctitate benedicentis: et ideo alia forma requirit hoc sacramentum quam materie benedictionem.” Albertus
added an argument that any healing was not the effect of blessing the material, the oil,
although the proper form required a disposition created by the blessing of the oil.
49. Albertus Magnus, De sacramentis, ed. Albert Ohlmeyer, in Opera omnia 26 (Münster, 1958), 133–34.

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Bonaventure, a Franciscan and a younger contemporary of Albertus,
raised the question of Geneviève’s ability to anoint and heal when commenting on Book IV of the Sentences. This text discusses the sacramental role of
lay persons in general, saying, for the sake of argument, that they could act
when no priest was available. Bonaventure added an argument that
Geneviève had been able to anoint and heal. This, he argued in order to
refute it, meant that holy persons could administer the sacrament of Extreme
Unction.50 Bonaventure said, in reply, that the devotion of a holy lay person
might make up for the absence of a priest in physical healing. Addressing the
role of Geneviève, he said that, just as some might absolve by his or her
merits and others ex officio, holy persons accomplishing by their merits what
others, priests, did ex officio, this was to be understood about anointing.51
This argument allowed Bonaventure to give the saint her due respect while
allowing priests to remain the only true ministers of the sacrament proper.
A more direct argument about the proper minister of Extreme Unction was offered by Thomas Aquinas, who had studied with Albertus in
Paris. His commentary on the fourth book of the Sentences includes, at
Distinction 23, a question: Whether a lay person could confer this sacrament? The Angelic Doctor presented two theoretical arguments in favor of
the proposition. The first was that the sacrament of Extreme Unction was
efficacious through prayer (ex oratione). The prayer of a lay person could be
as acceptable to God as that of a priest in this context. The second argument was more historical. The Desert Fathers of Egypt had sent oil to the
sick, and the recipients of this gift were cured. He added the following:
And similarly, it is said of Blessed Geneviève that she anointed the sick
with oil.

50. Bonaventura, Commentaria in quatuor libros sententiarum magistri Petri Lombardi:
vol. 4: In quartum librum sententiarum in Doctoris Seraphici S. Bonaventurae . . . Opera Omnia,
vol. 4 (Quaracchi, 1889), 596, “5. Item, quod ita debet esse, videtur: quia illud est Sacramentum eorum qui sunt in extremo mortis articulo; sed talibus frequenter non potest subveniri per
sacerdotem: ergo videtur, quod saltem per laicum eis subveniri possit. 6. Item, hoc ostenditur
exemplo, quia legitur in legenda sancta Genovefae, quod ipsa inungebat oleo infirmos et curabat eos; ergo videtur, quod hoc saltem spectat ad viros sanctos.”
51. Bonaventura, Commentaria in quatuor libros sententiarum, 597, “5. Ad illud quod
obicitur de extremo mortis articulo, dicendum, quod devotio potest supplere absentiam sacerdotis; et ideo non est necesse omnibus committi, maxime cum sacerdos satis de facili potest
adesse, nisi absit propter negligentiam infirmi. 6. Ad illud quod obicitur de sancta Genovefa,
dicendum, quod, sicut supra habitum est, quod quidam absolvunt merito, quidam ex officio; sic
intelligendum est in proposito. Unde sicut ad solos sacerdotes pertinet absolvere, tamen viri
sancti frequenter impetrant vitae merito quod aliis faciunt ex officio; sic in unctione intelligendum est.”

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Thomas expected his readers to know that this anointing physically cured
the sick. The contrary argument was that Extreme Unction was involved in
the forgiveness of sins, a power which lay persons lacked.52 Thomas backed
this argument, when replying to the question about administering Extreme
Unction, that hierarchic acts like this were received by the laity but not
administered by them. He allowed only one exception, baptism by a lay
person in a case of necessity (in casu necessitatis). Everyone had the “faculty”
of spiritual regeneration to use in an emergency. His reply to the first argument on behalf of the laity that it was based on a distinction between private and public prayer. A priest might not be as worthy as a lay person in
private prayer, but his public prayer was offered “in the person of the whole
church” (in persona totius Ecclesiae). No lay person could offer such public
prayers. The second argument was dismissed because these anointings were
not sacramental. They were effective on account of the devotion of the
recipients and the merits of those who anointed or sent oil for anointing.
However, any healing achieved “by the grace of healing” was not the result
of sacramental grace.53
Thomas died while still composing the third part of his Summa theologiae, which stops in the midst of the discussion of penance. At some time
after the saint’s death, a Supplement was added to the Summa, drawing texts
from his commentary on the Sentences. The discussion of the proper minister for Extreme Unction appears in question 31 of this Supplement. The
argument that Saint Geneviève and other holy lay persons “procured the
effects of bodily health, through the grace of healing (1 Cor. 12:9)” is
repeated verbatim at that location.54
A Dominican contemporary of Saint Thomas, Petrus de Tarantasio,
the future Pope Innocent V, tackled the same issues in the light of the pre52. S. Tommaso d’Aquino, Commento alle sentenze di Pietro Lombardo e testo integrale di
Pietro Lombardo, Libro quarto: Distinzioni 14–23, La Penitenza, l’Unzione degli infermi, trans.
Roberto Coggi (Bologna, 1996), 982, “2. Praeterea, de quibusdam patribus in aegypto legitur,
quod oleum ad infirmos transmittebant et sanabuntur, et similiter dicitur de beata Genovefa
quod oleo infirmos ungebant. . . . Sed laici non habent potestatem dimittendi peccata.” The
translation above is mine.
53. Tommaso d’Aquino, Commento alle sentenze, 984, “Ad secundum dicendum, quod
illae unctiones non errant sacramentales, sed ex quadam devotione recipientium talem unctionem, et meritis ungentium vel oleum mittentium consequebatur effectus sanitatis corporalis per gratiam sanitatum, non per gratiam sacramentalem.”
54. The Latin appears in the Leonine edition of the Summa; see Supplementum tertiae
partis in Opera omnia 12 (Rome, 1906), 58B–59A. For the English translation, see Thomas
Aquinas, Summa theologica, vol. 5 (Notre Dame, IN, 1981), 2661–62.

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vious writings by Thomas Aquinas and Bonaventure.55 His commentary on
the Sentences too raised the question whether a good lay person could
administer the sacrament of Extreme Unction. Petrus also left room for
examples of physical healing by holy women, especially the anointings
done by Saint Geneviève, before moving to answer his own arguments.56
The friar replied with the distinction, also used by Aquinas, between the
worthy prayer of a private lay person and the public role of a priest. Citing
the healing role of Geneviève, the friar distinguished between the sacrament administered by a priest and “miraculous healing” by a saint.57
This argument about Saint Geneviève appeared in a slightly different
form in the commentary on the Sentences by Petrus de Palude, a fourteenth-century Dominican. Petrus asked whether a priest, meaning a
simple priest and not a bishop, was the minister of Extreme Unction.
Among the points he raised was that Saint Geneviève healed the sick with
oil she sent to them although she, as a holy woman, was not capable of
receiving holy orders.58 This commentary argued that not even the pope
could grant the ability to administer the sacrament to anyone not a priest.59
The only sacrament a lay person could administer, however, was baptism,
which imposes its character on the soul.60
Richard of Middleton, a Franciscan who commented on the Sentences
late in the thirteenth century, also addressed the healing role of Saint
Geneviève. Here too we find the argument that the prayer of a private
55. Kent Emery Jr., “The ‘Sentences’ Abbreviation of William de Rothwell”, Recherches
de Théologie ancienne et médiévale 51 (1984), 69–135 at 79.
56. Innocentii Qvinti Pontificis maximi . . . in IV Libros Sententiarum commentaria, 4 vols.
(Toulouse, 1649-52; Ridegwood, NJ, 1964), vol. 4, 254A, “Ad primum sic proceditur, Videtur quòd possit conferri ab alio, quàm à presbytero. 1. Quia huius sacramenti efficacia in oratione consistit: sed efficacior est oratio boni laici, quàm mali presbyteri: ergo magis debet à
bono laico, quàm malo presbytero conferri. 2. De sancta Genouefa legitur quod oleo infirmos
inungebat & sanabuntur: ergo etiam à mulieribus sanctis hoc sacramentum potest tradi.”
57. loc. cit., “Ad 1. de oratione. Resp. oratio quaedam est priuata, quaedam publica, quae
sit quasi in persona Ecclesiae. Prima plus valet in bono laico: secunda plus in malo presbytero:
quia competit ei ex officio, licet non ex vitae merito. Ad 2. de sancta Genouefa. Resp. inunctio
illa non erat sacramentalis, sed miraculosa.” The abbreviation of this commentary by William de
Rothwell simply says priests, but not lay persons, are ministers of the sacraments; see Excerptum
super quatuor libros sententiarum, University of Pennsylvania MS Codex 686, fol. 122va.
58. Petrus de Palude, Scriptum in quartum sententiarum (Venice, 1493), fol. 121ra, “Et
videtur quod sic quia sancta Genovefa oleo sancto misso ad infirmos sanabat eosque ratione
sexus non erat capax ordinis quamvis sancta. . . .”
59. loc.cit., “nec papa posset committere non sacerdoti iniungere. . . .”
60. loc.cit., “Tertia conclusio est quod laicus in nulla necessitate potest quia solum
sacramentum quod est necessitate vt baptismus potest ministrare et nullum aliud.”

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person might be better than that of a bad priest. The prayers accompanying
anointing were in the deprecative or begging mode, making the effect more
dependent on the worth of the person praying, including a good lay
person.61 Like other theologians, Richard, after raising the question of
administration of the sacrament by a woman, replied that no lay person,
not even a saint like Geneviève, could perform most of the sacraments.62
The friar also argued that a priest’s prayers were more efficacious in administering a sacrament because they were offered on behalf of the whole
Church with its collective merits. In addition, Extreme Unction was a penitential sacrament, and the administration of the sacrament was a priest’s
function “since penance is public.”63
Richard of Middleton’s discussion of Geneviève was transmitted
widely in England via a fourteenth-century pastoral manual, the Pupilla
oculi. Although it was loosely based on the Oculus sacerdotis of William of
Pagula, its author, Johannes de Burgo, added theological content derived
from writers like Thomas Aquinas, Duns Scotus, and Richard of Middleton. Discussing Extreme Unction, Johannes, following Scotus, said that
the reference to presbyters anointing a sick person and offering prayers in
the Epistle of James showed that the sacrament’s minister had to be a
priest. Administration by a lay person would have no effect, just as nothing
would happen if a member of the laity attempted to consecrate the
Eucharist.64 The Pupilla then adds, citing Richard, that what is read of

61. Richard of Middleton, Scriptum super quarto sententiarum, sig. n 3vb: “[S]ecundo
queritur vtrum possit conferri a non presbytero. Et videtur quod sic. quia melior est oratio boni
laici quam mali sacerdotis. Sed hoc sacramentum efficaciam habet ex oratione. Unde forma
eius est deprecatiua. ergo magis potest conferri a bono laico quam a sacerdote minus bono.”
62. Richard of Middleton, Scriptum super quarto sententiarum, sig. n 3vb–4ra, “Respondeo quod hoc sacramentum conferri non potest a non presbyteris. Soli enim presbyteri propter
sacrorum ecclesiasticorum dignitatem constitute sunt administratores eorum. Unde illud quod
legitur de sancta Genouefa quod oleo vngebat infirmos et sanabuntur miraculum fuit non
sacramentale.”
63. Richard of Middleton, Scriptum super quarto sententiarum, sig. n 4ra, “Ad primum
in oppositum dicendum quod quamuis priuata oratio sacerdotis minus boni non sit ita efficax
sicut oratio laici melioris. Tamen oratio eius persona est publica est efficacior. quia efficaciam
habet ex vi meriti totius ecclesie. oratio autem inquantum est forma huius sacramenti conuenit
presbytero inquantum penitentia publica est.”
64. Johannes de Burgo, Pupilla oculi, University of Pennsylvania MS Codex 75, fol.
104va, “Minister conueniens huius sacramenti est sacerdos non solum qui licite exercet huius
sacramenti ministerium sed qui solus ministrare potest. Ita quod si alius non sacerdos attemptaret, nihil faceret sicut sacerdos attemptaret conficere nihil faceret, unde Iacobi 5to[:14],
Inducant sacerdotes etc. ubi ponitur ministri determinacio secundum Scotum.” Cf. Scotus
super quarto sententiarum (Venice, 1505), fol. 96vb.

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Saint Geneviève anointing and healing pertains to miracles, not to the
sacrament of Extreme Unction.65
The distinction between individual sanctity, whether of a holy man
like Columba or a holy woman like Geneviève, and the role of a priest was
firmly established in the thirteenth and fourteenth century Scholastic theology. Even writers on the Sentences who made no reference to individual
saints knew and used it. Thus, Hannibaldus de Hannibaldis, a student of
Thomas Aquinas, said that the prayers of a good lay person might be as
well received by God as those of a sinful priest; but the priest prayed on
behalf of the whole Church when administering Extreme Unction. This
meant that the lay person was not administering the sacrament, even
though praying for a sick person.66 Likewise Durandus de Sancto Porciano, an early fourteenth-century Dominican, made much the same
argument. A bad priest could offer public prayers on behalf of all because
of the merits of the whole Church (meritis ecclesiae).67 Likewise the
Augustinian theologian Thomas of Strasbourg, also writing in the fourteenth century, drew this distinction. A bad priest’s prayers when administering a sacrament were efficacious ex officio.68 This line of argument,
answering any claim of the laity to sacramental functions, was all the more
desirable when confronting the case of Saint Geneviève, an undoubted
holy woman who anointed and healed but was regarded as incapable of
receiving the sacramental character of holy orders. Thus, the working of
miracles by a female saint could be accepted as long as she was not misunderstood to have a status like that of an ordained priest or even of a con65. Johannes de Burgo, Pupilla oculi, loc. cit., “Unde quod legitur de sancta Genouefa
quod ungebat oleo infirmos et sanabantur ad miraculum pertinuit non ad sacramentum,
secundum Ric. D. 23.” Johannes adds that this role belonged to the simple priests because
bishops were too busy to administer this sacrament to all their subjects.
66. Hannibaldus de Hannibaldis, Diui Thomae Aquinatis ordinis praedicatorum, doctoris
angelici, secundum scriptum appellatum, super quatuor libros Sententiarum ad Hannibaldensem S.
R. E. cardinalem. . . (Paris, 1574), fol. 519r, “Ad primum, oratio laici, dicendum quod verum
est loquendo de illa oratione quae fit a sacerdote persona sua, quae cum sacerdos sit quandoque
peccator, non est exaudibilis. Sed huius sacramenti oratio fit in persona totius ecclesiae, in cuius
persona sacerdos orare potest quasi persona publica, non autem laicus, qui est persona priuata.”
Hannibaldus also denied (loc. cit.) that a deacon could confer the grace of this sacrament.
67. D. Durandi a Sancto Porciano super sententias theologiae Petri Lombardi commentariorum libri quatuor. . . (Paris, 1550), fol. 310ra, “Ad 1: Dicendum quòd oratio priuata innitur
meritis personae, & melior est si fiat à bono laico, quàm si si fiat à malo sacerdote, sed oratio
publica quae fit à ministro ecclesiae, & innitur communibus meritis ecclesiae melior est quàm
oratio priuata cuiuslibet personae, dato quòd minister sit malus in se.”
68. Thomas of Strassburg, Commentaria in IIII libros sententiarum (Venice, 1564;
Ridgewood, NJ, 1965), fol. 253rb.

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secrated bishop. Perhaps prevalence of this widely-known line of argument, or a shift away from pastoral issues in Sentences commentaries,69
explains the disappearance of Geneviève from most later theological texts
until the sixteenth century.
The argument about cures outside the sacrament was revived briefly in
the sixteenth century. Domingo de Soto, a Salamanca Dominican theologian, discussed healing by saints outside the sacrament. His commentary
on the Sentences of Peter Lombard, drawing on the works of Thomas
Aquinas, treated Extreme Unction as a hierarchic act (actus hierarchicus)
not permitted to the laity.70 Soto revived the argument that the Egyptian
fathers and Saint Geneviève had anointed and cured the sick. He said in
reply that these acts were not sacramental.71 Robert Bellarmine later summarized Soto’s opinion on the proper minister of Extreme Unction in his
Controversiae.72 He also mentioned anointings by saints like Martin of
Tours, saying some saints noticed healings of recipients of Extreme Unction and consequently attempted cure of the sick with oil they had blessed
themselves with the sign of the cross.73
Although theoretical discussion of the minister of Extreme Unction
resumed briefly in the time of Domingo de Soto, the question was settled
for all practical purposes by the Council of Trent.74 In its first period, the
council reaffirmed the seven sacraments in the face of the Reformers, who
only accepted two (baptism and the Eucharist) or three (including
penance). A decree, issued at Session VII (March 3, 1547), discussed
sacraments in genere. The council’s aim was:
69. The printed commentary by Harvaeus Natalis, for example, ends abruptly during
his discussion of the sacrament of penance; see Hervei Natalis . . . in quatuor libros sententiarum
commentaria. . . (Paris, 1647; Farnborough, 1966), 361B.
70. Domingo de Soto, Commentariorum Fratris Dominici Soto . . . in quartum Sententiarum liber primus (Salamanca, 1557), 1052A, accessed via Hathi Trust, October 29, 2016.
71. Dominici Soto . . . in quartum Sententiarum liber primus, 1053B, “neque verò divus
Thomas in praesentiarum hoc siluit: refert enim morem sanctorum patrum in Aegypto , qui
oleum ad infirmos transmittebant, & sanabantur. Et beata quoque Genouefa olei vnctione
infirmus salutem restituebat, quae quidem vnctiones non errant sacramenta.”
72. De controversiis christianae fidei adversus hujus temporis haereticos tomus tertius in
Roberti Cardinalis Bellarmini opera omnia. . . , 5 vols. in 4 (Naples, 1856–62), vol. 3, 760B.
73. De controversiis christianae fidei adversus hujus temporis haereticos tomus tertius, 758B759A at 759A “Sed nos contrario modo conjicimus factum esse progressum istum olei, nimirum
ex eo, quod in sacramento extremae Unctionis saepe accidebat, ut homines curarentur, inde coeperunt quidem viri sancti etiam extra sacramentum uti oleo, non quidem ab episcopo benedicto
ad usum sacramenti, sed simpliciter signo crucis ab ipsis sanctificato, ad curandos morbos.”
74. The treatment of Extreme Unction at Trent is outlined in André Duval, Des sacraments au Concile de Trente (Paris, 1985), 223–79.

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. . . the removal of errors and the rooting out of heresies, which have
arisen at the present time concerning the most holy sacraments. . . .75

Extreme Unction was listed as the fifth of seven sacraments. Only baptism,
confirmation and holy orders, each of which imprinted a character on the
soul, could not be repeated, while the others could be. The decree declared
those who rejected this teaching anathema.76
The council began discussing Extreme Unction in 1547, resuming in
the second period, 1551–52. The fathers’ attention was focused on Protestant errors. Martin Luther had said Extreme Unction was a human creation or only a rite accepted by the apostles. The Roman church did not
follow Mark’s gospel or James, he said, producing a rite which was not a
sacrament (hoc nihil est). Philip Melanchthon had said that the elders of the
people, not priests, had done anointing in the time of James. This was the
first direct challenge to priestly ministry of the sacrament.77
In this context, the theoretical case of Geneviève largely ceased to
matter to theologians. However, the fathers engaged in lively debates
behind the scenes. They strove to refute Protestant errors about the sacrament with references to the Bible, the Fathers, and the general councils.
They also based themselves on accepted medieval thought and practice,
saying olive oil was used primarily to heal the soul, secondarily the body.
However, an argument arose among them over the use of the term extrema.
Some, considering the possibility that the primitive Church had anointed
75. Translation in Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, vol. 2: Trent to Vatican II, ed.
Norman P. Tanner (Washington, DC, 1990), 684. For the Latin text, see Conciliorum Oecumenicorum Generaliumque Decreta, vol. 3, ed. Alberto Melloni and Davide Dainese (Turnhout, Belgium, 2010), 40 [hereafter COGD]. On the periods of the council, see John W.
O’Malley, Trent: What Happened at the Council (Cambridge, MA, 2013), 279–82.
76. Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, vol. 2, 685; COGD, vol. 3, 40, 41. The seven
sacraments had previously been listed in the Decree of Union with the Armenians, promulgated in Session VII of the Council of Florence on November 22, 1439; see COGD, vol. 2,
pt. 2 (Turnhout, 2013), 1237. The Council of Trent’s symbolum also listed seven sacraments;
see Bernardus Leurent, “Le magistere et le mot ‘extreme-onction’ depuis le Concile de
Trente,” in Problemi scelti di teologia contemporanea (Rome, 1954), 219–32 at 226–27.
77. Concilium Tridentinum, diariorum, actorum, epistolarum, tractatuum nova collectio, ed.
Görres Gesellschaft, vol. 6 (Freiburg in Breisgau: Herder, 1954), 96–97, 99–123, ibid vol. 7,
pt. 1 (Freiburg in Breisgau, 1961), 239–40, 241–87, accessed online, February 7, 2017. For
the condemned articles and related canons, see ibid, vol. 7, 292–325, 330–40. Luther attributed the rite’s effect to the faith of the recipient, divorcing the letter of James from the institution of a sacrament; see Cuschieri, Anointing of the Sick, 34. The Servite Hieronymus of
Bologna replied that denying Extreme Unction was a sacrament made Christ a liar; see Concilium Tridentinum, vol. 6, 103.

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the sick and not just those facing death, recommended using the terms
unctio exeuntium and unctio infirmorum. Others noted, however, that the
Council of Florence used the words unctio extrema in the decree of union
with the Armenians. In the end, the council retained the established terminology, thus neither contradicting their decree on the sacraments in
genere nor agreeing with the Protestants.78
The decrees on penance and Extreme Unction were approved at Session XIV on November 25, 1551. The council described Extreme Unction
as “the final complement not only of penance but also of the whole Christian life, which ought to be an ever-continuing penance.”79 The last sacrament was to fortify seriously ailing or dying believers, keeping the devil
from shaking confidence in God’s mercy.80 The sacrament was described
as instituted by Christ but promulgated by James. The matter was oil
blessed by a bishop, and the form was in the words, “By this anointing
etc.,” which were used in the rite to take away sins. The council sided with
the Dominican belief that Extreme Unction took away “the remains of
sin” (reliquiae peccati).81
The theologians and prelates reaffirmed in their debates the role of the
priest as the minister of Extreme Unction, phrasing their decree accordingly. The letter of James was quoted as proving that a presbyter should
anoint, since this word meant “either bishops or duly ordained priests.”82
78. Concilium Tridentinum, diariorum, actorum, epistolarum, tractatuum nova collectio, ed.
Görres Gesellschaft, vol. 1 (Freiburg in Breisgau, 1963), 679–81, ibid, vol. 6, 311–13, 314–
18, 328–30, 340–41, 354. One prelate said the council should add a canon affirming the
bishop as maker of the sacrament and the priest as minister, but the council refused, see ibid,
vol. 6, 316, 320. Some theologians and bishops said the apostles already were priests when
they did the anointings mentioned by Mark, see ibid, vol. 6, 314, vol. 7, 256–57, 260–61, 281,
310–11. Leurent, “Le magistere et le mot ‘extreme-onction,’” 219–26. An objection advanced
to the term Extreme Unction was that it was a vocabulum novum; see Rouillard, “The Anointing of the Sick in the West,” 176.
79. Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, vol. 2, 710; COGD, vol. 3, 70, “de sacramento
extremae unctionis, quod non modo poentitentiae, sed et totius christianae vitae, quae perpetua poenitentia esse debet, comsummativam existematum est a patribus.” Larrabe, La iglesia
y el sacramento de la unción de los enfermos, 87–99.
80. Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, vol. 2, 710; COGD, vol. 3, 70–71.
81. Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, vol. 2, 710; COGD, vol. 3, 71. Two bishops
affirmed both effects of the sacrament, see Concilium Tridentinum, vol. 6, 317, 329.
82. Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, vol. 2, 710-11; COGD, vol. 3, 71–72, “Iam vero,
quod attinet ad praescriptionem eorum, qui et suscipere et ministrare hoc sacramentum
debent, haud obscure, fuit illud etiam in verbis predictis traditum. Nam et ostenditur illic,
proprios huius sacramenti ministros esse ecclesiae presbyteros quo nomine eo loco non aetate
seniores aut primores in populo intelligendi veniunt, sed aut episcopi aut sacerdotes ab ipsis

THOMAS M. IZBICKI

413

The text argues, against the Protestants, that the rite did not die out with
the primitive Church, nor was it a “human fabrication.” The Roman church
provided the substance of the sacrament as instructed by James. Anyone
who dissented from this teaching was insulting the Holy Spirit and “condemned under anathema.”83 Trent added canons condemning those who
denied that the sacrament was instituted by Christ, promulgated by James
and observed by the Roman church. These canons also condemned those
who denied the good effects, spiritual and corporal, of the rite and those
who argued that the elders, not ordained priests and bishops, were the
proper ministers of Extreme Unction.84
This teaching remained in force long thereafter, being supported by
theology and law, and affirmed in the Catechism of the Council of Trent.85
The papacy long retained the established name for the sacrament, including in the 1917 Codex Iuris Canonici.86 A change in official terminology for
the sacrament occurred only in the mid twentieth century, starting with
Pius XII, whose encyclical Mystici corporis used the term sacram infirmorum
unctionem. The Second Vatican Council, in Lumen gentium, then shifted
the emphasis from danger of death to illness in general, referring to the
sacrament as Anointing of the Sick (infirmorum unctio). The council reaffirmed the spiritual impact of the rite and the role of presbyters, commending ailing persons to Christ, as the appropriate ministers.87 Recently suggestions have been made that deacons, religious sisters or lay chaplains

rite ordinati per imposition manuum presbyteri.” Cuscieri, Anointing of the Sick, 113–14.
Thomas de Samarino, a Servite, distinguished between the priest and the human physician
in anointing, see Concilium Tridentinum, vol. 6, 108, “et apostoli non civiliter ut medici
humani, sed sacramentalliter ungebat, ut patet ex verbis Iacobi, quod, antequam ungerent,
orabant.”
83. Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, vol. 2, 711; COGD, vol. 3, 72. Concilium Tridentinum, vol. 6, 128, ibid, vol. 7, 292–325, 355–57.
84. Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, vol. 2, 713; COGD, vol. 3, 75. Cuschieri, Anointing
of the Sick, 57–61. For early drafts of these canons, see Concilium Tridentinum, vol. 6, 128, 309.
85. Catechismus concilii Tridentini. . . (Paris, 1831), 251–59. The priest is affirmed to be
the minister at ibid, 257.
86. The fathers at Trent also discussed the term oleum infirmorum; see Concilium Tridentinum, vol. 6, 3 5-17, 329. Leurent, “Le magistere et le mot ‘extreme-onction,’” 222, 229
87. Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, vol. 2, 857; COGD, vol. 3, 305. The council also
ordered a new rite for ministry to the sick and revisions to the practice of anointing; see
Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, vol. 2, 834; COGD, vol. 3, 276. Florez, Penitencia y unción
de los enfermos, 337–40, 345–46. On subsequent developments, see Cuschieri, Anointing of the
Sick, 74–76, 85–89, 100–06, 113–14, 121–25, 128–129, 138, 141–44; Florez, Penitencia y
unción de los enfermos, 346-51; Larrabe, La iglesia y el sacramento de la unción de los enfermos,
103–13, 115–61, 163–67.

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SAINT GENEVIÈVE AND THE ANOINTING OF THE SICK

might anoint the sick because of the shortage of priests.88 However, the
case of Geneviève, theoretical as it was, no longer matters in this context.
It had helped the Scholastics clarify the distinction between sacramental
and miraculous healing, between saintly healers and ordained ministers, a
theology reaffirmed at Trent and long enduring.

88. Rouillard, “The Anointing of the Sick in the West,” 186.

Lateran IV’s Decree on Confession,
Gratian’s De Penitentia,
Confession to One’s Sacerdos Proprius:
A Re-Evaluation of Omnis Utriusque in
Its Canonistic Context
ATRIA A. LARSON*
Omnis utriusque, c.21 of the Fourth Lateran Council (1215), is often
mentioned for its command to all Christians to confess annually. Scholars often refer to the decree when discussing late medieval confession;
some have searched in vain for precise conciliar precedents; they have
not yet situated it in its canonistic context. This essay examines various
aspects of the constitution to understand its connections to twelfth-century academic discussions and above all to Gratian’s De penitentia. It
also examines how canonists over the next decade or more understood
the constitution. This study concludes that, for canon law and for the
incorporation of new clerical orders, Omnis utriusque was equally, if
not more important for what it stipulated about confession to one’s sacerdos proprius than for its prescription of annual confession.
Keywords: penance, confession, Fourth Lateran Council, Gratian,
canon law

T

he degree of the novelty of Omnis utriusque sexus, c.21 of the Fourth
Lateran Council, has long been on scholars’ minds. Certainly none of
the major papal councils of the previous century had legislated anything
quite like it. Scholars usually refer to the constitution in terms of its first
requirement, that of once-yearly confession by all the faithful, of both sexes
and of any age after the age of discretion. Martin Ohst demonstrated that
perceived precedents for a requirement for annual confession in the ninth
through twelfth centuries were hardly equivalent. They consisted of admo-

* Dr. Larson is visiting assistant professor, Department of Theological Studies, Saint
Louis University. An earlier version of this paper was given at two conferences in November
2015, the first on confession at Saint Petersburg State University, Russia, and the second in
Rome commemorating the Fourth Lateran Council.

415

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A RE-EVALUATION OF OMNIS UTRIUSQUE

nitions to confess when one felt burdened by sin and were usually directed
at a specific audience, such as canons regular in a context influenced by the
Benedictine regulation to confess to one’s superior; others were focused on
taking communion; none put forward a punishment for failure to confess at
a regular frequency.1 Meanwhile, scholars such as Rob Meens have emphasized that Carolingian councils had a different preoccupation in their
decrees about penance. Carolingian prelates were far more concerned about
the authority of the texts used for penance and the uniformity of penitential
practice than the frequency of its performance.2 Leaving aside the requirement for annual confession, scholars have pointed to precedents for other
key aspects of the constitution. Michele Maccarrone followed John Baldwin’s work on Peter the Chanter and his circle to locate many of the stipulations in Parisian theology at the end of the twelfth century. After editing
Alan of Lille’s penitential, Jean Longère asserted that Omnis utriusque
derived from it.3 The theories of Baldwin, Maccarrone, and Longère are not
incorrect, simply incomplete. They do not take into account the root of
many of the elements of Omnis utriusque in the penitential work that served
in many respects as the ultimate basis of Peter the Chanter’s and Alan of
Lille’s work on penance, namely Gratian’s Tractatus de penitentia, set within
C.33 q.3 of the Decretum and thus known to anyone of a high level of education in the second half of the twelfth century.
The degree of the importance of Gratian’s De penitentia for Omnis
utriusque and the contemporary understanding of Omnis utriusque achieve
some clarity when the constitution itself and canonistic commentary on it
are read and appreciated in their entirety, that is to say, when one looks at
1. Martin Ohst, Pflictbeichte: Untersuchungen zum Bußwesen im Hohen und Späten Mittelalter, Beiträge zur historischen Theologie 89 (Tübingen, 1995), 14–32.
2. Rob Meens, “The Frequency and Nature of Early Medieval Penance,” in Handling
Sin: Confession in the Middle Ages, ed. Peter Biller and A. J. Minnis, York Studies in Medieval
Theology 2 (York, 1998), 37; in idem, Penance in Medieval Europe, 600–1200 (Cambridge,
2014), 111, 115–18. Meens makes the same point but notes some regional variety in the
approach to penitential handbooks at local councils.
3. Michele Maccaronne, “Cura animarum e parochialis sacerdos nelle costituzioni del IV
concilio lateranense (1215): Applicazioni in Italia nel sec. XIII,” in idem, Nuovi studi su Innocenzo III, ed. Roberto Lambertini, Istituto Storico Italiano per il Medio Evo, Nuovi Studi
Storici 25 (Rome, 1995), 337, with reference to John Baldwin, Masters, Princes, and Merchants: The Social Views of Peter the Chanter and His Circle (Princeton: Princeton University
Press, 1970), 1.53; Jean Longère, “Introduction doctrinale et littéraire,” in Alan of Lille, Liber
poenitentialis, ed. Jean Longère, Analecta mediaevalia Namercensia 17–18 (Louvain, 1965),
1.225–30. Other scholars have found the latter argument persuasive; see Nicole Bériou,
“Autour de Latran IV: la naissance de la confession moderne et sa diffusion,” in Pratiques de
la confession: Des pères du désert à Vatican II (Paris, 1983), 81.

ATRIA A. LARSON

417

more than the initial requirement for annual confession. The constitution
included several key points that are worth highlighting. Some of these
points find an echo in earlier writings and decretals of Innocent III; some
can be traced directly to Gratian’s De penitentia. The elements originating
in De penitentia had received detailed treatment in intellectual circles leading up to Lateran IV. It should come as no surprise, then, that immediate
canonistic commentary on Omnis utriusque recognized that Gratian’s De
penitentia stood behind much of it, even while canonists raised other issues
unrelated to De penitentia but situated within the growing canonical
jurisprudence of the age. For these contemporary canonists and for those
writing influential penitential summae ten-to-fifteen years later, the most
important point of Omnis utriusque jurisprudentially was not its insistence
on annual confession but rather on what it had to say about seeking permission not to confess to one’s sacerdos proprius, or one’s own priest. That
point as expressed in a general conciliar decree had to be incorporated into
the jurisprudence on penance and confession that had emerged out of Gratian’s still highly influential De penitentia.
Omnis utriusque and Its Relationship to Innocent III’s Earlier Work
and to Gratian
The first half of Omnis utriusque commands confession at least once a
year and participation in communion at least at Easter; it provides a stringent punishment for failure to do so and orders frequent public reminders
so that no one can use ignorance of the law as an excuse. It reads,
All of the faithful, of both sexes, after the age of discretion, are, on their
own, to confess all their sins faithfully, at least once a year, to their own
priest and to carry out the penance enjoined on them as strength allows,
reverently receiving the sacrament of the Eucharist at least at Easter,
unless they happen to be directed to abstain from receiving it for the time
being by counsel of their own priest for some rational reason. If someone
does not do this, he is to be barred from entering a church in life and is
to lack Christian burial in death. For this reason let this salutary statute
be made public frequently in the churches, lest anyone presume to make
an excuse on the basis of blind ignorance.4

4. Lateran IV c.21, in The General Councils of Latin Christendom: From Constantinople IV
to Pavia-Siena (869–1424), ed. A. García y García et al., Corpus Christianorum, Conciliorum Oecumenicorum Generaliumque Decreta 2.1 (Turnhout, 2013), 178: “Omnis utriusque
sexus fidelis, postquam ad annos discretionis pervenerit, omnia sua solus peccata confiteatur
fideliter, saltem semel in anno, proprio sacerdoti, et iniunctam sibi penitentiam studeat pro
viribus adimplere, suscipiens reverenter ad minus in pascha eucharistie sacramentum, nisi

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A RE-EVALUATION OF OMNIS UTRIUSQUE

None of this seems to have direct precedent in Innocent’s earlier treatises,
decretals, or earlier conciliar decrees. 5 Very little of it finds direct resonance in Gratian’s De penitentia. The three notable exceptions are Innocent’s insistence that everyone, on his own (solus), confess all his sins, that
he do so to his own priest, and that he do so faithfully. These points, easily
glossed over, were in fact central to Gratian’s discussion of penance, in
large part through his quoting from Pseudo-Augustine’s De vera et falsa
penitentia, and the later academic reflection on it. In De penitentia D.1 c.88
(with some repetition at D.6 c.1), Pseudo-Augustine noted that a penitent
was to confess entirely (omnino), and this involved a person confessing his
own life in person (not through someone else and not in writing) to a
priest.6 The language of one’s sacerdos proprius emerged in De penitentia D.6
d.p.c.2, where Gratian reconciled the pseudo-Augustinian encouragement
to confess to the best priest possible (i.e., one who is most qualified to bind
and loose sins) with the canonical tradition of one priest not judging the
parishioner of another. Gratian made a distinction: “But it is one thing to
show contempt for one’s sacerdos proprius because of partiality or hatred,
which is prohibited by the holy canons; it is another to avoid a blind priest,
which by this authority each person is advised to do, lest, if a blind man
offer to lead the blcind, both fall into the pit.”7 Note the usage of the
Gospel imagery of blindness, which Omnis utriusque also echoed, albeit in
forte de consilio proprii sacerdotis ob aliquam rationabilem causam ad tempus ab eius perceptione duxerit abstinendum; alioquin et vivens ab ingressu ecclesie arceatur et moriens christiana careat sepultura. Unde hoc salutare statutum frequenter in ecclesiis publicetur, ne
quisquam ex ignorantie cecitate velamen excusationis assumat.” Emphasis mine. This edition
is hereafter cited as COGD. Translation mine; it differs somewhat from that in Decrees of the
Ecumenical Councils: From Nicaea I to Vatican II, 2 vols., ed. Giuseppe Alberigo, trans.
Norman P. Tanner (Washington DC, 1990).
5. Ohst, Pflichtbeichte, 47–49.
6. De pen. D.1 c.88, Gratian’s Tractatus de penitentia: A New Latin Edition with E–
nglish Translation, ed. and trans. Atria A. Larson, Studies in Medieval and Early Modern
Canon Law 13 (Washington DC, 2016), p. 80.1073–78: “Quem penitet omnino peniteat, et
dolorem lacrimis ostendat, representet uitam suam Deo per sacerdotem, preueniat iudicium
Dei per confessionem. Precepit enim Dominus mundandis, ut ostenderent ora sacerdotibus,
docens corporali presentia confitenda peccata, non per nuncium, non per scriptum manifestanda” [emphasis mine].
On De uera et falsa penitentia, see Karen Wagner, “De vera et falsa poenitentia: An Edition and Study” (Ph.D. diss., University of Toronto, 1995), with edition at 226–342. A proposal to divide the treatise into three parts written at three different stages is not entirely convincing: Alessandra Costanzo, “Una nuova datazione del De vera et falsa poenitentia,”
Christianesimo nella storia 31:3 (2010), 809–840.
7. De pen. D.6 d.p.c.2, ed. Larson, 266.99–102: “Sed aliud est fauore uel odio proprium
sacerdotem contempnere, quod sacris canonibus prohibetur; aliud cecum uitare, quod hac auctoritate quisque facere monetur, ne, si cecus ceco ducatum prestet, ambo in foueam cadant.”

ATRIA A. LARSON

419

a different way. Innocent’s usage of fideliter undoubtedly contains a multitude of connotations, but arguably an adverb is included here at all because
of the intense discussion in Gratian (and in commentary on Gratian) about
true penance or doing penance vere, a preoccupation also found in reformera conciliar legislation (under Gregory VII and Urban II, and under Innocent II at Lateran II) and in Pseudo-Augustine.8 Gratian’s discussion
explicitly compares performing true penance to approaching the baptismal
font with full faith (plena fide) and not ficte.9
The connection to the sacrament of baptism is not irrelevant. Scholars
have oft noted the tie between partaking of the Eucharist and the performance of penance, a tie that is strengthened in Omnis utriusque.10 There is,
however, an interesting text about baptism by Cyprian contained in the
Decretum’s third part, De consecratione. With traditional exegesis, the text
connects the Exodus and passing through the Red Sea to baptism and the
eating of manna from heaven to the Eucharist. The text emphasizes the
equality of the sacraments, that sacraments and spiritual grace are given
“without discrimination either of sex or of age” (sine discrimine uel sexus uel
etatis) and, again, “is shared to all equally, without variation by sex, without
discrimination of age” (equaliter omnibus diuidi, sine sexus uarietate, sine
annorum discrimine ).11 A further passage in the Decretum, a text from
Augustine and Gratian’s reflection on it, closely connects the “age of
reason” to issues of faith, repentance, and baptism, identified as “the sacrament of faith and repentance” (sacramentum fidei et penitenciae, id est . . .
baptismum). This passage makes clear that rational capacity (capax rationis)
is required for penance but not for receiving baptism.12 It is in Christian
8. Lateran II c.22 (COGD 2.111) is reproduced in R2 De penitentia at D.5 c.8. On
the Urban conciliar material, see Atria A. Larson, Master of Penance: Gratian and the Development of Penitential Thought and Law in the Twelfth Century, Studies in Medieval and Early
Modern Canon Law 11 (Washington DC, 2014), 220n34. “R2” is this author’s designation
for what is frequently referred to as the “second recension” of Gratian’s Decretum. For the
rationale behind the terminology, see Larson, “Gratian’s De penitentia in Twelfth-Century
Manuscripts,” Bulletin of Medieval Canon Law 31 (2014), 57–110, esp. 61–64. On Gregory
VII, see Sarah Hamilton, “Penance in the Age of the Gregorian Reform,” in Retribution,
Repentance, and Reconciliation, ed. K. Cooper and J. Gregory, Studies in Church History 40
(Woodbridge, 2004), 47–73.
9. See De pen. D.3 d.p.c.44 and D.4 d.p.c.7, d.p.c.8.
10. Meens, “Frequency and Nature,” 37–38.
11. De cons. D.4 c.127 (material source: Cyprianus Carthaginensis, Epistola 69, ed. G.
F. Diercks, CCSL 3C [Turnhout, 1994], par. 14.1–2). All non-De penitentia texts from Gratian’s Decretum are taken from volume one of Emil Friedberg, ed., Corpus iuris canonici, 2 vols.
(Leipzig, 1879–1881; repr. Graz, 1956).
12. Decretum C.15 q.1 c.3–d.p.c.3.

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A RE-EVALUATION OF OMNIS UTRIUSQUE

thinking about the sacraments, then, that Innocent’s specification of confession by all persons, of both sexes and of any age (once a person is old
enough to have moral discernment), is ultimately rooted.13 Therefore, as
much as I wish to emphasize the canonistic context of the constitution, I
would stress that the opening words by which this constitution has been
known for centuries—Omnis utriusque sexus—and the “age of discretion”
language bring strong sacramental overtones to the decree.
The first sentence of the decree quickly moves to the sacrament of the
Eucharist. As other scholars have pointed out, the requirement to partake
of the Eucharist once a year at Easter, with the corresponding once-yearly
confession, constituted a bare minimum requirement. Pious Christians had
always expected more frequent participation, at least three times, at Easter,
Pentecost and Christmas.14 The classic text urging this within the Decretum
is found at De consecratione D.2 c.16. Innocent himself had cited texts stipulating communion three times a year and had reflected on the historical
decreasing frequency of communion in his De mysteriis evangelicae legis et
sacramento eucharistiae.15 All in all, the council may not have officially
endorsed Peter Lombard’s views on the sacraments, but, with these various
elements at the opening of Omnis utriusque (equal frequency for confession
and communion, equal treatment for all ages and sexes, the language of
fides, identifying confession as a prerequisite for communion) and with the
mention of penance in the confession of faith next to baptism and the

13. Note that Burchard of Worms had already connected this language to penance in
his summary of Book 19 of his Decretum (c.1010), the “Corrector.” The book was to instruct
even the simplest priests how to administer penance to a wide range of people, including
people “of any age and either sex” (in omne aetate, in utroque sexus; PL 140: 542A). Burchard
was not, however, working with the express notion of the age of discretion, and his two categories of age and sex fell within a large list of various ways to identify a person (including,
for instance, wealth and education level).
14. Meens, “Frequency and Nature,” 38; Joseph Avril, “Remarques sur un aspect de la
vie paroissale: La pratique de la confession et de la commuion du Xe au XIVe siècle,” in L’encadrement religieux des fidèles au Moyen-Age et jusqu—au Concile de Trente. La paroisse—le
clergé—la pastorale—la dévotion. Actes du 109 e congrès national des sociétés savantes, Dijon, 1984.
Section d’histoire médiévale et de philologie (Paris, 1985), 1.349–50; Ohst, Pflichtbeichte, 19.
Even after Lateran IV, Christians considered annual confession a bare minimum that especially pious Christians always exceeded; see, for instance, Augustine Thompson, Cities of God:
The Religion of the Italian Communes, 1125–1325 (University Park, PA, 2005), 85.
15. De mysteriis 4.42 quotes a text from “Augustine.” In fact it derives from an excerpt
of Gennadius’s Liber sive diffinitio ecclesiasticorum dogmatum c.23 and the pseudo-Fabian text
in De cons. D.2 c.16. Innocent’s version (which also included De cons. D.2 c.10) was quoted
in Peter Lombard’s Sentences 4.12.2 and had already been included in Ivo’s Decretum 2.25, 27.
The historical reflection is found in De mysteriis 6.5 (PL 217:909B–C).

ATRIA A. LARSON

421

Eucharist in the council’s first constitution, the Fourth Lateran Council
stood in line with the theological trends of the time in bringing penance
and confession more expressly into the orb of the sacraments.
The second half of Omnis utriusque relies more heavily on De penitentia. It reads,
If anyone, however, wishes to confess his sins for just reason to another
priest, let him first seek and obtain permission from his own priest, since
otherwise the other priest will not have the power to bind or loose him.
Let the priest be discreet and careful so that, in the manner of a skilled
physician he may pour wine and oil over the wounds of the injured, diligently inquiring into the circumstances of both the sinner and the sin,
through which he might prudently understand how he ought to offer
counsel to him and what kind of remedy he ought to apply, in making
use of diverse experiments for healing the sick. Let him be cautious to the
fullest extent, lest either by word or by sign or by any other means he
somehow publicly betray the sinner. But if he is in want of more prudent
counsel, let him cautiously seek it without any utterance of the person
concerned, because we decree that he who presumes to reveal a sin
exposed in penitential judgment is not only to be deposed from the sacerdotal office but is also to be driven to do perpetual penance in a
secluded monastery.16

The directives of this section in essence repeat De penitentia D.5 and especially D.6 with papal and conciliar endorsement. D.6 c.3 noted that, under
normal circumstances (i.e., provided the priest was not an ignorant fool),
the consent of a priest was required before another priest could hear the
confession of a person entrusted to the first priest’s care. D.5 c.1 urged the
sinner to contemplate, show contrition for, and confess all the various
aspects or circumstances of his sins. D.6 c.1 urged the same thing from the
side of the confessor-priest: he was to inquire into all the circumstances of
the sinner and the sin and, only after doing this and praying for and con16. Lateran IV c.21 (COGD, 178): “Si quis autem alieno sacerdoti voluerit iusta de
causa sua confiteri peccata, licentiam prius postulet et optineat a proprio sacerdote, cum aliter
ille ipsum non possit solvere vel ligare. Sacerdos autem sit discretus et cautus, ut more periti
medici superinfundat vinum et oleum vulneribus sauciati, diligenter inquirens et peccatoris
circumstantias et peccati, per quas prudenter intelligat quale illi debeat prebere consilium et
cuiusmodi remedium adhibere, diversis experimentis utendo ad sanandum egrotum. Caveat
autem omnino ne verbo vel signo aut alio quovis modo prodat aliquatenus peccatorem, set si
prudentiori consilio indiguerit, illud absque ulla expressione persone caute requirat, quoniam
qui peccatum in penitentiali iudicio sibi detectum presumpserit revelare, non solum a sacerdotali officio deponendum decernimus, verum etiam ad agendam perpetuam penitentiam in
arctum monasterium detrudendum.”

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A RE-EVALUATION OF OMNIS UTRIUSQUE

soling the sinner, was he to impose an appropriate penance. D.6 d.p.c.1–
c.2 threatened deposition and perpetual pilgrimage on priests who broke
what later came to be called “the seal of confession.”17 Innocent III
changed the punishment, replacing pilgrimage with perpetual penance in a
secluded monastery. The latter punishment had a long history going back
to early medieval councils of the churches in Gaul and was utilized for clerics who committed the worst offenses or crimina capitalia.18 Innocent III
had himself already prescribed this punishment numerous times for
severely wayward clerics in earlier decretals, and he repeated it for simoniacal religiosi in Lateran IV c.64 Quoniam simoniaca.19
The Influence of Gratian’s De penitentia in the Second Half of the
Twelfth Century
The strong resonances of De penitentia in Omnis utriusque, and the particular points of De penitentia that do find resonance, occurred because of
the position of De penitentia in the development of penitential thought and
law in the second half of the twelfth century. It was the foundational text,
exercising influence in the classroom in Bologna and Paris, outside the
classroom in new penitential texts, and at the papal curia.20 The writings on
penance of other early and mid-twelfth century masters, such as Peter
Abelard, Hugh of St Victor, and the author of the Summa Sententiarum
were not inconsequential, and Peter Lombard was familiar with all these
works. Yet no work on penance exercised as great an influence on Peter
Lombard’s treatment of penance in book four of his Sentences as Gratian’s
De penitentia. Anyone who read the Lombard was getting a heavy dose of
Gratian, but the separate success of Gratian’s Decretum meant that academ-

17. On the seal of confession, see Bertrand Kurtscheid, A History of the Seal of Confession
(St. Louis, 1927). For a detailed discussion of De penitentia D.5 and D.6, see Larson, Master
of Penance, 204–223.
18. See Atria A. Larson, “Killing a Career: Homicide and the Development of
Medieval Clerical Discipline,” The Jurist 74 (2014), 268–70.
19. Among Innocentian decretals taken up in the Liber Extra, see X 5.27.7 (an. 1207—
sends monks to a stricter monastery for penance who communicate with excommunicated
clerics and confer benefices on them), X 5.34.10 (an. 1199—deposes clerics and sends them
to restricted monasteries for penance if they fail canonical purgation), X 5.37.6 (an. 1202—
deposes clerics convicted of great crimes, or magni sceleres, and sends them to restricted
monasteries for penance), and X 5.3.30 (sends simoniacal monks to a stricter monastery for
penance if the crime was discovered per inquisitionem), which seems to be the precursor to
Lateran IV c.64 (X 5.3.40). For the Liber Extra, see the edition in volume two of Emil Friedberg, ed., Corpus iuris canonici.
20. For detailed discussion, see Larson, Master of Penance, 315–486.

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ics and others read De penitentia independently as well. Independent usage
of Gratian’s De penitentia (not mediated through Peter Lombard’s Sentences) can be detected in Peter the Chanter’s Summa de sacramentis et
animae consiliis, Alan of Lille’s Liber poenitentialis, Bartholomew of Exeter’s
penitential, and Vacarius’s Liber contra multiplices et varios errores. Moreover,
early masters in Bologna such as Magister Rolandus utilized De penitentia
in their theological writings, other masters such as Rufinus included modest
commentaries on De penitentia in their comprehensive works on Gratian,
and Huguccio penned a massive commentary on De penitentia in the latter
stages of his composition of his Summa on the Decretum c. 1190.
Certain sections of De penitentia exercised more influence, were
repeated or quoted more often, and elicited more discussion. Given their
more practical orientation, the fifth and sixth distinctions were especially
prominent in pastoral literature. Quotations or paraphrases from the pseudoAugustinian passages excerpted by Gratian abounded, urging the faithful to
consider and grieve for the various aspects of their sins, advising confessors
to inquire into the various circumstances of sinner and sin, and advising confessors to exercise the utmost caution and discretion. Papal decretals urged
the same. Writers on penance also now always included the warning to confessors not to reveal the sins confessed to them and repeated in some form
the appropriately severe punishment for priests who dared to do so.
While such points could be repeated without much discussion, one
practical issue needed to be worked out in more detail, namely the related
issues of being required to confess to one’s sacerdos proprius, what circumstances might justify not confessing to one’s sacerdos proprius, and how one
could go about bypassing the judgment of the sacerdos proprius and submitting to the pastoral care of another priest. For instance, in his Liber poenitentialis, Alan supported the notion that a Christian, a fidelis, could seek out a
more discrete priest if his own was indiscrete or if he had received his own
priest’s permission (licentia) to do so. He also put the responsibility on priests
to be self-aware and send their parishioners to another priest if they knew
themselves to lack the requisite wisdom, knowledge, and discretion.21 He
later quoted nearly verbatim Gratian’s distinction of confessing to a different
21. Alan of Lille, Liber poenitentialis (hereafter LP) 4.14, ed. Jean Longère, Analecta
mediaevalia Namercensia, 17–18 (Louvain, 1965), 2.170–71: “Si autem parochianus sacerdotem suum scit esse indiscretum, vel si licentia ab eo data fuerit, peritiorem consulat, vel
prius sacerdoti suo confitens, consequenter ad peritiorem accedat. Discretior enim sacerdos
inquirendus est, qui sciat discernere inter peccatum et peccatum, et inter medicinam et medicinam, et inter poenitentiam et poenitentiam. Sic et sacerdos sciens se non discretum esse,
debet ad peritiorem recurrere, vel confitentem ad peritiorem mittere.”

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A RE-EVALUATION OF OMNIS UTRIUSQUE

priest because of personal prejudice versus because of the ignorance of the
sacerdos proprius (De penitentia D.3 d.p.c.2).22 Peter the Chanter asserted that
“each individual ought to confess to his own priest” but then noted that a
person is entitled to find a more skilled physician of the soul just as he is in
the case of a bodily physician. He suggested that, at least in the cases of clerics with regard to their dean, this might occur only after they confessed to
their sacerdos proprius (and presumably found him wanting) or with his permission. Peter put the bishop in charge so that, if not to his dean, a cleric in
the diocese should confess to the bishop or otherwise some other priest or
religious designated for the task by the bishop.23 Huguccio clearly wanted to
avoid sinners judging the moral worthiness of their priests. He emphasized
that people should confess to their own priests as long as they knew how to
bind and loose and were in good standing in the church (i.e., were not
heretics, schismatics, excommunicated, degraded, or deposed); he also considered exceptional circumstances, stating that a pilgrim or someone who
had received special permission (licentia) from his bishop could confess to a
priest of his choice.24 In short, the standard of confessing to one’s sacerdos
proprius pervaded discussions of penance at the end of the twelfth century on
the basis of De penitentia D.6, as did considerations of when it might be
legitimate not to confess to one’s sacerdos proprius.
The Background to Gratian’s and Lateran IV’s Mention of the
Sacerdos Proprius
If Omnis utriusque’s insistence that everyone confess to his own priest
and receive that priest’s permission to confess to another priest was rooted
primarily in Gratian’s De penitentia and commentary on it, that is not to

22. LP 4.16–17.
23. Peter the Chanter, Summa de sacramentis et animae consiliis. Secunda pars: Tractatus
de paenitentia et excommunicatione, ed. Jean-Albert Dugauguier, Analecta mediaevalia
Namurcensia 7 (Louvain, 1957), §138, 322–23.
24. Summa decretorum, ad D.6 d.a.c.1 s.v. Cui autem fieri (Vatican City, Biblioteca
Apostolica Vaticana, lat. 2280, fol. 310ra): “Debet sacerdoti quia non heretico non scismatico
non excommunicato non degradato non deposito, sed catholico ab ecclesia tollerato. Item non
extraneo sed suo, scilicet cui commissa est cura anime ipsius, nisi forte suus inscius sit soluere
uel ligare.” Ad D.6 c.1 s.v. sacerdoti meliori quam potest (fol. 310rb): “Uel potest intelligi de
peregrinis transeuntibus qui possunt diuertere causa confitendi peccata ad quam sacerdotem
uolunt. . . . Similiter potest intelligi et de illo cui suus episcopus dat licentiam accipiendi penitentiam a quocumque suo sacerdote uult. Nec intelligendum de bonitate morum et uirtute
quia illa nichil uel parum operantur in danda penitenta, sed de bonitate, id est, idoneitate
sciendi soluere et ligare. Debet ergo sacerdos esse bonus, id est, idoneus scire et ligare et
soluere et discernere inter leprosa et lepram.”

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say that Gratian had invented some new regulation for the governance of
the church. Both Gratian’s work and Omnis utriusque rested upon longstanding tradition on the appropriateness of confession to one’s own priest,
on clear jurisdictional boundaries for discipline, and on the inappropriateness of one ecclesiastical official usurping the authority belonging to
another. This context is essential for understanding the canonistic background of Omnis utriusque and so should be sketched briefly here, especially since so much scholarship has been devoted to the issues of annual
confession and the connection between confession and communion, but so
little has been devoted to understanding the notion of the sacerdos proprius.
Of the little scholarship available, two articles on this issue are fundamental, a 1904 essay by Peter Anton Kirsch and a 1980 paper by Joseph Avril,
and they provide the basis for this sketch; undoubtedly much more work
could be done.25
Kirsch’s and Avril’s articles would suggest that the term sacerdos proprius as applied to a parish priest gained prominence in the early-to-mid
twelfth century but that the notion of a local priest with spiritual and
jurisdictional authority over his parishioners had long been in place. The
authority of a priest over his parishioners can be viewed as a logical extension (or microcosmic reduction) of the authority of a bishop over the clerics within his diocese. Kirsch astutely pointed to early Christian and late
antique sources regulating the movement, reception, and judgment of
priests. No bishop could judge the priest under another bishop’s authority,
and no bishop could receive into service a priest from another diocese
absque conscientia proprii sacerdotis, as the Second Synod of Toledo (527)
phrased it. Here, the sacerdos proprius is the bishop to whom a cleric
belongs, so to speak, and is parallel to the cleric’s ecclesia propria, or own
(main, diocesan) church.26 A cleric’s own bishop, then, had to agree to the
movement of the cleric to another diocese, and this concept served as the
ultimate forerunner of the idea of a priest’s licentia being necessary for a
parishioner to confess to another priest. The Carolingian period witnessed
increased stress on tithes being paid to one’s ecclesia propria, on priests
being bound to the churches where they serve and not being able to
change locations without the authority of their bishops, and on parish
25. P. A. Kirsch, “Der sacerdos proprius in der abendländischen Kirche vor dem Jahre
1215,” Archiv für katholisches Kirchenrecht 84 (1904), 527–37; Joseph Avril, “A propos du ‘proprius sacerdos’: Quelques réflexions sur les pouvoirs du prêtre de paroisse,” in Proceedings of
the Fifth International Congress of Medieval Canon Law: Salamanca, 21–25 September 1976, ed.
Stephan Kuttner and Kenneth Pennington (Vatican City, 1980), 471–86.
26. Kirsch, “Der sacerdos proprius,” 532–33.

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A RE-EVALUATION OF OMNIS UTRIUSQUE

priests not luring the parishioners of other priests away from their home
churches to frequent worship services and receive communion.27 The
emphasis in the language about parishes in this period lay in such sacramental and financial issues, not in establishing territorial ecclesiastical districts within dioceses. Confession played a role. Bishop Haito of Basel (d.
836) decreed that those going on pilgrimage to Rome should first confess
their sins at home and be absolved by their own bishop or priest (a proprio
episcopo suo aut sacerdote), not by some other priest (an extraneus). Issues of
jurisdiction usually still centered on the episcopal level. The first half of
Haito’s capitulum stressed that clerics could not move or make a pilgrimage to Rome or, if suspended from communion, be received to it by
another bishop without their bishop’s permission.28 These regulations
were not universal, but they were a natural fit within the long-standing
jurisdictional ecclesiology of the church.
Common sacramental practice from the Carolingian period onward
placed the local priest in charge of administering baptism, communion,
and, increasingly, penance to his parishioners. The Carolingian push for
clarified ecclesiastical structure and organization received renewed vigor in
the era of reform beginning in the late eleventh century. Establishing the
parish priest’s authority within his parish constituted one part of the
27. Kirsch, “Der sacerdos proprius,” pp. 530–35; Avril, “A propos,” 472–75. A good
example may be found in c.15 of Radulf of Bourges’s episcopal capitulary; see MGH Capit.
episc. 1, ed. Peter Brommer (Hannover, 1984), 244–45.
28. Avril, “A propos,” 474; Kirsch, “Der sacerdos proprius,” 535. On the development
of parishes, see, of older literature, Jean Gaudemet, “La paroisse au Moyen Âge,” Revue d’histoire de l’Église de France 59 (1973), 5–21. For recent perspectives, see the essays in the special
issue on “La paroisse, genèse d’une forme territoriale,” in Médiévales 49 (2005). On the early
period, see Christine Delaplace, ed., Aux origines de la paroisse rurale en Gaule méridionale (IveIxe s.). Actes du colloque international de Toulouse, 21–23 mars 2003 (Paris, 2005); see especially
Michel Aubrun, “À l’origine de la paroisse rurale: Lieu de culte et culte du lieu,” 33–34 and
Jean Heuclin, “Le rôle du clergé dans l’organisation matérielle et pastorale de la paroisse
durant le haut Moyen Âge,” 229–34, which confirm issues of cult/saints and of tithing as
driving issues in the early period through the ninth century for early parish organization. On
the ninth-century usage of “parish” and “parishioner,” see Michel Lauwers, Naissance du cimitière: Lieux sacrés et terre des morts dans l’Occident médiéval, Collection historique (Paris, 2005),
269–4, and his contribution, “Paroisse, paroissiens et territoire: Remarques sur parochia dans
les textes latins du Moyen Âge,” Médiévales 49 (2005), 11–32.
For Haito, see Haito von Basel, Capitula, c.18, MGH Capit. episc. 1, 216.1–8. Avril
cites c.3 of a council of Liège (710) that stipulated that the faithful should confess their sins
at least once a year to the priest to whom they are subject, namely their presbiter proprius. The
text’s authenticity is doubtful; the ten canons of which it is a part first appeared in an edition
from 1621. The text is edited under the name “Pseudo-Hubertus” (with preceding discussion
about authenticity) in MGH Capit. episc. 3, ed. Rudolf Pokorny (Hannover, 1995), 375–76.

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process of freeing the church from lay control. Many new parishes emerged
in the next two centuries with ever more clearly defined boundaries and
ever more clearly delineated powers for their clerical heads.29 The Lateran
Council of 1139, following Innocent II’s earlier Council at Reims (1131),
decreed that every church have its own sacerdos proprius.30 When Gratian
wrote in the very same decade that “the canons” say that “no one should
presume to judge the parishioner of another,” he testified to the jurisdictional status quo, however poorly defined in systematic or geographical
terms.31 When in the next sentence he stated that these canons prohibited
one from showing contempt for one’s sacerdos proprius but did not, in
essence, prohibit one from avoiding the spiritual supervision of an ignorant
fool, Gratian did what he did on so many topics: he initiated academic
reflection and discussion on deep-rooted and long-developing norms so
that canonistic and theological thinking about the issue moved in ever
more refined directions, and all in quick order. Omnis utriusque appeared
against the backdrop of this academic discussion, and it was up to the academics to decide how best to situate its concise, normative statement into
this discussion full of intellectual distinctions and qualifications.
Early Canonistic Commentary on Omnis utriusque
With this background in mind, we can turn to the canonistic commentary on the entirety of Omnis utriusque and appreciate the canonists’
special attention to issues deriving from Gratian’s De penitentia, especially
that of confessing to one’s sacerdos proprius and receiving his permission
before confessing to some other priest. Thanks to Antonio García y
García’s critical edition, we possess in print the early commentaries of
Johannes Teutonicus, Vincentius Hispanus, and Damasus on the Lateran

29. Avril, “A propos,” 477–80. Michel Lauwers, “Des lieux sacrés aux territories ecclésiaux dans la France du Midi: quelques remarques préliminaires sur une dynamique sociale,”
in Lieux sacrés et espace ecclésial (IX e–XV e siècle), ed. Julien Théry, Cahiers de Fanjeaux 46
(Toulouse, 2011), 13–36, sets later development of parishes as territorial entities against the
backdrop of earlier productions of sacred spaces around churches, monasteries, and cemeteries. Note especially 27–28, which observes that much recent work has affirmed that the
process of parish territorialization did not occur before the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.
If freedom from lay control was part of what drove parish organization, lay control in
some form should be relevant to ecclesiastical practices of organizations and the conception
of a parish pre-eleventh century. For a reevaluation of the phenomenon of Eigenskirche, see
Susan Wood, The Proprietary Church in the Medieval West (Oxford, 2006).
30. Reims c.9, Lateran II c.10. See text in COGD 2.108.79–81.
31. De pen. D.6 d.p.c.2 (ed. Larson, 266.96–98): “. . . quod in canonibus inuenitur, ut
nemo uidelicet alterius parrochianum iudicare presumat.”

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A RE-EVALUATION OF OMNIS UTRIUSQUE

IV constitutions composed shortly after the council.32 The two younger of
these, Vincentius and Damasus, commented again on Omnis utriusque after
its inclusion in the Liber Extra (1234) at X 5.38.12. While the canonists
commented on numerous facets of Omnis utriusque, some of their most
thoughtful considerations focused on the issue of the sacerdos proprius.
For the first half of Omnis utriusque, the canonists took no notice of
the issue that has captured the majority of scholarly reflection since. They
had nothing to say about once-yearly confession. Instead, they devoted
their space to defining the age of discretion (age seven, but explained in
different ways) and specifying that the sins one is supposed to confess to
one’s own priest are mortal ones, not venial.33 Allegationes on the first
point included texts from the Decretum, early decretals, and Roman law;
on the second point, they varied but were dominated by Decretum and De
penitentia texts.34 Vincentius, and Damasus following him, wondered
about if a person cannot remember all his sins. Will that impede grace?
On the basis of an extended excerpt in C.23 of the Decretum, he argued
that such a human failing does not impede grace (nothing so slight can
hinder God from saving those whom he has predestined unto life), so long
as the sins forgotten are such that, if the sinner did remember them, he
would repent of them.35 On confessing faithfully (fideliter), citing De pen32. García y García, ed., Constitutiones Concilii quarti Lateranensis una cum Commentariis glossatorum, Monumenta Iuris Canonici Ser. A:2 (Vatican City: Biblioteca Apostolica
Vaticana, 1981). The three commentaries were not entirely separate; Damasus drew on and
explicitly cited Vincentius, as noted in García y García, “The Fourth Lateran Council and the
Canonists,” in The History of Medieval Canon Law in the Classical Period, 1140–1234: From
Gratian to the Decretals of Pope Gregory IX, ed. Wilfried Hartmann and Kenneth Pennington,
History of Medieval Canon Law 6 (Washington DC, 2008), 373–76.
33. Johannes identified the age of discretion as when a child is capable of deceit; he
noted venial sins could be remitted through the Lord’s prayer and blessed water and should
be confessed at least to a lay neighbor (ed. García y García, 208). Vincentius stressed more
fundamentally the ability to lie; he did not mention venial sins (ed. García y García, 314).
Damasus noted that at age seven a child is capable of committing any sin (except sexual ones);
he briefly glossed the words omnia sua peccata with mortalia and noted that venial sins are
treated otherwise (ed. García y García, 428).
34. De pen. D.2 c.1, D.3 c.20, and D.6 c.1; Decretum, prima pars D.25 d.p.c.3 §4. Allegations, or allegationes, are other texts, most often from the canon or Roman law tradition,
used to support an argument. Masters cited them in glosses and commentaries; they served as
cross-references and/or proof texts. Sometimes a master’s argument can only be understood
by consulting the allegation and even his commentary on it.
35. Vincentius, ad c.21 s.v. omnia sua peccata (ed. García y García, 314–15): “Quid si
non recolit? Numquid remittuntur? Et numquid infunditur gratia? . . . Dico quod illa non
impediunt gratiam, alias Vasis ire etc. xxiii q.iiii Nabucodonosor [C.23 q.4 cc.22–23], nisi illa
forte de quibus non recolit sint talia que si recoleret nullo modo peniteret.” For Damasus, see

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itentia D.1 c.88, Vincentius observed that this meant (or included the
idea) that one could not confess through someone else or a representative
or messenger (nuncius).
The basic stipulation to confess to one’s own priest was noted by all but
did not provoke a great amount of comment, largely because they all cited
the relevant De penitentia texts and were well familiar with the canonistic and
theological reflection on it. For all three canonists, De penitentia D.6 c.1 (or
the overlapping text of D.1 c.88) provided the grounding for this specification. Johannes noted very briefly that this was the case “unless [the priest]
was unskilled,” citing De penitentia D.6 c.3. Johannes had already composed
the vast majority of his glosses on the Decretum prior to the Fourth Lateran
Council; his brevity on this point in his Lateran IV commentary should be
understood in light of his comments on D.6 c.3 in his Decretum glosses,
where he had asserted that one should first confess to one’s own priest and
afterwards could confess to another (if the first was found lacking in skill)
and where he had affirmed that, by the authority of this canon, one could go
to another without the permission of a man, namely, of the unskilled priest.36
Vincentius and Damasus emphasized Pseudo-Augustine’s point, repeated in
De penitentia D.1 c.88 and D.6 c.1, that, if the sacerdos proprius was not available, a penitent could confess to a layman.37
While none of the three commentators had said anything about the
once yearly prescription at the opening of the constitution, to comment on
partaking communion “at least at Easter,” they all cited the text from De
consecratione asserting a thrice-yearly participation, thereby indicating that
the Lateran IV prescription presented a bare minimum requirement that
should not represent a model of piety. Johannes Teutonicus’s original gloss
on the De consecratione passage noted that “it was a sin to abstain from the
same” (that is to say, thrice-yearly communion), but he added that “others
ed. García y García, 428. The text cited consists of reflections on predestination based on the
differences between Pharaoh and Nebuchadnezzar.
36. Johannes Teutonicus, Apparatus in Concilium quartum Lateranense, ad c.21 s.v. proprio sacerdoti (ed. García y García, p. 208): “nisi ille sit imperitus, ut de pen. di. vi Placuit [D.6
c.3]”; cf. original Glossa ordinaria (pre-emendations of Bartholomeus Brixiensis) in Vatican
City, Bibliotheca Apostolica Vaticana, Vat. lat. 1367, fol. 279v and glosses ad De penitentia
D.6 c.3 (ed. Mainz, 1472, fol. 369): “Prius nota quod prius debet confiteri suo sacerdoti licet
alteri postmodum confiteatur”; s.v. per ignorantiam: “Ergo pro ignorantia eius auctoritate
huius canonis poteris ire ad alium sine licentia hominis, scilicet presbyteris illius imperiti. Sufficit hoc a iure concedi.”
37. Ed. García y García, 315, 428. They also cited De consecratione D.4 c.36, which
asserted that baptism administered by a layman in the name of the Trinity was valid.

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A RE-EVALUATION OF OMNIS UTRIUSQUE

say it is commanded only at Easter.” A later gloss (not Johannes’s original)
cited Omnis utriusque in support.38
The second half of Omnis utriusque, and the stipulation that a parishioner must obtain permission from his sacerdos proprius if he wants to confess to a different priest (otherwise the other priest does not have the power
to bind and loose), elicited more discussion. Especially within the context
of the treatment of De penitentia D.6 over the past several decades, such a
statement demanded clarification. Each of the three canonists took a different tack. Johannes asked about a situation in which a sacerdos proprius
maliciously refuses to give permission. Citing the important Innocentian
decretal granting a monk the permission to transfer to a stricter order by
his own will even if his superior objected, Johannes plainly claimed the
right of the penitent to confess to another priest “of his own will, by his
own authority.”39 Vincentius made the same point when he considered the
38. Original Glossa ordinaria ad De cons. D.2 c.16 (Vat. lat. 1367, fol. 297r): “Item id
ipsum etiam abstinere peccatum est. Alii dicunt tantum in Pascha preceptum esse.” [later addition:] et hoc est uera, extra iiii de penitentiis et remissionibus ‘Omnis’.” The allegatio was taken
up in Bartholomeus Brixiensis’s revision of the Glossa ordinaria (see ed. Mainz 1472, fol.
388vb). It is not clear when Johannes wrote his gloss about others saying it is commanded only
at Easter. Did he complete this gloss prior to Lateran IV? It would seem so, because otherwise
it seems he would have cited the new constitution. Perhaps his gloss is evidence that, at the
time of Lateran IV, some canonists were maintaining that communion once a year was that
which could be commanded, even if it was advisable for Christians to partake more frequently.
Such discussions, if occurring at the curia, would help explain why Innocent and his curia formulated Omnis utriusque the way they did, i.e. prescribing a minimum of annual communion.
The only location where a citation to Omnis utriusque may be found in Johannes’s original gloss apparatus on the Decretum is at D.1 c.88 s.v. scientem, where he notes that a person
who is no longer under the burden of previous sins may approach the Eucharist by consent of
the person in charge of his soul. He cites De pen. D.6 c.1 and the extravagans from the council, Omnis: “Si in eius peccata priora non est, eius qui preest consensu communionem adent,
ut infra D.6 ‘Placuit’, extra in concilio ‘Omnis’” (Vat. lat. 1367, fol. 261vb). Given the way the
constitution is referenced (as belonging to “the council”), it is clear that this gloss was written
shortly after the Fourth Lateran Council and prior to his inclusion of its constitutions in Compilatio quarta.
39. Johannes Teutonicus, Apparatus in Concilium quartum Lateranense, ad c.21 s.v.
licentiam (ed. García y García, 209): “Quid si malitiose ille recusat? Eat propria auctoritate,”
citing 3Comp. 3.24.4 (X 3.31.18) Licet quibusdam monachis. In Licet quibusdam, Innocent III
had justified a move to a stricter order even in disobedience to a superior on the basis of the
idea that “where the spirit of God is, there is liberty, and he who acts by the spirit of God is
not under the law, because law is not opposed to what is right (quia tamen, ubi spiritus Dei est,
ibi libertas, et qui Dei spiritu aguntur non sunt sub lege, quia lex non est posita iusto)” (X 3.31.18).
The abbreviation 3Comp. refers to Compilatio tertia (1Comp. = Compilatio prima, 2Comp. =
Compilatio secunda), one of the major new collections of law consisting largely of papal decretals that were taught in the law schools beginning with the appearance of Compilatio prima

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situation of a sacerdos proprius refusing to give his permission, but also suggested that the penitent ask his superior and go to another priest by that
superior’s authority. Moreover, Vincentius specified that the other priest
would not have the power to bind and loose in cases where the sacerdos proprius had been shown contempt (the key term from Gratian’s dictum in De
penitentia D.6) by not being asked.40 The presumption is that, if a penitent
had not been contemptuous of his own priest but had sought out another
priest for valid reasons, the other priest did have the power to bind and
loose. Damasus presented his own argument on this point but agreed with
Vincentius. At first he observed that the constitution indicates that, “if my
priest is ignorant, even though in this case I have just cause to go to
another, if nevertheless my priest does not give his permission, I absolutely
cannot go to another.” Damasus immediately countered that interpretation, citing De penitentia D.1 c.88 and D.6 c.1, which texts demonstrate
the “we ought to seek out a priest who knows how to bind and loose.” Thus
“whatever is said here [i.e., in Omnis utriusque], it seems that what is said
in those places [i.e., in De penitentia] ought to stand in the case [of an
ignorant priest].” In short, if your priest is ignorant and you wish to entrust
your soul to a more skilled priest, go to the more skilled priest regardless
of whether licentia is granted.41 Whether a person is still required to ask for
the licentia remains unclear; twenty years later, Damasus believed that a
parishioner was not required to do so. In his Summa decretalium, he noted
that parishioners ought to receive private penance from their priests or,
with those priests’ permission, from another; if the parishioner’s priest is
ignorant, he or she may go to another even without his or her priest having
been asked.42 Damasus closed his original comments on this section of
c.1190. On these collections, see Kenneth Pennington, “Decretal Collections 1190–1234,” in
The History of Medieval Canon Law in the Classical Period, 293–317.
40. Vincentius, Apparatus ad c.21 s.v. cum aliter ille ipsum non possit soluere (ed. García
y García, 315): “Idest si contempnatur suus, quia si non requiritur, contempnitur. Quod si
non uult ei dare licentiam, adeat superiorem ut eius auctoritate procedat,” citing both Licet
quibusdam monachis (3Comp. 3.24.4, X 3.31.18) and the famous Duae sunt (C.19 q.2 c.2).
Vincentius also cited Duae sunt in his commentary on X 3.31.18 (Paris, BNF lat. 3967 fol.
142r), where he also appealed to De penitentia D.2 c.3, an Augustinian text grounding morality in caritas above all else.
41. Damasus, Apparatus ad c.21 s.v. non possit soluere uel ligare (ed. García y García,
429): “Ergo si sacerdos meus sit imperitus, licet eo casu habeam iustam causam eundi ad
alium, si tamen non det licentiam proprius sacerdos, nullo modo potest ire ad alium, ut hic
dicit. Set secundum hoc contra de pen. di. vi. Placuit [D.6 c.3], de pen. di. i. Quem penitet
[D.1 c.88]. Debemus enim querere sacerdotem scientem ligare et soluere; et quicquid hic
dicatur, illis standum uidetur esse in casu illo.”
42. Summa decretalium ad X 5.38 (Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Borg.
261, fol. 16ra): “Penitenciam priuatam recipere debemus ab illo sacerdote cuius sumus parro-

432

A RE-EVALUATION OF OMNIS UTRIUSQUE

Omnis utriusque by saying, if there is just cause for seeking another priest
(even beyond ignorance?) and the sacerdos proprius does not grant permission, a parishioner should “ask a superior.”43 Like Vincentius and many
twelfth-century writers on penance, Damasus invoked the ecclesiastical
hierarchy and seemed more comfortable “going up the chain of command”
rather than giving the faithful free rein to act at their own discretion.
The final two issues to comment on in Omnis utriusque consisted of (1)
the exhortation to priests to examine the circumstances of sinner and sin
and (2) the prohibition to priests to break the seal of confession. On the
first point, Johannes and Damasus simply cited De penitentia D.5 c.1 with
some other minor comments. Vincentius considered the point unworthy of
comment, which is not surprising considering how pervasive this notion
had become in the decades after Gratian’s De penitentia. Johannes likewise
had no comment on priests breaking the seal of confession, and no one
noted the change in punishment from De penitentia D.6 c.2. Vincentius’s
and Damasus’s concerns centered on the question of how it could be
proven that a priest had made public a sin revealed to him in confession.
To this author’s knowledge, this question had not been raised in earlier
discussions, but the procedural point is intriguing: the fact that a sin was
confessed to a priest is presumably known only to the penitent and the
priest; if a priest reveals a sin, the sinner could claim that the sin alleged
had been confessed in private, but it would be a classic case of one man’s
word against another—where is the proof that the seal of confession had
been broken? Vincentius wrote quite extensively on this question; Damasus
reduced Vincentius’s commentary, referring to two citations (including De
penitentia D.6 c.2) and commentary on them.44 He then asked the question “how is it proven that a priest made public a sin revealed to him in
confession? Answer: through his own [i.e., the priest’s] confession.”45 One
has trouble imagining that this scenario would have played out frequently
in reality, but the sobering point was that, in such a situation, only the
priest’s own confession of his sin could prove it; the penitent had no other
chiani uel cum consensu illius etiam ab alio; si tamen esset ignarus sacerdos noster uidetur,
quod etiam eo irrequisito possumus ire ad alium, ut De pen. D.6 ‘Placuit’ [D.6 c.3].”
43. Damasus, Apparatus ad c.21 s.v. non possit soluere uel ligare (ed. García y García,
429): “Item si iusta causa interueniente parrochianus petat licentiam et sacerdos non det, petat
superiorem.”
44. The other text cited is 1Comp. 1.23.6 (X 1.31.2).
45. Damasus, Apparatus ad c.21 s.v. Caueat . . . ne uerbo uel signo . . . prodat . . . peccatorem
(ed. García y García, 429): “de pen. di. vi. Sacerdos ante omnia [D.6 c.2]. . . . Set qualiter
probabitur sacerdoti quod peccatum in confessione ei reuelatum manifestauit? Resp.: per confessionem ipsius.”

ATRIA A. LARSON

433

recourse. Vincentius believed the same thing, but he suggested how a
sinner could act to protect himself, namely by having his “private” confession witnessed by a few (presumably very close) friends who could later, if
necessary, give testimony to the fact that the sin alleged and made public
by a priest had in fact been confessed to him previously.46 On this point,
Vincentius cited another Lateran IV constitution, namely c.38, which prescribed written records for all court cases, lest a corrupt judge claim something that is untrue. The parallel he was making was that a penitent could
likewise protect himself by having witnesses to his confession—whether he
envisioned the witnesses recording in writing the fact of the confession
and/or its contents is unclear, but the basic point was to protect a penitent
against a devious or malicious bishop who might want to charge a person
with a crime in an episcopal court even though it was already confessed and
remitted through penance. In short, Vincentius was applying considerations of procedure and protection of defendants to the internal forum and
the issue of De penitentia D.6 c.2, namely the prohibition of priests’ publicly revealing of a confession.47

46. Vincentius, Apparatus ad c.21 s.v. absque ulla expressione persone (ed. García y
García, 316): “But how will it be proven for a priest that he revealed a crime told to him in
confession? Because the priest confessed this in front of many, even outside of court (2 Comp.
5.1.1/X 5.1.12 and 3Comp. 5.14.2/X 5.31.9). And this can be proven if you take the example
of me confessing a secret sin to my priest and asking for dispensation from him in private in
the presence of certain individuals so that I cannot afterwards be charged (1Comp. 1.9.11/X
1.17.9). If the bishop reveals [the sin], I can prove it with regard to him through those who
were present (Lat. IV c.38 = 4Comp. 2.6.3/X 2.19.11) (Set quomodo probabitur sacerdoti
quod crimen sibi dictum in confessione reuelauit? Sol.: quia confessus fuit hoc sacerdos coram
pluribus, licet extra ius, arg. supra de accus. c. i lib. ii. et extra iii. de exces. prelat. ‘Quam sit
graue’. Et hoc probari potest si ponas casum ubi confessus sum peccatum occultum episcopo
meo et impetraui ab eo coram aliquibus dispensationem in secreto ut inde postea accusari non
possim, supra de filiis presbit. c. penult. lib. i. Si episcopus reuelauit, possum ei probare per
eos qui presentes fuerunt, infra de actis iudic. ‘Quoniam’.)” Vincentius’s suggestion of course
bears on the much-discussed question of the meaning of private and public in the medieval
discourse about penance and the experience of it.
47. The “internal forum” and “external forum” were beginning to be labeled as such in
the years after Lateran IV. Although the two could never remain entirely separate in practice,
the former referred to the “court of conscience” where penance is issued by a bishop or priest;
the latter referred to the formal ecclesiastical court with procedures following Roman law
norms and ending potentially in excommunication. See Mary C. Mansfield, The Humiliation
of Sinners: Public Penance in Thirteenth-Century France (Ithaca, NY, 1996), 49–55; on the
internal forum: Joseph Goering, “The Internal Forum and the Literature of Penance and
Confession,” in History of Medieval Canon Law in the Classical Period, 379–428.

434

A RE-EVALUATION OF OMNIS UTRIUSQUE

Gratian’s De penitentia and Omnis Utriusque in
Dominican Penitentials of the 1220s
If the canonists immediately after Lateran IV viewed De penitentia as
foundational and integrally related to Omnis utriusque, two Dominican
penitentials from the 1220s testify to the continued prominence of De penitentia and the particular role of Omnis utriusque in canonistic jurisprudence
on confession. Paul of Hungary wrote his relatively short penitential (10–
15 folios) in 1220–21 shortly after he became a Dominican. The work,
especially its first half, repeatedly references De penitentia and, secondarily,
many other Decretum texts; it cites Omnis utriusque only once. Paul did not
refer to the constitution’s stipulation of confessing to one’s sacerdos proprius
when he asked to whom one should confess. All three texts he cited in his
reply came from De penitentia.48 Nor did Paul refer to the constitution
when he asked when someone should confess. His answer was not “once a
year before Easter.” Based on a text in De penitentia D.3 describing the
confession of David to Nathan when he was struck with the weight of his
sin, he said one should confess as soon as a priest is available.49 Paul could
perhaps have referred to Omnis utriusque when discussing the circumstances to be inquired into or the responsibilities of the confessor-priest,
but he did not. In his final discursive section before he went into detail on
certain sins, virtues, and vices, Paul finally incorporated Omnis utriusque.
The question asked “in what cases we are compelled to confess again a sin
already confessed.” On the basis of De penitentia D.6 c.1, the first scenario
is when one’s priest is unskilled. But, Paul noted, “the new constitution”
stipulated that one can turn to another, more skilled priest only after permission has been sought. Paul then asserted the right to go even if the first
priest refuses to give such permission, but in this case one should approach
the original priest’s superior, not just any other priest.50 Thus, the one issue

48. De pen. D.1 c.51, c.88; D.6 c.1.
49. Paulus Hungarus, Summa de penitentia. The work is available in many manuscripts
and two editions. I have consulted (1) Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Ottob.
lat. 518 (13th c., = O), (2) Pal. lat. 461 (15th c., = P), and (3) Monte Cassino 184, as transcribed in Florilegium Casinense, 191–215 (= C), in Biblioteca Casinensis, vol. 4 (Monte
Cassino, 1880; repr. Hildesheim, 2004). On Paulus and this work, see Mark F. Johnson,
“Paul of Hungary’s Summa de penitentia,” in From Learning to Love: Schools, Law, and Pastoral
Care in the Middle Ages: Essays in Honor of Joseph W. Goering, ed. Tristan Sharp (Toronto,
2017), 402–418. Johnson is preparing a critical edition.
The text here is O fol. 79r, P fol. 252rb, C p. 192b: “Dico statim cum potest copiam sacerdotis habere uel alias in mora, De pen. D.3 ‘Ille res [recte rex]’ [c.25].”
50. O 84r, P 256va, C 197b: “In quibus casibus peccatum semel confessum teneamur iterum
confiteri. . . . Primus est propter impericiam sacerdotis, scilicet si sacerdos meus est imperitus

ATRIA A. LARSON

435

on which Paul believed Omnis utriusque should be brought to bear was that
of how one goes about confession when one finds oneself the parishioner
of an ignorant priest.
Lastly, we come to the extensive Summa de paenitentia of Raymond of
Peñafort, likely composed within the timeframe 1225–27. For Gratian,
who fills clerical ranks for the governance of the church constituted a major
concern. What sins banished one from clerical duties and what true
penance did for the possible restitution of wayward clerics played a key role
in this structure. The determination of sin and true penance thus became
central to ecclesiastical discipline. Raymond’s Summa on penance, most of
which seems to have very little to do with penance and everything to do
with clerical transgressions and discipline, fits the same model. Raymond
did not get to penance proper until the very last title, namely Book 3 Title
34. Raymond’s treatment there is full of decretals and Decretum texts. Not
surprisingly, passages from De penitentia are especially prominent. And
where is Omnis utriusque? As for Paul, one could imagine several places
where Raymond might have cited the constitution but did not. He cited
the constitution when stating that someone is held to confess to his or her
sacerdos proprius.51 Like Paul, Raymond went into most detail in the context of a penitent under an unskilled priest and the licentia to confess to a
different priest. Raymond mentioned the responsibility to “choose a skilled
judge,” someone who can bind and loose. “But what if his own, unskilled
and indiscreet priest does not want to give permission to go to another,
prudent one—he cannot go by his own authority, can he?” Johannes Teutonicus and others had thought “yes.” Raymond said, “It seems that not,”
and his proof was Omnis utriusque. He concluded, “It is therefore safer to
go to him [the discreet priest] through a superior.”52 The next section was

cui confessus sum,1 ut De pen. D.6 c.1. Hoc tamen secundum2 nouam constitutionem, scilicet
ab ea impetrata licencia eundi ad3 periciorem, extra t. in const. lateran. ‘Omnis utriusque’.4 Si
tamen licenciam nollet, agere potest5 ad6 superiorem contra ipsum, art. extra i De iure7
patronatus ‘Nullus’ [1Comp. 3.33.21/X 3.38.17].”
1
est—sum] cui confessus sum numquam est peritus P 2 secundum] om. P C 3 ad] add.
superiorem P 4 t.—utriusque] iii ‘Omnis’ P 5 nollet—potest] nolet dare licentiam, agerem O
C 6 ad] apud O contra C 7 iure] uirtute P.
51. Raymundus de Pennaforte, Summa de paenitentia 3.34.15, ed. Xaverio Ochoa and
Aloisio Diez, Universa bibliotheca iuris vol. 1, tomus B (Rome, 1976), 812.
52. Ibid. 3.34.27 (ed. Ochoa and Diez, 824): “Item, ut eligat peritum iudicem.
Augustinus: ‘Sacerdotem quaere qui te sciat ligare et solvere’. Sed quid si sacerdos suus imperitus et indiscretus non vult ei dare licentiam eundi ad alium discretum, numquid poterit ire
auctoritate propria? non videtur. Arg. Extra eodem, const. Omnis et de pen. dist. 6 Placuit [D.6
c.3]. Tutius est ergo ei agere per superiorem.”

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A RE-EVALUATION OF OMNIS UTRIUSQUE

on the frequency of confession, and Raymond there recounted the stipulations of the first half of Omnis utriusque.53 In brief, Raymond included
almost all the key stipulations of Omnis utriusque in his lengthy work, but
the constitution was only thought to contribute to a debated point of
canonistic jurisprudence about penance on one issue, that of licentia for
seeking out a different confessor-priest.
Conclusion
In sum, De penitentia’s prominent influence in reflections on penance
continued unabated in the decade after the Fourth Lateran Council, and
canonistic writers of penance believed they had to integrate Omnis
utriusque into their considerations on one very specific point, namely on
how one could confess to some priest other than one’s sacerdos proprius.
This is really just another way of saying that Omnis utriusque was not
viewed as marking a radical departure in penitential law, regardless of what
its long-term effects on the practice of penance in medieval Christendom
may or may not have been; it fit securely and comfortably within the penitential thought and law arising from Gratian’s De penitentia. Gratian’s De
penitentia was the foundation upon which penitential thought and law was
built in the later twelfth century and it continued to serve as such in the
early thirteenth century, and, one might say, Omnis utriusque merely
formed an additional stone in the edifice begun by Gratian.
It seems appropriate to assert, however, that within the context of Lateran IV as a whole and the ecclesiastical and pastoral structure it encouraged,
Omnis utriusque did have greater import, for it fostered the administration of
penance and a Christendom-wide framework within which De penitentia
could continue to have an influence, potentially for every Christian fidelis, of
any sex, and of any age.54 The particular issue to which canonists devoted
extensive attention, that of pursuing a skilled confessor when one’s sacerdos
proprius had less than ideal pastoral skills, was hardly a purely academic issue,
53. Ibid. 3.34.29 (ed. Ochoa and Diez, 826).
54. Such an interpretation is in line with Joseph Goering’s observation that “[c]ertainly
by the end of the thirteenth century the practice of penance had given rise not only to a deep
and lasting concern with contrition and the searching of conscience but also to frequent confession to priests and friars, pilgrimages, indulgences, and many other types of popular devotion. These would have been scarcely imaginable without Gratian’s insistence that confession
and satisfaction for sins was an integral part of the Christian tradition, as well as the legislation of Innocent III that created an institutional form to accommodate it” (“The Scholastic
Turn (1100–1500): Penitential Theology and Law in the Schools,” in A New History Penance,
ed. Abigail Firey, Brill’s Companions to the Christian Tradition 14 (Leiden, 2008), 227).

ATRIA A. LARSON

437

for the thirteenth century constituted simultaneously a period of the growth
and delineation of parishes, each with their own sacerdos proprius, and the
great age of the mendicant orders whose members potentially threatened the
activities and powers proper to the sacerdos proprius yet also helped ensure
that the faithful could have access to spiritual services traditionally rendered
by the sacerdos proprius.55 The issue arose again in debates about the Jesuits in
the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.56
In short, while the prescription and implementation of annual confession constitute important facets of the church’s history of penance, Omnis
utriusque involved far more than that. In its canonistic context, it should be
viewed largely as an endorsement of the canonistic jurisprudence of
penance arising from Gratian’s De penitentia and as a constitution that,
both in its own day and for centuries to come, could not be ignored on
ecclesiastical matters of jurisdiction and office because of its prescription to
confess to one’s sacerdos proprius and to obtain that priest’s licentia before
confessing to another.

55. Mansfield, Humiliation of Sinners, 62–64. The importance of Omnis utriusque to the
mendicant controversy was recognized already by Catholic scholar Odorico Rinaldi (1595–
1671); see R. Emmet McLaughlin, “Truth, Tradition and History: The Historiography of
High/Late Medieval and Early Modern Penance,” in A New History of Penance, 25.
56. Ibid., 28.

A Professionalizing Priesthood:
The Cathedral Chapter of San Juan, Puerto Rico,
1650–1700
DAVID M. STARK*
There is considerable interest in the social background, ecclesiastical formation, and career patterns of clergy and prebendaries in Latin America. However, our knowledge of these topics for the Spanish Caribbean
is limited, especially during the seventeenth century. Scholars have long
been critical of the Puerto Rican clergy’s lack of academic training, even
suggesting that many priests were illiterate. Who became a priest?
What was the extent of the clergy’s academic training in peripheral
regions of the Americas? Which was more important for professional
advancement—socioeconomic background or academic training? Did
parish work matter? Answering these questions will provide a more
nuanced understanding of the priesthood in peripheral areas of the
Americas, like Puerto Rico.
Key Words: academic training, career patterns, cathedral chapter,
Puerto Rico, prebendaries, relación de méritos

I

n a letter dated July 6, 1659, Francisco Arnaldo de Isasi, the newly
installed bishop of Puerto Rico, described a tense situation in San Juan’s
cabildo eclesiástico, or cathedral chapter, to Gregorio de Leguía, secretary of
the Council of the Indies.1 The situation had begun in 1654 when Archdeacon Cristóbal Bautista López instructed his agent in Madrid to seek a position for him in a different cathedral chapter; he had specified Caracas,
Mérida (Yucatán), Michoacán, Puebla, or Mexico City.2 Later that year,
when the office of treasurer in the cathedral chapter of Caracas became
available, Bautista López’s agent accepted on his behalf. For reasons that
*Dr. David Stark is professor of history and coordinator of Latin American Studies at
Grand Valley State University, Allendale, MI, 49401; email: starkd@gvsu.edu. He wishes to
thank the two anonymous readers for their helpful comments and suggestions as well as
Nelson H. Minnich for his help in seeing the article to publication.
1. Vicente Murga Sanz and Álvaro Huerga, Episcopologio de Puerto Rico: De Francisco de
Cabrera a Francisco de Padilla (1611–1695), 3 (Ponce, PR, 1989), 573–574.
2. Pío Medrano Herrero, Don Damián López de Haro y don Diego de Torres y Vargas: Dos
figuras del Puerto Rico barroco (San Juan, 1999), 231 Note 290.

438

DAVID STARK

439

aren’t clear, the archdeacon changed his mind, and when the cédula arrived,
he declined the appointment.3 However, there were already plans to fill the
vacancy his departure would create from within. In fact, the plan was that
three prebendaries of the cathedral chapter would move into higher status
positions once Bautista López left. The archdeacon’s refusal to depart for
Caracas jeopardized their advancement and prompted two of them (Diego
de Torres y Vargas and Francisco Moreno del Rincón) to write the Council
of the Indies in 1656 in the hope of ensuring Bautista López’s departure.4
Torres y Vargas probably harbored a grudge against Bautista López; in
1649, even though Torres y Vargas had seniority, Bautista López had been
promoted ahead of him to the office of precentor. The following year, he
became the archdeacon of the cathedral chapter of San Juan. The absence of
a bishop from 1651 to 1659 complicated matters because it left de Torres y
Vargas, the vicar general, in charge of the diocese. During the lapse of time
between the complaints and a decision by the Council of the Indies, the
members of the San Juan cathedral chapter stripped Bautista López of his
archdeaconry, a move that de Torres y Vargas likely masterminded.
When Francisco Arnaldo de Isasi, the newly appointed bishop, arrived
in San Juan on May 19, 1659, he faced a difficult decision: Bautista López
had asked for reinstatement as archdeacon, but the Council of the Indies
had sent a cédula instructing him to leave for Caracas and take possession
of the office there. Although the bishop sympathized with the former
archdeacon because the cathedral chapter’s action of stripping him of his
office was illegal, he feared he would have problems with the other prebendaries. Three of them had already received official notification of their new
positions based on the assumption that Bautista López was leaving. They
were bound to be very unhappy if they learned that they would be staying
at their current ranks. To avoid a potential conflict with the cathedral
chapter, the bishop agreed with the decision of the Council of the Indies.5
Bautista López departed for Caracas. When he got there, he learned that
the office of precentor was vacant. It was awarded to him in 1661. Five
years later, he later advanced to dean of the cathedral chapter in Caracas.
He held that position until his death in 1669.6
3. Although the salaries were the same (300 pesos), the office of archdeacon was higher
in rank than the treasurer. López Bautista was effectively demoted in rank and would leave
behind family in San Juan.
4. Medrano Herrero, Don Damián López de Haro, 236-237.
5. Murga Sanz and Huerga, Episcopologio de Puerto Rico, 3:574–577.
6. Manuel Pérez Vila, Actas del cabildo eclesiástico de Caracas, 1580-1770, tomo 1 (Caracas, 1963), pp. 126, 131, 137, and 148. In 1664, López Bautista compiled a second relación
de méritos, a type of dossier a member of the clergy submitted when he applied for a benefice,

440

A PROFESSIONALIZING PRIESTHOOD

This was not the first time a prebendary had declined a promotion or
a transfer to another appointment. As José Gabino Castillo Flores has
noted, 45 of 186 priests who were awarded a prebend (an office in a cathedral chapter) in Mexico City, Puebla, Michoacán, Nueva Galicia, and
Antequera in the period 1570–1600 declined to serve.7 Some aspiring
prebendaries did not look favorably upon service in the cathedral chapter
of Caracas.8 For example, the Caracas treasury position that Bautista
López rejected was initially offered in 1652 to Gregorio de Luyando, a
canónigo (canon) who was serving in the cathedral chapter of Santiago,
Cuba. The Puerto Rican–born Luyando may have been unable to obtain a
position in the cathedral chapter of San Juan and thus sought a prebend
elsewhere.9 In 1639, he was awarded a ración in the Santiago cathedral
chapter, and in 1645 he advanced to canónigo there.10 In 1652, he was promoted to treasurer of the Caracas cathedral chapter, but he delayed his
departure from Santiago and, like Bautista López, eventually declined the
appointment. Perhaps Luyando chose to remain in Santiago because of the
prestige associated with the office, even though the position was lower in
rank than the one he had been offered. Meanwhile, the Council of the
Indies had given the vacancy in the Santiago cathedral chapter to Francisco
Moreno del Rincón. Luyando’s action set in motion a series of events:
Moreno del Rincón’s appointment was rescinded and in 1654, Bautista
López instructed his agent to seek a transfer from San Juan for him. One

promotion, or transfer, that included a letter from the vicar of the Caracas cathedral describing him in a miserable state, not having been able to recover from the harm done by the San
Juan cathedral chapter. In the same letter, the vicar says that Cristóbal “compone paces y hace
amistades entre eclesiásticos y seglares” (has an aptitude for forming friendships with priests and
secular authorities). This phrase does not appear in other relaciones examined; perhaps it was
inserted to (re)assure the crown that López Bautista was not a trouble-maker. “Relación de
méritos para Cristóbal Bautista López,” Archivo General de Indias [hereafter AGI], Indiferente General 197, no. 31, November 15, 1664.
7. José Gabino Castillo Flores, “Los cabildos eclesiásticos en Nueva España: Letras, orígenes y movilidad, 1570–1600,” in Poder y privilegio: Cabildos eclesiásticos en Nueva España, siglos
XVI a XIX, ed. Leticia Pérez Puente and Gabino Castillo Flores, (México, DF, 2016), 140.
8. This was not uncommon in other dioceses. For a discussion of canons serving in the
cathedral chapter of Santiago (Chile) who declined promotion to the cathedral chapter of
Concepción in the 1660s, see Lucrecia Raquel Enríquez Agrazar, De colonial a nacional: La
carrera eclesiástica del clero secular chileno entre 1650 y 1810 (México, DF, 2006), 166–170.
9. Gregorio was nominated for canon in 1622 and for ración in 1626 and 1627. “Consultas y decretos originales pertenecientes a la isla de Puerto Rico, años 1586–1700,” AGI,
Santo Domingo 535A, nos. 291, 298, and 299. I am very grateful to Teresa de Castro for graciously providing me with a copy of this document.
10. “Relación de méritos para Gregorio de Luyando,” AGI, Indiferente General 193,
no. 145, 1652.

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can imagine a prebendary’s frustration when his aspirations for promotion
were put on hold.
Incidents such as these suggest that some members of the clergy,
notably the prebendaries, paid close attention to career advancement.
There is considerable interest in the social background, ecclesiastical formation, and career patterns of clergy and prebendaries in Latin America.11
As Adriaan C. Van Oss notes, these aspects of the priesthood are important to our understanding of Spanish colonial history.12 We now have more
than 80 studies of clergy and prebendaries in Mexico, including the magisterial work by Óscar Mazín on the cathedral chapter of Valladolid
(Michoacán). But we have only a handful of studies of their counterparts
in the circum-Caribbean and Brazil.13 Our knowledge of the origins and
education of clergy and prebendaries and how they advanced or promoted
their careers in these regions is limited, especially during the seventeenth
century. Who became a priest? What was the extent of the clergy’s academic training in peripheral regions of the Americas? Which was more
important for professional advancement—socioeconomic background or
academic training? Did parish work matter? The paucity of sources for the
Spanish Caribbean, especially Puerto Rico, in this period, has made it difficult to answer these questions. However, scholars are now using the
relación de méritos y servicios, a type of dossier a member of the clergy submitted when he applied for a benefice,14 a promotion, or a transfer, to
reconstruct the lives and careers of the clergy. Each relación includes several
basic components: a cover letter written by the priest briefly narrating the
services he or his family had rendered the Crown, a description of the
priest’s education, a list of current and former benefices, a summary of services performed for the parish or cathedral chapter, and testimony from a
variety of witnesses substantiating the information the priest presented.15
11. See Paul Ganster, “A Social History of the Secular Clergy of Lima During the
Middle Decades of the Eighteenth Century” (PhD diss., UCLA, 1974); and John Frederick
Schwaller, “The Cathedral Chapter of Mexico in the Sixteenth Century,” Hispanic American
Historical Review 61 (1974), 651–674.
12. Adriaan C. Van Oss, Catholic Colonialism: A Parish History of Guatemala, 15241821 (Cambridge, 2002), 158.
13. Antonio J. Díaz Rodríguez, “Cabildos, catedralicios y clero capitular en el antiguo
régimen: Estado de la cuestión,” Revista de Historiografía 13 (2010), 82–99, here 86; Óscar
Mazín Gómez, El cabildo catedral de Valladolid de Michoacán (Zamora, 1996).
14. A benefice is a permanent Church appointment, typically as a pastor, for which
income is provided in exchange for the performance of pastoral duties.
15. See Magnus Lundberg, Church Life between the Metropolitan and the Local: Parishes,
Parishioners, and Parish Priests in Seventeenth-Century Mexico (Madrid, 2011), 233; and

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The information contained in relaciones makes it possible to create a profile
of the clergy who served in the cathedral chapter of San Juan and examine
their strategies for advancement. This study analyzes the relaciones of
twenty-two of the thirty-one priests who served in the cathedral chapter of
San Juan during the period 1650–1700.16
This study examined San Juan because we know little about the clergy
in the peripheral areas of Spanish America, especially during this time
frame. Testimony provided by clergy must be used with caution, since it
was certainly biased, just as modern job applications are.17 Each priest
wanted to make a favorable impression to obtain an appointment,
benefice, or transfer from the Crown, and they were not above embellishing their accomplishments. Nevertheless, the information contained in
the relaciones is useful for identifying the traits that were common among
prebendaries. Twenty-eight of thirty-one prebendaries were born locally,
and of the twenty-one prebendaries whose social origins are known, only
three came from humble origins, which I define as having parents who
were not identified by military rank, civil office, or with titles or courtesy.
Although clergy are often faulted for their lack of academic training, over
one-third of the men in this fifty-year period had degrees from universities in both the New and Old Worlds. The priesthood was in the process
of change.
Individual effort was not enough to bring about advancement in the
ranks of the cathedral chapter. This was not a straightforward ladder
system in which the most deserving members of the clergy climbed the
ranks faster than others. In the first half of the seventeenth century, what
mattered was a priest’s socioeconomic background and his own or his
family’s prior service to the Crown, but in the second half of the century
education became more important, as evidenced by the number of priests
who had studied abroad. Internal promotions were the norm, and prebendaries often waited years to advance from racionero to canon and then to
precentor, archdeacon, or dean. However, prebends with university degrees
like Diego de Torres y Vargas and Martín Calderón de la Barca advanced
Lincoln Draper, “Archbishops, Canons, and Priests: The Interaction of Religious and Social
Values in the Clergy of Seventeenth-Century Bolivia,” (PhD diss., University of New
Mexico, 1989), 202. See also Murdo Macleod, “Self-Promotion: The Relaciones de Méritos y
Servicios and Their Historical and Political Interpretation,” Colonial Latin American Historical
Review 7 (1998), 25–42.
16. Not all clergy compiled a relación, and some submitted more than one over the
course of their career.
17. Van Oss, Catholic Colonialism, p. 164.

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to the highest rungs (archdeacon and dean, respectively) and did so more
quickly than their counterparts without a university degree. Elite and
upwardly mobile families looked favorably upon service in the cathedral
chapter, as it provided a stable, fixed income and gave individuals opportunities to expand family networks. As the population in the Americas
increased and the memory of the conquest faded, more clergy competed for
a limited number of prebends. Families had to find a way of making themselves noticed, which a growing number did by providing sons with a university education.18
The San Juan Cathedral Chapter in the Late Seventeenth Century
The Catholic Church was a powerful entity in colonial Spanish America in part because it was closely aligned with the state. In 1508, Pope
Julius II gave the Spanish Crown significant powers in ecclesiastical affairs
in the New World. This prerogative, known as the patronato real (royal
patronage), included the right to nominate all church officials, collect
tithes, and establish churches, monasteries, and convents. In exchange for
the ecclesiastical power the pope ceded to the Crown, papal authorities
expected Spanish monarchs to provide for the maintenance of the Church
in the Americas and promote the conversion of New World inhabitants.
The Crown paid the salaries of church officials and members of the clergy
and subsidized a large part of the Church’s proselytizing mission. In 1523,
it created the Council of the Indies to administer Spain’s overseas possessions. The council consisted of five branches (administrative, judicial, military, financial, and religious) that were responsible for areas of government. Tasked with debating policy and issuing recommendations to the
king, the council also played a key role in the appointment of administrative positions such as prebends in cathedral chapters.
At the local level, the Church was organized into parishes administered by beneficed parish priests. At the regional level, dioceses were
administered by a bishop. At the national level, the archdioceses were
administered by an archbishop. In the Spanish Caribbean, islands were
divided into parishes. Some formed their own diocese, as Puerto Rico
18. Cathedral chapters of Mexico City and Puebla had twenty-seven members, including ten canons, six racioneros, and six medio racioneros. Other cathedral chapters in New Spain,
including Michoacán, had ten canons and six racioneros but no medio racioneros, whereas the
cathedral chapter of Nueva Galicia had five canons and four racioneros and the cathedral chapter of Antequera had eight canons but no racioneros. See Castillo Flores, “Los cabildos eclesiásticos,” 121–122.

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A PROFESSIONALIZING PRIESTHOOD

did.19 A diocese might encompass parts of several islands or colonies; the
diocese of Puerto Rico included the islands of the Lesser Antilles
(Trinidad and Margarita) and lands along the northern coast of South
America (Cumana, New Barcelona, Guyana, and the missions along the
upper Orinoco River), making it the most geographically extended diocese
in the Americas.20 San Juan was the seat of the diocese and the cathedral
was located there, but it did not play a significant role in the religious life
of the outlying regions beyond the island.
Although each diocese was administered by a bishop, it had its own
cathedral chapter comprised of clergy who assisted the bishop in the administration of the cathedral. A chapter might have a provisor (ecclesiastical
judge) or vicar general who assisted the bishop in diocesan matters. Each
diocese had its own statutes and the number of prebends in a cathedral
chapter varied. The 1512 bull of erection for the diocese of Puerto Rico
specified the following salaried members: dean, archdeacon, precentor,
schoolmaster, treasurer, and archpriest (in hierarchical order).21 These were
collectively referred to as dignitaries. Below them in rank were ten canons,
six racioneros (junior canons), three half-racioneros, six acolytes, six chaplains, a sacristan, an organist, a beadle, a mayordomo (manager), a notary,
and a caniculario (dog keeper).22 However, the local economy was unable to
support so many salaried chapter members and several offices were eliminated during the sixteenth century.23 In the last half of the seventeenth century, the cathedral chapter in San Juan consisted of eight members: a dean,
an archdeacon, a precentor, three canons, and two racioneros. This was
19. Although Puerto Rico was not part of the archdiocese of Santo Domingo, it was suffragan to its archbishop, who was primus inter pares. He was not involved in the administration
of other dioceses, but he could call the suffragan bishops to a provincial council, as occurred in
1622–1623. I am grateful to an anonymous reviewer for bringing this to my attention.
20. See Cristina Campo Lacasa, Notas generales sobre la historia eclesiástica de Puerto Rico
en el siglo XVIII (Seville, 1963), 5.
21. The precentor was responsible for all musical portions of church services and established the schedule by which members took turns in celebration of the sacraments. See
Schwaller, “The Cathedral Chapter of Mexico,” 653.
22. Medrano Herrero, Don Damián López de Haro, 142.
23. For example, Bishop Rodrigo de Bastidas (1542–1567) eliminated the offices of
schoolmaster and archpriest. See Carlos M. González Morales, “La criollización del cabildo
eclesiástico en Puerto Rico: Diego de Torres Vargas, los capitulares de Catedral y la formación de la iglesia local (circa 1575–1715),” in III Simposio Iglesia, estado y sociedad: 500 años en
Puerto Rico y el caribe, siglo XVII, ed. María Dolores Luque (San Juan, 2010), 194.
Other dioceses faced similar problems. For example, the diocese of Nueva Galicia (Mexico)
had to reduce the number of prebends in 1623 to three dignitaries, five canons, and four
raciones. See Castillo Flores, “Los cabildos eclesiásticos,” 122.

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smaller than cathedral chapters in other dioceses, such as Caracas, which
also had a treasurer. Other cathedrals had more canons and racioneros.24
The San Juan cathedral chapter met every week to discuss matters
relating to the spiritual and temporal life of the diocese. The chapter was
highly structured and every position had well-defined responsibilities. The
head was the dean, who presided over the chapter and ensured that the
canonical statutes were observed. He also served as the proxy for the bishop
when there was none. The archdeacon covered for the dean in his absence
and examined candidates for ordination to the priesthood. The precentor
was responsible for the cathedral’s music and liturgy. The canons and
racioneros performed many tasks required for the day-to-day operations of
the cathedral.25 In addition to these duties, prebendaries were required to
assist in the celebration of daily Mass (by chanting the divine office) and
take part in other religious functions.
The tasks prebendaries did had to be performed personally and not by
substitutes. This meant that prebendaries had to live near the cathedral.
They drew a regular salary from the Crown, which in San Juan ranged from
150 pesos for a racionero to 400 pesos for the dean, in addition to receiving
a portion of the tithe. There was a strict formula for distributing tithe
income: the bishop and prebendaries each received one-fourth as a group
and the rest was divided among the royal treasury and the diocesan
parishes. However, the prebendaries typically usurped funds earmarked for
the parishes, often leaving pastors to finance the needs of their parishes on
their own.26 Securing a prebend not only provided financial security, it also
brought status and prestige. Prebendaries wore honorary insignia, they
preceded other clergy when they moved in procession (e.g., on Corpus
Christi), and each one had a stall in the cathedral’s choir.
It is necessary to understand the island’s defense system and system of
legal trade to comprehend the socioeconomic context in which the relaciones were compiled. From its inception, San Juan had to protect itself
against foreign incursions. The threat of French corsairs, which began in

24. Cathedral chapters were comprised of 27 members, but only a handful were fully
staffed. In New Spain (Mexico), only the cathedral chapters of Mexico City and Puebla had
a full component of canons (10), racioneros (6), and medios racioneros (6) in the years 1570 to
1600. The diocese of Antequera had 5 canons but no racioneros or medios racioneros in this
period. Castillo Flores, “Los cabildos eclesiásticos,” 121–122.
25. Alexandre Coello de la Rosa, “El cabildo catedrático y los jueces adjuntos en Lima
Colonial (1601–1611),” Colonial Latin American Review 20, (2011), 331–361, here 333.
26. Van Oss, Catholic Colonialism, 83.

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the 1530s and continued through the 1550s, prompted the first efforts to
fortify the city. Initially local militia protected the city, but as the Crown
became increasingly concerned about foreign interlopers, it assigned a garrison of professional soldiers to defend it in 1582. The Crown also allocated
funds called the situado for the upkeep of the garrison, as was the common
practice in other fortified cities throughout the Caribbean.27 The British
were also a threat. In November 1585, Sir Francis Drake attacked San
Juan, and three years later, in the summer of 1598, George Clifford, the
third earl of Cumberland, attacked the city. These events hastened San
Juan’s transformation into a military presidio. In response, the Crown
authorized further improvements in the city’s fortifications and increased
the size of its garrison.28 As this process unfolded, the prominence of the
military in local society increased at the expense of other segments of the
population. Nearly all military and civil authorities in the first half of the
seventeenth century came from Spain. Many of these men married the
daughters of prominent local families, forming the nucleus of a stratified,
hierarchical society.
It is difficult to assess a priest’s career without knowledge of the social
networks and relationships that helped or hindered clerical advancement.
The Menéndez de Valdes was likely the most powerful and well-connected
clan in the city (and likely the island) in the mid-seventeenth century was.
In 1582, the Crown sent Diego Menéndez de Valdés, a man with considerable military experience, to govern the island. Following two terms of
office (1581–1593), the governor and his family remained on the island.
Diego’s numerous children intermarried with members of San Juan’s civil
and military elite (including the descendants of Juan Ponce de León, a
member of the island’s most prominent family in the late sixteenth century).29 The Menéndez de Valdes were also linked through marriage to
Spanish officials who were sent to the island, including Gaspar Flores de
Caldevilla, who was named treasurer of the real hacienda (royal treasury) on
May 20, 1623.30 Gaspar’s son, Alvaro Flores de Caldevilla, served in the

27. Fernando Picó, History of Puerto Rico: A Panorama of Its People (Princeton, N.J.,
2006), 79–81.
28. Picó, History of Puerto Rico, 81–85, 88.
29. Diego’s children include Catalina, who married Francisco Lanzos y Andrada; Lope,
who married Catalina Flores de Caldevilla; Diego, who married Isabel de Rivera, a greatgranddaughter of Juan Ponce de León; Francisco, who married Inés Mexia Gudiño; and
Alonso, who married Isabel de Lugo Sotomayor.
30. “Relación de méritos para Álvaro Flores de Caldevilla,” AGI, Indiferente General
192, no. 185, March 17, 1645.

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447

cathedral chapter of San Juan. Like other elite families in the Americas, the
Menéndez de Valdéses maintained their influence and prominence across
several generations through the strategic placement of family members as
clergy and nuns. Diego Menéndez de Valdés’s nephew (Juan Morcelo),
two of his grandsons (Alonso Menéndez de Valdés and Juan Menéndez de
Valdés), and a great-nephew (Diego de Valdés y Montenegro) became
priests and served in the cathedral chapter of San Juan. In addition, three
of his granddaughters (Ana de Lanzos, Antonia de Lanzos, and María
Menéndez de Valdés) were founding members of a Carmelite convent that
was established on July 1, 1651, in San Juan.31 The Menéndez de Valdéses
were part of a small but formidable social and economic elite. Their power
was enhanced by the small size of the city’s population, which was only
1,794 in 1673.32
Other families, including the Amezquitas and Torres y Vargases, rose
to prominence because of the actions members took to defend San Juan
against foreign attackers. In September 1625, a Dutch squadron under the
command of General Boudewijn Hendriksz attacked San Juan. Most of
the city’s residents took refuge in El Morro, the massive fortress whose
construction had begun during Menéndez de Valdés’s governorship. When
Hendriksz demanded the surrender of El Morro, the island’s governor,
Juan de Haro, refused, and Hendriksz laid siege to the fortress. Several of
the city’s inhabitants distinguished themselves in combat, including Captain Juan de Amezquita and Sergeant Major García de Torres. Amezquita
led a sortie one night that captured the enemy’s position overlooking the
harbor along with many weapons and resulted in the death of a Dutch
commander.33 García de Torres, who had served with distinction for
twenty-three years in San Juan, was killed in the initial fighting.34 Over
time, the descendants of Amezquita and Torres parlayed the roles their
respective ancestors had played in defending the empire against foreign
31. Tarsicio María Gotay Figueredo, “Monjas del monasterio Señor San José de la
Orden de la Bienaventurada Virgen María de Monte Carmelo de la Antigua Observancia de
la Ciudad de San Juan Puerto Rico,” Hereditas 5 (2004), 3–16.
32. This figure comes from the only census undertaken for San Juan in the seventeenth
century; no other census was undertaken for San Juan or for the island until 1765. Not all the
city’s inhabitants were enumerated. The census excluded persons below the age of ten, the
city’s secular and regular clergy and the Sisters of the Carmelite religious order, and the soldiers assigned to the city’s military fortifications. See David M. Stark, “There Is No City
Here, but a Desert: The Contours of City Life in 1673 San Juan,” The Journal of Caribbean
History 42 (2008), 255-289, here 253, 273–277.
33. Francisco Scarano, Puerto Rico: Cinco siglos de historia (México, DF, 1993), 237.
34. Enriqueta Vila Vilar, Historia de Puerto Rico, 1600–1650 (Seville, 1974), 149.

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A PROFESSIONALIZING PRIESTHOOD

invasion into socioeconomic prominence. Two of Amezquita’s grandsons
(Pedro de Oscos y Turen and Martín Calderón de la Barca) served in the
cathedral chapter of San Juan, as did Torres’s son, Diego de Torres y
Vargas. Other inhabitants of San Juan, such as Juan de Salinas y Figueroa
(the great-great-grandson of Juan Ponce de León), contributed food that
kept the garrison supplied during the Dutch siege of El Morro. One of his
sons, Gerónimo de Salinas y Figueroa, served in the city’s cathedral chapter.35 Before the Dutch withdrew from San Juan in November 1625, they
burned it to the ground and made off with as much booty as their ships
could carry. Historian Fernando Picó calls this “the worst disaster in the
history of the city.”36
San Juan eventually recovered, but the memory of the Dutch and
English attacks remained embedded in the collective memory of its inhabitants for the rest of the century. In the economy of favor that bound
patrons and clients with mutual obligations, the valiant deeds of ancestors
amounted to political and economic capital. The king (the patron) was
expected to provide material benefits, advancement, and protection in
return for the loyalty and service of his subjects (the clients). This was
known as the mandate of reciprocity.37 When the king was unable to pay
in advance for help in a war, a conquest, or a disaster, he offered future
rewards and favors. Loyal subjects recorded and certified both their deeds
and the unpaid work they performed for the king to secure royal favor.
Because they or their ancestors had demonstrated their loyalty to the king
in fighting the Dutch and English and in provisioning El Morro, certain
of San Juan’s inhabitants expected him to provide commensurate rewards
for that service.
A key component of the mandate of reciprocity was the principle that
the famous deeds of one’s ancestors could be inherited and claimed by their
descendants.38 We see evidence of this in the relaciones prospective prebendaries compiled in the mid-seventeenth century. Clergy often reminded
the king of the heroism and financial sacrifice of their ancestor(s) during
the Dutch and the English attacks. For example, Gerónimo de Salinas y
35. “Relación de méritos para Gerónimo de Salinas y Figueroa,” AGI, Indiferente
General 195, no. 35, 1658.
36. Picó, History of Puerto Rico, 87.
37. On the mandate of reciprocity, see Ann Twinam, Purchasing Whiteness: Pardos,
Mulattos, and the Quest for Social Mobility in the Spanish Indies (Stanford, 2015), 413.
38. Macleod, “Self-Promotion,” 26; Lundberg, Church Life between the Metropolitan
and the Local, 216.

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449

Figueroa’s relación, which he compiled in 1658, highlighted the fact that
his father had provided meat, casabe (manioc), and sugar at his own
expense to the men guarding the mouth of the Bayamón River during the
1625 Dutch attack and that his paternal grandfather, Gerónimo de Salinas,
had provided key resources during the 1598 English attack.39 For his
father’s and grandfather’s actions, Salinas was promoted to canónigo.
Reminding the Crown about the deeds of one’s ancestors was still an effective strategy for prospective prebendaries to make themselves noticed into
the middle of the century.
In the early years of the seventeenth century, the Hispanic Caribbean
became increasingly marginalized from commercial traffic between Spain
and the Americas. A variety of factors, including changes in navigation
routes, difficulties associated with the fleet system of trade, and a cédula
that forbade merchants from the Canary Islands from trading with the
Spanish Caribbean, led to a virtual paralysis of legal commercial trade.40
From 1625 to 1650, the levels of maritime traffic between Puerto Rico and
Seville declined to less than one-fifth of that of the previous quartercentury.41 If we are to believe contemporary accounts, from 1651 to 1662
not a single registered ship from Spain arrived at the island and from 1651
to 1675 only eight ships left Seville for Puerto Rico.42 This probably is why
it took three years for the Council of the Indies to respond to the letters
Diego de Torres y Vargas and Francisco Moreno del Rincón wrote in
1656. Despite the decline in legal commercial traffic, illegal trade was
openly conducted along the island’s coastlines. With few legal outlets for
their goods, island residents (including clergy who later served in the
cathedral chapter, such as Martín Calderón de la Barca) were increasingly
drawn into the complex and illegal web of intra-Caribbean trade with
nearby islands in the non-Hispanic Caribbean, such as the Danish port of
Saint Thomas, the British Virgin Islands of Tortola and Virgin Gorda, and
the Dutch possessions of Saint Eustatius and Curaçao.43
39. “Relación de méritos para Gerónimo de Salinas y Figueroa,” AGI, Indiferente
General 195, no. 35, 1658.
40. Altagracia Ortiz, Eighteenth-Century Reforms in the Caribbean: Miguel de Muesas,
Governor of Puerto Rico 1769–1776 (Rutherford NJ, 1983), 53.
41. A similar situation prevailed in Havana during the first half of the seventeenth century, where the infrequency of trade was particularly acute during the 1640s. See Isabelo
Macías Domínguez, Cuba en la primera mitad del siglo XVIII (Seville, 1978), 143.
42. Picó, History of Puerto Rico, 75.
43. Martín’s relación contains a letter written by Bishop Francisco de Padilla to the
Crown on March 1, 1689, that describes when Martín was a sub-deacon, one of his slaves
was apprehended with contraband goods. Martín was accused of participating in the contra-

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A PROFESSIONALIZING PRIESTHOOD

The island’s (and the city’s) dependence on the situado, which provided
the largest supply of specie for the island, also made matters worse. No
situado arrived from Mexico in seventeen of the years in the period 1650–
1700, and only 53 percent of the total that should have arrived reached
Puerto Rico in these years.44 Such shortfalls in the situado meant that
months or years might pass when no official salaries were paid, including
those of the priests who staffed the cathedral chapter. This forced residents
to rely on credit or loans from local merchants and resulted in periodic economic downturns. Historian Ángel López Cantos describes the period
1650 to 1700 “as the period of lowest economic activity in Puerto Rico.”45
Mid- and late-seventeenth-century descriptions refer to both San Juan and
the island as impoverished. Cristóbal Bautista López cited the island’s
poverty as one of the reasons he was requesting a transfer to the Caracas
cathedral chapter. Although the salary was the same (300 pesos), according
to Bautista López, the income from the tithe (which likely provided his
only source of income in the years when the situado did not arrive) was not
enough for him to dress in the manner befitting his station. He also noted
that sometimes it was impossible to celebrate the Mass because wine and
bread used for the Host and communion wafers were in short supply.46
However impoverished San Juan and Santiago, Cuba, were, the situation
in Caracas was likely worse, which is probably the reason Bautista López
and Luyando turned down the opportunity to occupy the treasurer’s office
in the Caracas cathedral chapter.47

band trade and was imprisoned for five months. The bishop later refused to ordain Martín as
a priest or to allow him to travel to Caracas or Havana to be ordained. However, Martín sailed
to Spain without the bishop’s permission, where he studied at the University of Seville and
was ordained. Relación de Martín Calderón de la Barca, AGI, Indiferente General 209, no.
47, June 23, 1690. Martín and the Calderón de la Barca family were notorious for their participation in contraband trade. In 1701, Governor Gabriel Gutiérrez de Riva launched an
investigation into contraband trade and discovered that Martín (now dean of the San Juan
cathedral chapter) had been selling wax, wine, and oil to be used in the San Juan cathedral’s
liturgical services for personal profit. See Ángel López Cantos, Historia de Puerto Rico: 1650–
1700 (Seville, 1975), 268.
44. López Cantos, Historia de Puerto Rico, 135–137. Funds were allocated for the
upkeep of the permanent military garrison in San Juan, but rather than sending these from
Seville, the Crown tapped the revenues generated by the silver mines of Mexico to provide a
permanent subsidy for the garrison’s salaries and other expenses.
45. López Cantos, Historia de Puerto Rico, 93, 127.
46. Medrano Herrero, Don Damián López de Haro, 231.
47. While what conditions were like in Caracas are not available, we know Bautista
López wanted to leave San Juan and identified locations where he would accept a transfer but
not Caracas. The relación does not state why he did not want to relocate there.

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Claims of poverty were likely overstated to elicit sympathy from the
Crown. Although there were problems with the situado that didn’t arrive
or the dearth of registered ships sailing to San Juan, prebendaries had other
sources of income like the tithe. Torres y Vargas sent items received as part
of the tithe (ginger, hides, sugar, and cacao) to Spain for sale and to pay off
debts.48 Prebendaries had very good incomes. This allowed some priests to
own houses, including Diego de Valdés y Montenegro and Diego de
Bolaños, and other priests to own slaves.49 For example, Juan Gomez de
Govantes owned at least 3 slaves, Juan Guilarte de Salazar owned at least
1 slave, Francisco Lopez de la Cruz owned at least 5 slaves, Juan de
Rivafrecha owned at least 2 slaves, and Felipe de Lozada owned at least
one slave.50 Priests often used their income to support parents and unmarried or widowed siblings. Though they had many expenses, their pleas of
poverty were probably intended to secure more money to allow them to live
according to the standard of living befitting their station.
The Socioeconomic Origins of Priests in Spanish America
We know very little about the social origins of the priests who served
in San Juan in the seventeenth century. Such information was not required
for ordination. Candidates for the priesthood had to be of legitimate birth
and from old Christian lineage (that is free from Muslim Jewish, Indian,
or African ancestry). Although it was not common, men of illegitimate
birth could be ordained and could even become prebendaries, but this
required a dispensation from the papacy. One example is Juan de
Rivafrecha, who obtained such a dispensation and was promoted to a
ración in 1691 and then to a canon in 1695. However, his career stalled
because of his background and he never advanced to the rank of precentor.51 Prospective priests had to provide witnesses who could attest that
they were free from stains on their honor. Information in the relaciones
about socioeconomic background must be used with caution, since the
priests often overstated their circumstances or embellished an ancestor’s
48. Medrano Herrero, Don Damián López de Haro, 187–193.
49. See David Stark and Teresa de Castro Sedgwick, “Padrón del año 1673 de las personas que hay en la ciudad de San Juan de Puerto Rico: Una transcripción con introducción
y notas genealógicas,” Boletín de la Sociedad Puertorriqueña de Genealogía, 9 (1997), 1–114,
here 45 and 56.
50. These prebendaries owned female slaves who gave birth and their infants were baptized in San Juan in the years 1650 to 1700.
51. “Minutas de consultas, decretos y otros papeles, años 1721–1740,” AGI, Santo
Domingo 535A, AGI, Año de 1730, no. 11. I am very grateful to Teresa de Castro for graciously providing me with a copy of this document.

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accomplishments to curry favor with the king and obtain a benefice. In
addition, the information in the relaciones may be skewed toward priests
who came from the upper ranks of colonial society.52 Lacking other documentation, we should use the relaciones with caution and compare them
against the published primary sources.
Scholars who study the clergy in Spanish America have long argued
that most priests were of modest social origins. For example, Lincoln
Draper states that clergy in early seventeenth-century Charcas in Bolivia
“came from mid-level bureaucratic families tracing their lineage to conquistadors or early settlers.”53 William Taylor observes that members of the
cathedral chapters in eighteenth-century Mexico City and Guadalajara
came from “the upper ranks of colonial society,” as did appointees to the
lucrative “first class” parishes. He then writes that of a sample of more than
100 other priests in second- and third-class parishes as beneficed pastors or
their assistants in these two dioceses, “most were of relatively humble origins.”54 Consolación Fernández Mellen asserts that clergy in late eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century Havana were of “ascendencia
humilde,” or humble birth.55 However, the evidence from the San Juan relaciones—from other time periods and other parts of Spanish America—suggests that the expense of preparing for the priesthood was high.
While the initial course of study often began in the prospective cleric’s
hometown under the tutelage of the local pastor, advanced study that
lasted for several years was required for ordination. This was only possible
at a seminary, a convent school staffed by members of a religious order, or
a university, all of which were typically found in larger cities. As Paul
Ganster has noted, the cost of meeting these educational requirements factored heavily into an individual’s decision to enter the priesthood. Only the
more affluent families could send a son off to study.56 While a man of
humble origins might become a priest, this was the exception, not the rule.
52. This is not just a problem of sampling (not all clergy left a relación) but also one of
bias because it was in the applicant’s best interest to present the strongest possible case for
promotion, even if this meant embellishing his own or his ancestor’s accomplishments.
53. See Draper, “Archbishops, Canons, and Priests,” 250.
54. See William B. Taylor, Magistrates of the Sacred: Priests and Parishioners in Eighteenth-Century Mexico (Stanford, 1996), 87.
55. See Consolación Fernández Mellen, “El alto clero en la nueva diócesis de la
Habana: Origen, formación y carrera eclesiástica (1790–1830),” in El mediterráneo y América,
1, ed. Juan José Sánchez Baena and Lucía Provencio Garrigos, (Murcia, 2006), 483.
56. Paul Ganster, “Churchmen,” in Cities and Society in Colonial Latin America, ed.
Luisa Schell Hoberman and Susan Midgen Socolow, (Albuquerque, 1986), 145.

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Such a man probably needed a sponsor or benefactor to help with expenses.
There were other financial considerations, too. Prospective clerics had to
provide evidence of a lifelong means of support, called a congrua. Once a
priest was ordained, he could not perform any other kind of manual labor,
and secular priests, unlike their counterparts who belonged to religious
orders, were not allowed to beg for alms.57 To establish their financial
independence, young men typically relied upon capellanías (chaplaincies) or
other ecclesiastical endowments that provided a fixed income. A capellanía
was often established by family members for this purpose.58 Only wealthy
families had the means to endow a capellanía or other source of fixed
income for a son studying for the priesthood. Thus, priests were generally
members of the economic elite of their communities.
This was the case with the clergy in this study. We know the socioeconomic background of twenty-one of the thirty-one priests who served
in San Juan’s cathedral chapter from 1650 to 1700. Six of them were
descended from families with military backgrounds. For example, Martín
Calderón de la Barca belonged to a family of career military officers. His
father Francisco had served as infantry captain in San Juan’s presidio from
1653 to 1658; his grandfather Martín had served in the military for
twenty-seven years, including a stint as infantry captain in the San Juan
presidio; and his great-grandfather Francisco’s military career had begun in
1580 and spanned over fifty years.59 There were a few prebendaries from
families with more modest military backgrounds, such as Andrés Suazo
Recalde, whose father Martín Suazo Recalde had served as cabo de escuadra
(standard bearer) and as sergeant in San Juan’s military garrison.60 Five of
the prebendaries descended from families active in the island’s civil administration. Among these were Félix de Cuadros, whose father Agustín de
Cuadros had had a distinguished career serving as alcalde ordinario (alderman), procurador general (attorney general), and alcalde de la Santa Hermandad (sheriff).61 Three prebendaries belonged to the landed elite, including
Gerónimo de Salinas y Figueroa and Juan Menéndez de Valdés, whose

57. Lundberg, Church Life between the Metropolitan and the Local, 70.
58. In areas with indigenous populations such as Mexico and Peru, prospective clerics
could seek ordination based on their knowledge of an Indian language.
59. “Relación de méritos para Martín Calderón de la Barca,” AGI, Indiferente General
215, no. 50, June 14, 1710.
60. “Relación de méritos para Andrés Suazo Recalde,” AGI, Indiferente General 205,
no. 54, January 29, 1683.
61. “Relación de méritos para Félix de Cuadros,” AGI, Indiferente General 199, no.
43, August 24, 1667.

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father, Francisco Menéndez de Valdés, owned a hacienda that had been
destroyed during the 1625 Dutch attack.62 Two prebendaries alleged noble
ancestry, though their claims were not well documented in the relaciónes,
and another two traced their lineage back to the island’s conquerors.63 Of
the twenty-one prebendaries whose social origins are known, only three
came from humble origins. One, Francisco Sánchez Muñoz was the son of
the mayordomo (manager) of the church in Cumana, off the coast of South
America, and the other two, Francisco López de la Cruz and Cristóbal
Pastrana, were born in San Juan.64
We know the place of birth for twenty-nine of the thirty-one priests.
Twenty-seven were born locally.65 This finding is similar to what scholars
found for dioceses in other regions of the Americas and Spain. For example,
Lucrecia Raquel Enríquez Agrazar observed that all twenty-three canons
named to the cathedral chapter of Concepción (Chile) from 1650 to 1700
were born in Chile and that twenty-seven of thirty-two canons named to
the cathedral chapter of Santiago in the same period had been born
locally.66 Lincoln Draper noted a similar finding for the early seventeenthcentury cathedral chapter in Charcas, Bolivia.67 Following the adoption of
the New Laws of 1542, the Crown pursued a deliberate strategy of favoring
individuals born locally when staffing royal posts, including positions in the
Church. Preference was given to conquerors and their descendants in

62. “Relación de méritos para Juan Menéndez de Valdés,” AGI, Indiferente General
193, no. 27, April 13, 1646.
63. The prebends who claimed noble descent were Luis Muriel y Castro and Juan
Guilarte de Salazar. The descendants of conquerors were Esteban Cordero de Luyando and
Tomás Martín de Luyando. See “Relaciones de mérito para Luis Muriel y Castro, Juan
Guilarte de Salazar, Esteban Cordero de Luyando, and Tomás Martín de Luyando,” AGI,
Indiferente General 196, no. 139, March 10, 1663; AGI, Indiferente General 207, no. 9,
December 1, 1686; AGI, Indiferente General 195, no. 64, May 31, 1658; and AGI, Indiferente General 202, no. 33, February 10, 1675.
64. For Francisco, see AGI, Indiferente General 195, no. 69, July 9, 1658. Pastrana’s
relación provided the name of his parents, but López de la Cruz’s did not. For Cristóbal Pastrana and Francisco López de la Cruz, see AGI, Indiferente General 195 no. 24 September
22, 1659; and AGI, Indiferente General 211, no. 63 November 5, 1695.
65. Among prebendaries whose place of birth is known, Juan Gómez de Govantes, was
from Spain, and Francisco Sánchez Muñoz was from Cumana. The origin of two prebendaries is unknown, although one, Felipe Losada, was likely born in Puerto Rico. See
“Relación de mérito para Juan Gómez de Govantes and “Relación de mérito para Francisco
Sánchez Muñoz,” AGI, Indiferente General 208, no. 49, December 10, 1688; and AGI,
Indiferente General, 195, no. 69, July 9, 1658.
66. Enríquez Agrazar, De colonial a nacional, 25 and 197.
67. Draper, “Archbishops, Canons, and Priests,” 204.

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455

awarding prebends.68 Within a century, the number of prebendaries from
the Peninsula had declined; most were locally born.69 The Crown’s preference for the conquerors and their offspring put Spanish clergy who sought
posts in cathedral chapters in the Americas at a disadvantage. Perhaps this
explains why the request of Spanish native Juan Gómez de Govantes for a
prebend in the San Juan cathedral chapter was denied six times in twentyeight years; he finally was finally given one in 1696.70
Although preference was given to locally born men, priests were careful to note their hereditary connections to the metropolis in the hope of
impressing the Council of the Indies. This was the case with Pedro Pérez
Basco, who emphasized that his paternal grandparents were from the Villa
de Motril in Castile.71 Conversely, individuals of humble origin or those
who had been born in the Americas, as was the case with Cristóbal
Bautista López, might omit their ancestry, choosing instead to highlight
their education or their pastoral activities.
Members of Spanish colonial society did not see themselves as having
status as individuals but as part of a family unit, and prebendaries who were
interested in advancing their economic and social status invariably did so
in the context of the status of their family. The status of the individual
reflected upon the family and vice versa. Likewise, a prebendary’s influence
and power probably derived more from his family or from other ties with
local elites than it did from membership in the cathedral chapter.72 This
68. Following complaints and calls for reform from individuals such as the Dominican
friar Bartolomé de Las Casas, these laws were created to prevent the exploitation and mistreatment of the indigenous peoples of the Americas through the encomenderos (grants of labor
of a particular group of Indians) by strictly limiting their power and dominion. Schwaller,
“The Cathedral Chapter of Mexico,” 670.
69. By the end of the sixteenth century most members of the San Juan cathedral chapter were creoles. For a list of prebendaries of its cathedral chapter in the sixteenth century, see
Elsa Gelpí Baíz, “Los procesos de integración criolla dentro del cabildo eclesiástico,” in Iglesia
y Sociedad: 500 años en Puerto Rico y el caribe, siglo XVI, ed. Manuel Alvarado Morales and
Marie Minette Díaz Burley, (San Juan, 2008), 321–325.
70. Gómez de Govantes applied for the position of archdeacon in 1690, 1695, and
1696. He applied for a position as ración in 1691, as precentor in 1694, and as canon in 1695.
“Propuestas, consultas y provisiones de canonjías, años 1696–1758,” AGI, Santo Domingo
579, nos. 15 and 3; “Consultas y decretos originales pertenecientes a la isla de Puerto Rico,
años 1586–1700,” AGI, Santo Domingo 535A, nos. 94, 160, 98, and 262.
71. “Relación de méritos para Pedro Pérez Basco,” AGI, Indiferente General 117, no.
46, June 14, 1641.
72. Pedro C. Quintana Andrés, “El cabildo catedral de Canarias: Una elite socioeconómica e ideológica de ámbito regional,” Revista de Historia Moderna Anales de la Universidad de Alicante 26 (2008), 221–248 here 224.

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fact was not lost upon church authorities. As Lincoln Draper has noted,
there were conflicts between the cathedral chapter and bishops over control
of diocesan clergy.73 Bartolome García de Escañuela, the bishop of Puerto
Rico from 1670 to 1676, alluded to this in a letter to the king dated April
27, 1674, that described the problematic nature of appointments to the
cathedral chapter. According to García de Escañuela, bishops came and
went so frequently that when one died, the cathedral chapter overturned
the appointments of prebendaries it did not like and named those it wanted
instead.74 Bishops who found themselves at odds with the cathedral chapter often did what the chapter wanted to avoid problems with the prebendaries. Maybe this explains why Bishop Arnado de Isasi deferred judgment
about Cristóbal Bautista López’s request for reinstatement as archdeacon
to the Council of the Indies.
Academic Training and Intellectual Formation
In a letter dated August 14, 1706, Pedro de la Concepción Urtiaga, the
newly installed bishop of Puerto Rico, informed the king about the state of
the island’s clergy. He said that “no tienen más ciencia que un poco de gramática
mal aprendida” (their knowledge consists of little more than some badly
learned grammar). The bishop believed that the low level of academic training for priests contributed to moral laxity among the island’s inhabitants
and that it was related to the fact that the clergy administered the sacraments poorly and seldom.75 Bishop Urtiaga was not alone in his assessment
of the clergy. Other bishops throughout Spanish America expressed similar
concerns about the clergy’s lack of academic training. For example, the bishops of two Chilean dioceses, Dionisio Cimbrón of Concepión and Diego
Humanzoro of Santiago, who each wrote the king in 1672, criticized the
clergy in their respective dioceses. According to Bishop Cimbrón, “Los curas
. . . apenas saben leer latín y esto muy mal” (the priests . . . barely know Latin
and this very poorly). Bishop Humanzoro wrote “Hay un solo prebendado con
estudios y califica a los demás como iletrados” (there is only one prebendary with
[university] studies and the rest lack formal study).76 Scholars often repeat

73. Draper, “Archbishops, Canons, and Priests,” 20.
74. Murga Sanz and Huerga, Episcopologio de Puerto Rico, 3:623.
75. Vicente Murga Sanz and Álvaro Huerga, Episcopologio de Puerto Rico: De Pedro de
la Concepción Urtiaga a Juan Bautista Zengotita 1706–1802), 4 (Ponce, PR, 1990), 245.
76. Lucrecia Enríquez, “Carrera eclesiástica, Real Patronato y redes de poder en las
consultas de la Cámara de Indias del clero secular chileno en el siglo XVIII,” in Carrera, linaje
y patronazgo: Clérigos y juristas en Nueva España, Chile y Perú (siglos XVI–XVIII), ed. Rodolfo
Aguirre Salvador, (México, DF, 2004), 134–135.

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such assessments. For instance, Angel López Cantos has suggested that the
Puerto Rican clergy in the eighteenth century was characterized by a “bajo
nivel acultural” (low level of academic training).77 Was this depiction accurate? What was the extent of the clergy’s academic training in the years
before Bishop Urtiaga arrived in 1706?
Priests often indicated in their relaciones what and where they had studied and what degrees they had earned. This allows us to evaluate their academic training, especially that of the prebendaries, in this period. Prospective priests had to be trained in Latin and moral theology. Beyond this,
there were no additional academic requirements, except that each prospective cleric had to pass a written examination before he could be ordained.78
Candidates for the priesthood were trained in Latin and moral theology to
the extent that a family’s financial means allowed. There was no standardized school system in Spanish America, and peripheral areas such as Puerto
Rico had few schools. Families had to improvise to educate their children.
A parent who was literate probably taught his or her children, especially
sons, how to read and write at an early age. The sons of affluent community
members might study with a private tutor or the parish priest. For example,
Alonso de Ulloa y Fuentes, who served as a prebendary in the cathedral
chapters of Santo Domingo and Caracas, was taught by his maternal uncle,
Pedro de Lizana, dean of the cathedral chapter in San Juan.79 Boys who
were interested in the priesthood began their primary studies sometime
between the age of ten and thirteen.80 In larger cities, an informal school
was often staffed by local priests attached to the cathedral. For instance, in
San Juan, several clerics, including Cristóbal Bautista López, Juan Gómez
de Govantes, and Cristóbal Pastrana, taught boys Spanish reading and writing, grammar (reading, writing, and pronouncing Latin), and the basics of
ecclesiastical chant.81 Boys also learned the rudiments of the faith and were
trained in the reading of the hours. After they had become proficient in the
study of grammar and mastered these skills, they were ready for tonsure and
conferral of the minor orders (porter, lector, exorcist, and acolyte), which

77. Ángel López Cantos, Los puertorriqueños: Mentalidades y actitudes (Siglo XVIII) (San
Juan, 2000), 323.
78. Van Oss, Catholic Colonialism, 164.
79. AGI, Contratación 20, no. 13.
80. Van Oss, Catholic Colonialism, 166.
81. See “Relaciones de Cristóbal Bautista López, Juan Gómez de Govantes and
Cristóbal Pastrana,” AGI, Indiferente General 192, no. 186, April 23, 1641; AGI, Indiferente General 208, no. 49, December 10, 1688; and AGI, Indiferente General 195, no. 24,
September 22, 1659.

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typically occurred at age fourteen.82 More advanced studies followed at a
seminary, convent school, or university, depending on the family’s financial
means or where the candidate lived.
Because there was no seminary or university in Puerto Rico, prospective clerics continued with their intellectual formation at the Colegio de
Santo Tomás de Aquino (the Saint Thomas Aquinas convent school) in San
Juan, which was operated by the Dominicans. The secondary course of
study, which lasted three years, was rigorous. Classes were held year-round
and went from early in the morning into the evening. During the first year,
students learned rhetoric, which combined Latin and Spanish and probably
involved translation in both directions of texts such as selected works by
Cicero and Virgil. Students also studied the techniques of persuasion these
authors used.83 In the second year, they embarked upon the curso de artes
(course in the study of arts), which consisted of logic and Aristotelian philosophy. Future clergy and prebendaries were educated alongside future
leaders of San Juan society and government, which provided opportunities
to forge friendships and create networks that might prove advantageous in
the future. Prior to ordination, candidates for the priesthood also had to
complete courses in dogmatic and moral theology, which “dealt with the
application of dogmatic principles to everyday life.”84 This was the extent of
academic training for most Puerto Rican clergy in this period. For example,
Pedro de Oscos y Turen studied at the Colegio de Santo Tomás from 1663
to 1666 and was ordained after he had completed the curso de artes.85 Fur-

82. Taylor, Magistrates of the Sacred, 69. Although boys as young as fourteen received
the minor orders, it is highly unlikely they would have been put in the position of performing
exorcisms. Not all who were tonsured were ordained. For example, in the period 1656–1660
in the diocese of Santiago de Compostela (Spain) there were 505 tonsures but only 86 ordinations, and in the diocese of Barcelona in the period 1635–1717 there were 2,667 tonsures
but only 622 ordinations. See Arturo Morgado García, “La iglesia como factor de movilidad
social: Las carreras eclesiásticas en la España del Antiguo Régimen,” in Poder y movilidad
social: Cortesanos, religiosos y oligarquías en la península Ibérica (siglos XV–XIX), ed. Francisco
Chacón Jiménez y Nuño G. Monteiro, (Murcia, 2006), 67 nn 9–10.
83. Morgado García, “La iglesia como factor de movilidad social,” 93.
84. Morgado García, “La iglesia como factor de movilidad social,” 90.
85. Four other priests (Juan Menéndez de Valdés, Pedro Pérez Basco, Juan Guilarte de
Salazar, and Martín Calderón de la Barca, all noted in their relaciones they studied at the
Colegio de Santo Tomás. If a priest studied at a university, he did not mention studying at
the Colegio—only one, Martín, did. Other priests did not mention where they studied. A
priest could have studied on their own, but would have had to study at the Colegio to take the
required theology courses. See “Relación de méritos para Pedro de Oscos y Turen,” AGI,
Indiferente General 202, no. 30, March 20, 1675; Relación de méritos para Juan Menéndez
de Valdés, AGI, Indiferente General 193, no. 27, April 13, 1646; Relación de méritos para

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ther academic training would have required him to study abroad, a costly
endeavor.
As competition for benefices increased in the second half of the seventeenth century, some families opted to provide their sons with a university education to advance their professional career opportunities and potentially as a means of social mobility. A priest was more likely to be selected
for a prebend, especially the rank of a dignitary (archdeacon and dean), if
he had a university degree. This may have been the case in 1658, when
Diego de Torres y Vargas was appointed dean instead of Bernardino
Benítez y Luyando, who had more seniority. Torres y Vargas used his
social (and professional) connections in Madrid and likely was awarded the
prebend because Benítez y Luyando did not have a university degree.
Selection as a prebend, especially the higher ranks of a dignitary (archdeacon and dean), conferred honor and prestige—not to mention a lucrative
income—and it provided access to power with the church. Even though a
university education was costly, it paid dividends in the long run.
In core areas of Latin America, like Mexico, the number of young men
studying at universities increased over the course of the seventeenth century as did the number of priests with a university degree.86 The priesthood
was in the process of becoming more professional. However, the timing of
this shift varied. It occurred earlier in some areas (Mexico) and later in
others (Puerto Rico). Perhaps this explains why Bishop Urtiaga, a native of
Queretaro, Mexico, whose prior service was mostly in that country, was
critical of the Puerto Rican clergy’s lack of academic training in the early
eighteenth century.87
A surprising number of Puerto Rican clergy in the second half of the
seventeenth century had a university degree. Of the thirty-one prebendaries who served in the cathedral chapter of San Juan during this period,
eleven (35 percent) had a university degree. This is much higher than the
number of prebendaries with a university degree in the first half of the sevPedro Pérez Basco, AGI, Indiferente General 117, no. 46, June 14, 1641; Relación de méritos
para Juan Guilarte de Salazar, AGI Indiferente General 207, no. 9, December 1, 1686; and
Relación de méritos para Martín Calderón de la Barca, AGI Indiferente General 209, no. 47,
June 23, 1690.
86. Rodolfo Aguirre Salvador, “Mismas aulas, diferentes destinos: Los estudios universitarios como factor de ascenso en las carreras públicas,” Historia Mexicana 65 (2016), 17091749, here 1710; and Un clero en transición: Población clerical, cambio parroquial y política eclesiástica en el arzobispado de México, 1700-1749 (México, DF, 2012), 121.
87. Murga Sanz and Álvaro Huerga, Episcopologio de Puerto Rico, 3:24.

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enteenth century (three of twenty-nine, or 10 percent).88 Few priests in the
Spanish Caribbean (Cuba, Florida, Jamaica, Puerto Rico, and Santo
Domingo) in this period had a university degree. According to Josué Caamaño Dones, who examined the relaciones de méritos for thirty-one priests
in the Spanish Caribbean, only ten priests had studied at a university: seven
from Cuba, one from Jamaica, one from Puerto Rico, and one from Santo
Domingo.89 Because there was only one university in the Spanish
Caribbean at this time, the University of Santo Tomas in Santo Domingo,
it is surprising that so many priests in Puerto Rico earned a university
degree in the late seventeenth century.
Of the eleven university graduates in this study, three had completed
the requirements for a bachiller (equivalent to a bachelor’s degree), seven
had been awarded a licenciado (equivalent to a master’s degree), and one
had attained the rank of doctorado (equivalent to a doctorate). Perhaps the
larger number of licenciados was attributable to the fact that conferral of a
degree required the payment of a fee. The doctorado cost the most.90 The
fees for degrees were waived for students of humble backgrounds who did
well on the examination required at the end of the course of study. However, fees were not waived for the doctorado, and some students from Puerto
Rico who studied at the university likely were unable to pay the fee for conferral of the doctorado and had to settle for the less costly licenciado.91 The
place of study is known for six prebendaries: three graduated from the University of Seville (Martín Calderón de la Barca, Alonso Menéndez de
Valdés, and Diego de Torres y Vargas), one from the University of Mexico
(Diego de Valdés y Montenegro), and two from the University of Santo
Tomás in Santo Domingo (Juan de Rivafrecha and Tomás Sánchez de
Páez). Other priests from Puerto Rico also held university degrees: Luis de
Coronado and Alonso de Ulloa y Fuentes had both graduated from the
88. The three prebendaries with university degrees were Felix Galvez de Carvajal and
Juan de Balbuena, both doctors, and Diego de Torres y Vargas, a bachiller. I am grateful to
Dr. Andrés Méndez for graciously providing me with a list of prebendaries for the period
1600–1650.
89. See Josué Caamaño Dones, “Los estudios superiores en la periferia de la Nueva
España: La formación académica de los eclesiásticos en la zona del caribe durante la primera
mitad del siglo XVII,” in III Simposio Iglesia, estado y sociedad: 500 años en Puerto Rico y el
caribe, siglo XVII, ed. María Dolores Luque (San Juan, 2010), 119–130. Caamaño Dones
overlooked the relación de méritos for Diego de Torres y Vargas, who studied at the University
of Seville.
90. See José Antonio Vásquez Vilanova, Clero y sociedad en la Compostela del siglo XIX,
(Santiago de Compostela, 2004), 42–43.
91. Vásquez Vilanova, Clero y sociedad en la Compostela, p. 44.

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University of Seville and Pedro Menéndez de Valdés had graduated from
the University of Salamanca. Considering the financial expense and the
need to study abroad, it is remarkable that over one-third of the thirty-one
prebendaries who served at San Juan during the period 1650–1700 were
university graduates.
The relación for Tomás Sánchez de Páez, who was promoted to a
canon in 1703, allows us to reconstruct the academic training of a
prebendary who studied for the priesthood in the second half of the seventeenth century. Sánchez de Páez was baptized on January 5, 1658, in San
Juan. Juan Guilarte de Salazar, who was later ordained as a priest in 1659,
served as his godfather. Tomás came from a modest background. His
father (Pedro Sánchez de Páez) had served the Crown for fifty years as a
soldier and artillero (artilleryman). Because of his godson’s modest origins,
Juan Guilarte de Salazar likely assisted with his studies and professional
development. This would not have been atypical; in his study of clergy in
colonial Mexico, Rodolfo Aguirre Salvador noted that clergy and prebendaries sometimes helped their godsons, especially those pursuing a career
in the Church.92 Sánchez de Páez was tonsured shortly after his sixteenth
birthday, on February 25, 1674, by Bishop Bartolomé García de
Escañuela. For the next five years, the young man served as an acolyte in
the San Juan cathedral. An investigation into his ancestral background and
moral conduct was conducted on July 10, 1679, and one-week later Bishop
Marcos de Sobremonte approved Sánchez de Páez’s ordination to the
minor orders. Shortly thereafter, he began studies the University of Santo
Tomás in Santo Domingo, where he completed the requirements for his
bachiller in philosophy in 1680 and earned his licenciado in philosophy in
1684. While Sánchez de Páez was at university, Domingo Fernández
Navarette, the archbishop of Santo Domingo, ordained him as a deacon
(on December 18, 1683) and as a priest (on February 26, 1684). After ordination, he returned to Puerto Rico and began serving as teniente cura (assistant to the parish priest) in Coamo, along the island’s southern coast. In
1690, Sánchez de Páez was named cura capellan (chaplain) in Arecibo,
along the island’s northern coast, and in 1695, he received his first
benefice.93 He was promoted to the rank of canon in 1703. Seven years
92. Rodolfo Aguirre Salvador, “De las aulas al cabildo eclesiástico: Familiares, amigos
y patrones en el Arzobispado de México, 1680-1730,” Tzintzun, Revista de Estudios Históricos
47 (2008), 75-114, here 90; and Aguirre Salvador, “Mismas aulas, diferentes destinos,” 1732
and 1734.
93. “Relación de Tomás Sánchez de Páez,” AGI, Indiferente General 212, no, 24, July
20, 1697.

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later he was promoted again, this time as a precentor. Finally, in 1712, he
was appointed to the post of archdeacon of the San Juan cathedral
chapter.94 As this case illustrates, it was possible for a young man from a
family of modest origins to study at a university, become a priest, and
obtain higher-level posts in the cathedral chapter.
Why did elite and non-elite families choose educations for the sons
they sent into the priesthood? This is an important question, given the
expense of study abroad and the difficulty of travel in the seventeenth century. Parents could have used the money spent on a son’s education to
invest in a new business or acquire land that could bring significant income
back into the family, but some chose otherwise. In part, the answer is that
the Crown began placing more emphasis on preparation for the priesthood
and less on compensating individuals for services rendered by them or their
ancestors to the Crown. Bishops in colonial Spanish America stressed the
importance of an educated clergy. The emphasis on an educated clergy in
the seventeenth century reflects a belief, especially in the years following
the Council of Trent, that saving souls required a sophisticated understanding of the doctrine and rites of the church.95 A priest had to be sufficiently educated in church doctrine and adequately instructed in administration of the sacraments; it was believed that if he was not, the efficacy of
the sacraments was compromised.96 For a man who sought to enter the
priesthood, a university education was a way to stand out among the growing number of priests competing for a limited number of prebends.
There were other reasons why some families whose sons pursued an
ecclesiastical career opted to provide them with a university education. A
career in the church has always been one of the principal means of social
mobility. As noted by Antonio Irigoyen López in his study of the Murcia
(Spain) cathedral chapter in the seventeenth century, membership in the
cathedral chapter was a visible means of social mobility for the middle
classes.97 For families in the process of upward mobility or were aspiring to
do so, as may have been the case with the family of Tomás Sánchez de
Páez, the church offered a stepping stone because it provided social pres94. I have not been able to determine when Tomás was promoted to a ración, but it was
after 1700. “Despachos de promociones,” AGI, Indiferente General 2863, folios 152, 154v,
and 156. I am very grateful to Dr. Andrés R. Méndez for graciously providing me with this
information.
95. Draper, “Archbishops, Canons, and Priests,” 51.
96. Taylor, Magistrates of the Sacred, 162.
97. Antonio Irigoyen López, Entre el cielo y la tierra, entre la familia y la institución: El
cabildo de la Catedral de Murcia en el siglo XVII (Murcia, 2001), 218.

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tige and created opportunities to expand social networks.98 Families who
had a member in the cathedral chapter had more opportunities for advantageous marriages for the remaining sons and daughters; other family
members had a greater chance of serving on a town council.99 It should be
noted that a young man did not make the decision to become a priest on
his own; the family make this decision. Financial considerations were
uppermost in the minds of parents, since a prebend provided a stable fixed
income in an era of economic uncertainty. Moreover, a son who pursued a
career in the church helped conserve family resources. Because priests had
no children, in theory, the wealth a priest acquired during his lifetime
reverted to the family at the time of his death and could be used later to
increase the social importance of the family. A son destined for a career in
the church was expected to provide for family members in times of need;
when the father died, the son (priest) would take charge of the family, providing dowries for his sisters and an education for his brothers. As Pedro
C. Quintana Andrés notes, a priest became the polo distribuidor (wealth
distributor) of his family.100 Of the twenty-one prebendaries in this study
who submitted relaciones, three (Gregorio de Luyando, Félix de Cuadros,
and Francisco López de la Cruz) mentioned the need to care for family
members as the reason for requesting a prebend.101 When the Crown
began placing less emphasis on compensating individuals or their families
for their services in the late seventeenth century, some priests and prebendaries sought new ways of making themselves noticed. Thus, they emphasized their financial hardship and the need to maintain households with
unmarried women.

98. Irigoyen López, Entre el cielo y la tierra, 267.
99. The fortunes of the Sánchez de Páez family improved. Tomás’s youngest brother
Cristóbal married an elite woman named doña María de Siancas Escobedo on December 8,
1685, in San Juan. Two of Cristóbal and María’s children married elites: doña Dorotea married don Francisco de Sotres on July 1, 1726, in San Juan and doña María de la Paz married
don Cristóbal Ruiz Colorado on November 23, 1727, in San Juan. Archivo Arquidiocesano
de San Juan, Libro primero de matrimonios 1653–1725, folio 185; Libro segundo de matrimonios de San Juan, 1723–1738, folios 17 and 27v.
100. Quintana Andrés, “El cabildo catedral de Canarias” 243; and Pedro Quintana
Andrés, A Dios rogando con el mazo dando: Fe, poder y jerarquía en la iglesia canaria (El cabildo
catedral de Canarias entre 1483–1820) (Las Palmas, 2003), p. 314.
101. “Relación de méritos para Félix de Cuadros,” AGI, Indiferente General 199, no.
43, August 24, 1667; “Relación de Francisco López de la Cruz,” AGI, Indiferente General
211, no. 63, November 5, 1695; AGI, Indiferente General 214, no. 21, February 5, 1702;
“Relación de méritos para Gregorio de Luyando,” AGI, Indiferente General 193, no. 145,
1652.

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A PROFESSIONALIZING PRIESTHOOD

Career Patterns of Priests and Prebendaries
After they were ordained, secular priests had to find employment. Ideally, they might secure a benefice with a guaranteed income that would
allow them to live in a manner befitting their station and social standing.
These were obtained through the practice of opocisiones, or competitions
that were held to fill a vacant ecclesiastical benefice. The bishop would
place an edict in the cathedral announcing when a benefice was vacant.
Prospective pastors submitted information about their background, their
education, and their previous experience. If a priest already had compiled
a relación, as some did upon obtaining a university degree, he would submit
this instead. On the appointed day, the aspirants would gather for the
examination, where they all wrote on “the same questions, the same cases,
and the same text for a sermon.”102 A tribunal of experienced clerics would
evaluate the contenders’ responses and recommend the names of the top
three to the bishop, who would forward the names in order of preference
to the Council of the Indies, which would select the most qualified individual. Once the decision was made, the bishop would notify the successful
candidate, who would formally take possession in a ritual in which the
newly appointed pastor would kneel before the bishop and take the oath of
office.103 After taking possession of the benefice, the priest was entrusted
with managing the parish and had a right to both the income the benefice
provided and the fees generated from administering the sacraments
Not all newly ordained priests acquired a benefice right away. As
William Taylor notes, some priests from the wealthiest and most prominent families didn’t pursue parish assignments, or if they did it was to serve
in a first-class parish.104 For example, Diego de Torres y Vargas and
Martín Calderón de la Barca did not serve in a parish. Instead, they each
sought a prebend in the cathedral chapter. Most clerics, as Tomás Sánchez
de Páez did, began their career as a teniente cura, or assistant to the pastor.
To serve their large parishes, beneficed priests often made use of one or
more assistants, who were paid a salary from the general parish revenues.
The parish priest could request the teniente cura he wanted, but the final
decision rested with the bishop or, in his absence, the cathedral chapter.
The bishop typically did not interfere in the selection of an assistant priest,
unless it was to appoint a family member or retainer who had accompanied

102. Taylor, Magistrates of the Sacred, 99.
103. Taylor, Magistrates of the Sacred, 106.
104. Taylor, Magistrates of the Sacred, 87.

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465

him to the diocese. Bishop Francisco Arnaldo de Isasi did this in 1659,
when he named his brother Miguel de Isasi to oversee the parish of
Arecibo. With only six parishes (not counting San Juan) and only a handful
of rural chapels on the island in the second half of the seventeenth century,
newly ordained priests often served for several years as assistants before
securing a benefice. It took Sánchez de Páez five years to obtain his first
benefice; he finally secured one in Arecibo, along the island’s north coast.
Sánchez de Páez was fortunate; priests in other dioceses sometimes spent
years working as unbeneficed priests and moving from one parish to
another with little or no job security (the teniente cura’s position was subject
to revocation by the pastor or the bishop). In contrast, a pastor remained
in possession of his benefice until he was promoted, was removed because
of misconduct, or died. There was little turnover in some parishes, and that
was the primary reason many priests had to wait so long for a benefice after
they were ordained. Less desirable parishes in remote areas or those with a
lower salary might have a higher turnover, but these benefices were usually
staffed by priests who did not have a university degree or the appropriate
connections to aid their advancement. For Tomás Sánchez de Páez, who
had both a university degree and social connections, it was just a matter of
time before he moved up the ecclesiastical hierarchy.
The trajectory of a priest’s career did not depend on his background,
education, and parish work alone; it also depended on the faculties he was
granted to administer the sacraments. Although ordination meant that a
priest could celebrate Mass, it did not grant him the right to hear confessions. That required the granting of a special faculty. Although a priest
could be granted a faculty in perpetuity to administer the sacrament of reconciliation (confession), many younger priests or poorly educated ones
received restricted faculties. To obtain a faculty to hear confessions, a priest
had to pass an examination that tested his knowledge of the sacraments,
the commandments of God and the church, marriage impediments, and
the impediments and norms of justice in contracts. Priests between the
ages of 30 and 40 could absolve men. To confess women, the priest had to
be over 40 and achieve a classification of good or better on the examination. A priest who received a classification of medium could absolve nuns,
and a priest with a classification of poor had to study more and retake the
examination.105 Sometimes priests could receive the faculty of confesor general, or general confessor, prior to age 40, as was the case with Sánchez de
105. See Mariano Errasti, El primer convento de América: Historia y forma de vida de los
franciscanos en su convento de la ciudad de Santo Domingo, 1516–1820 (Santo Domingo, 2006),
273–274.

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Páez, who was just 32 years old in 1690 when he was granted the faculty
which allowed him to absolve both women and men. Necessity was likely
the reason an exception was made with Sánchez de Páez, since a smallpox
epidemic in 1689 ravaged the island and killed 681 people in San Juan
alone, including twenty-seven priests and religious.106 Another faculty
priests could be granted was that of predicador, or preacher. Some priests
lacked sufficient training to evangelize and received a restricted faculty.
This was not the case with Sánchez de Páez; his faculty as a predicador general was valid throughout the diocese and was awarded on the same day
(March 24) as his faculty to confess.107 With a benefice and having been
granted a faculty to both confess and evangelize, Sánchez de Páez was in
the position to apply for a prebend.
Prebend positions within the cathedral chapter were filled in the same
way as benefices, but the stakes were higher since there were fewer positions than there were applicants. Promotion to the cathedral chapter was
competitive. According to the Recopilación de las leyes de los Reinos de las
Indias, the applicant should have a university degree, exhibit good conduct,
have pastoral experience, and be a native of the diocese.108 In theory, there
were no restrictions on who could apply for a vacancy in the cathedral
chapter. Priests from outside the diocese occasionally applied, although
only three (Francisco Sánchez Muñoz, Juan Gómez de Govantes, and
Pedro Centeno) were successful in obtaining a prebend. Similarly, clerics
from Puerto Rico sought positions outside the diocese, as did Cristóbal
Bautista López, Francisco Moreno del Rincón, Diego Franco y Castro,
Gregorio de Luyando, and Alonso de Ulloa y Fuentes.
Most priests at San Juan (twenty-five of thirty-one) entered the ranks
of the cathedral chapter at the bottom, as racioneros, and advanced step by
step in rank. However, five priests entered the chapter as canons and one
priest entered the chapter as a precentor (Martín Calderón de la Barca).
Priests who entered at a higher rank were university graduates, like
Calderón de la Barca and Diego de Torres y Vargas, or came from families
whose members had been active in the military and civil administration,
106. López Cantos, Historia de Puerto Rico, 22n27.
107. “Relación de Tomás Sánchez de Páez,” AGI, Indiferente General 212, no. 24, July
20, 1697.
108. See César Augusto Salcedo Chirino, “El mérito no era suficiente: El cabildo eclesiástico y las políticas de ascenso en Puerto Rico (1800–1850),” in Iglesia, Estado y Sociedad:
Ruptura y Continuidad (1800–1868), Actas del Simposio V, ed. Mayra Gotay Cruz and Roberto
Fernández Valledor, (Ponce, PR, 2012), 123.

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like Bernardino Benítez de Luyando, Francisco Moreno del Rincón, and
Pedro Oscos y Turen. The average age at which priests in this study
obtained a prebend was 38; the range was from 26 (Diego de Torres y
Vargas) to 59 (Andrés de Suazo y Recalde).109 Promotions were awarded
in hierarchical order: racioneros were promoted to canons, canons to precentors, and so forth. Only two San Juan priests skipped a rank (Torres y
Vargas and Calderón de la Barca, who were both promoted from precentor
to dean, bypassing the rank of archdeacon). These were exceptions to the
pattern of promotion, not the rule.
For the rest of the clergy, securing a ración was the first (and most
important) step in a prebendary’s professional career. A surprising
number of priests (seven of thirty-one; 23 percent) in San Juan obtained
a ración on the first try. If we assume that most priests were ordained
between the ages of 24 and 27, it took them an average of eleven to fourteen years to secure a prebend in the San Juan cathedral chapter. Most
(eleven of thirty-one; 35 percent) were successful on their second
attempt, but it took some clerics three attempts (five of thirty-one; 16
percent) to obtain a prebend. For other priests, such as Francisco López
de la Cruz, it proved more difficult; over the course of six years, he
applied for every prebend in the cathedral chapter—a total of eight
times—before he successfully obtained an appointment as a canon in
1697.110 Looking closely at the two relaciones he submitted in 1695 and
1702, we see a shift in the strategy de la Cruz used to advance his career.
In his attempts to obtain a prebend, he emphasized his service as the
notary public for the audiencia eclesiastica (diocesan ecclesiastical tribunal), as tithe collector (1686), as administrator of the San Santiago
royal hospital (1687), and as the cathedral’s master of ceremonies (1689).
When he sought a promotion in 1702, he reiterated his prior service, but
he also highlighted the need to provide financial support for his widowed
109. This is slightly older than Pedro C. Quintana Andrés found for racioneros (31.5
years) in the Canary Islands in the years 1483 to 1820 but lower than what Consolación Fernández Mellen observed (an average age of 44 years) in her sample of prebendaries for the
diocese of Havana in the years 1790 to 1830 See Quintana Andrés, A Dios rogando con el
mazo dando, p. 112; Fernández Mellen, “El alto clero en la nueva diócesis de la Habana,”
491.
110. López de la Cruz applied for the positions of precentor, canon, and racionero in
1691, for precentor in 1694, for canon in 1695 and 1696, for archdeacon in 1696, and for
dean in 1697 before successfully obtaining an appointment as canon in 1697. AGI, Santo
Domingo, “Consultas y decretos originales pertenecientes a la isla de Puerto Rico, años 1586–
1700,” AGI, 535A, nos. 262, 98, 97, 96; and “Propuestas, consultas y provisiones de canonjías, años 1696–1758,” AGI, Santo Domingo 579, nos. 15, 16, 17, and 21.

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sister and her eight children, a strategy prebendaries used throughout the
Americas.111 It is not known if this strategy was successful.112
The pattern of promotion within the cathedral chapter was linear: the
longest-serving priest was promoted in every case but two. However, this
didn’t stop prebendaries from applying for promotion. Sometimes clerics
who were not prebendaries applied for the higher-ranking positions (dean,
archdeacon, and precentor). This happened in June 1685, when five candidates applied for the position of precentor. None was successful in securing
the appointment. In January of that year, four of the five candidates had
also applied for the entry-level position of racionero in the cathedral chapter.113 Competition for the higher-ranking prebends increased in the last
decade of the seventeenth century. There were nine applicants for archdeacon and eight candidates for precentor in 1691, and seven priests aspired
for the position of dean in 1696.114 Priests applied for prebends they knew
they would not get to build up their résumé by making themselves noticed,
a process known as hacer méritos. Whenever a priest applied for a prebend,
it was noted in their relación de méritos.115 Moreover, as William Taylor
notes, the oposiciones, or competitions that were held to fill a vacant ecclesiastical benefice, also afforded aspiring prebendaries opportunities to
renew contacts and make new ones.116 Because few prebends were available
and the pool of applicants was growing in the second half of the seventeenth century, such contact was crucial for professional advancement.
The only instance in this period when the longest-serving priest was
not promoted occurred in 1658, when Diego Torres y Vargas was
appointed instead of Bernardino Benítez y Luyando for dean. Torres y
Vargas was professionally ambitious. He likely used his social (and professional) connections in Madrid to obtain the more lucrative office, or perhaps he was awarded the prebend because Benítez y Luyando did not have
111. For a discussion of prebendaries as benefactors and providers for family members
in need, see Quintana Andrés, A Dios rogando con el mazo dando, p. 314; and Díaz Rodríguez,
“Cabildos, catedralicios y clero capitular,” 317.
112. “Relación de Francisco López de la Cruz,” AGI, Indiferente General 211, no. 63,
November 5, 1695; and AGI, Indiferente General 214, no. 21 February 5, 1702.
113. “Propuestas, consultas y provisiones de canonjías, años 1696–1758,” AGI, Santo
Domingo 579, nos. 11 and 12.
114. “Propuestas, consultas y provisiones de canonjías, años 1696–1758,” AGI, Santo
Domingo 579, nos. 20, 15, and 18.
115. See Aguirre Salvador, “De las aulas al cabildo eclesiástico,” 107; and Enríquez
Agrazar, De colonial a nacional, p. 39.
116. Taylor, Magistrates of the Sacred, 101.

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a university degree. Patterns of promotion within the San Juan cathedral
chapter continued to operate in a linear manner until the nineteenth century, when the Crown began giving priority to Spanish clergy. In the wake
of the Wars for Independence, loyalty to the Crown replaced time served
as the most important criteria for advancement.117
A Professionalizing Priesthood
According to William Taylor, the most important criterion for promotion to a cathedral chapter in eighteenth-century Mexico was the extent of
academic learning.118 Those who had a degree from a university had an
advantage over their counterparts who did not have one. Priests in the
sample for this study with a university degree emphasized their academic
distinction at the beginning of the relación, before they discussed their social
background. This was the strategy Diego de Valdés y Montenegro and
Alonso Menéndez de Valdés used. Although both were descended from
Governor Diego Menéndez de Valdés (1582–1593), both gave priority to
their academic training over their distinguished background.119 Some
priests appended a copy of their degree(s) to their relación. This is what
Tomás Sánchez de Páez did. Because he lacked a distinguished background
or prominent relatives, he emphasized his academic training. The strategy
worked, and he quickly ascended within the ecclesiastical hierarchy.
The relaciones of clerics who lacked a university degree often emphasized their social background or availed themselves of the mandate of
reciprocity. Assertions of family merit were used to enhance an otherwise
weak career profile. Social and professional connections mattered very
much in this period, and priests who were connected to the upper echelons
of society tended to end up in more prestigious posts. Because there were
no degree-granting institutions on the island, assertions of familial merit
likely assumed greater importance than they might have elsewhere. The
priests who chose this strategy for advancing their careers described their
social background in detail, frequently including the names and recalling
the exploits of grandparents and even great-grandparents. For example, in
addition to referring to his father’s and grandfather’s service to the Crown,
Gerónimo de Salinas y Figueroa emphasized his descent from Juan Ponce
117. Salcedo Chirino, “El mérito no era suficiente,” 128.
118. Taylor, Magistrates of the Sacred, 122.
119. “Relaciones de Diego de Valdés y Montenegro and Alonso de Menéndez de
Valdés,” AGI, Indiferente General 198, no. 7, June 19, 1666; and AGI, Indiferente General
199, no. 81, May 10, 1668.

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de León.120 Pedro de Oscos y Turen used a similar tactic. His relación
glossed over his limited academic training (three years of study at the Colegio de Santo Tomás de Aquino in San Juan) and instead focused on his
father’s military career. Pedro also reminded the king of the heroism of his
maternal grandfather (Juan de Amezquita) during the Dutch attack and his
subsequent service as commander of San Pedro de la Roca fortress in Santiago, Cuba.121 Clerics without the requisite academic training relied upon
the deeds of their ancestors or the need to provide for a household with
unmarried and widowed siblings or nieces to curry favor with the king in
their quest to obtain one of the coveted prebends.
Aspiring prebendaries, like Sánchez de Páez, often benefited from
friendships with influential members of the clerical elite. Scholars have
noted the importance of personal contacts, family connections, and
patronage networks, and such a network likely helped in advancing
Sánchez de Páez’s career.122 Bishop Francisco de Padilla appointed him to
a benefice as pastor in Arecibo, along the island’s northwest coast, on January 8, 1695.123 Sánchez de Páez’s career was helped by his friendship with
and the patronage of Martin Calderón de la Barca. The two knew each
other from their studies at the Colegio de Santo Tomas in San Juan (they
were only one year apart in age) and the Calderon de la Barca probably
took an interest in promoting Sánchez de Páez’s professional advancement.
Shortly after Sánchez de Páez received his benefice, Padilla was transferred
to a new assignment as bishop of Santa Cruz de la Sierra (Bolivia). On
May 5, 1695, the see in San Juan was declared vacant; it remained so until
May 18, 1706. In the absence of a bishop, the precentor of the cathedral
chapter, Martín Calderón de la Barca, was elected vicar general of the diocese. He served in this capacity during the eleven-year vacancy of the
see.124 Calderón de la Barca, who was descended from of one of the most
politically powerful and economically prosperous families in San Juan, had
used his family’s connections and influence in 1691 to secure a prebend in
the cathedral chapter in San Juan, not as a racionero, as most priests did,

120. “Relación de méritos para Gerónimo de Salinas y Figueroa,” AGI, Indiferente
General 195, no. 35, 1658.
121. “Relación de méritos para Pedro de Oscos y Turen,” AGI, Indiferente General
202, no. 30, March 20, 1675.
122. Aguirre Salvador, “De las aulas al cabildo eclesiástico,”78, 80; Taylor, Magistrates
of the Sacred, 98.
123. “Relación de méritos para Tomás Sánchez de Páez,” AGI, Indiferente General
212, no. 24, July 20, 1697.
124. Murga Sanz and Huerga, Episcopologio de Puerto Rico, 3:213.

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but as precentor. Six years later, he was promoted to dean, bypassing the
office of archdeacon.125 As both dean and vicar general, he wielded considerable power, which he used to promote the careers and interests of family
members and friends.
When Pedro de la Concepción Urtiaga arrived as bishop in 1706, a
power struggle ensued between the bishop and the dean of the cathedral
chapter. The chapter was divided into factions, and Calderón de la Barca
relied upon his protégé Sánchez de Páez to side with him against the
bishop and his allies. A letter written in 1713 by the canon Juan de
Rivafrecha to the Crown informing it of the bishop’s death noted that several members of the chapter, including the dean; his brother Pablo
Calderón, a Franciscan priest; and Tomás Sánchez de Páez were happy
(mostrar casi gozo) and rejoiced (andar en algunos festejos) at the bishop’s
death. The same letter describes Sánchez de Páez as “uno de los de cariño del
prelado,” one of those most endeared to the prelate [Martín Calderón de la
Barca].126 Academic training mattered, as noted by Rodolfo Aguirre Salvador, but patronage and clientelism were also very important for professional advancement.127 The relationship between client (Sánchez de Páez)
and patron (Calderón de la Barca) served each well, the former secured a
prebend with the income that came with it, along with the social prestige,
whereas the latter gained an ally in his quest for power within the cathedral
chapter of San Juan.
San Juan society in the late seventeenth century was in the midst of
change. Priests who had little academic training or an undistinguished
family background were still able to secure a position in the San Juan
cathedral chapter, however it is was becoming more difficult. To compensate for these shortcomings in their relaciones, such individuals drew attention to their parish work. While priests were expected to concentrate on
their pastoral duties, this alone was often not enough to secure a position
in the cathedral chapter. In such cases, priests had to find a way to make
themselves noticed. There were several ways this might be accomplished.
One of the most common strategies was for aspirants to point out their
dedication and heroism during moments of crisis, such as epidemics or foreign attack. Many priests risked their lives to minister to the needs of their
parishioners during the most devastating demographic catastrophe of the
seventeenth century, a smallpox epidemic that struck Puerto Rico from

125. López Cantos, Historia de Puerto Rico: 1650–1700, 267.
126. Murga Sanz and Huerga, Episcopologio de Puerto Rico, 4:284.
127. Aguirre Salvador “De las aulas al cabildo eclesiástico,” 78.

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March to April in 1689 that killed over 900 people, including twenty-five
clergy.128 One such priest was Tomás Sánchez de Páez, who contracted
smallpox while serving as a teniente cura in Coamo.129 Other clerics performed singular feats of heroism while undertaking their pastoral duties.
For instance, Álvaro Flores de Caldevilla, who was serving as chaplain of
the presidio on the island of Saint Martin (1643–1644) when the Dutch
attacked and laid siege to the Spanish colony, celebrated Mass for the soldiers at the garrison throughout the siege and provided additional assistance as needed. Both the bishop and the governor of Puerto Rico wrote
letters to the king in praise of Flores de Caldevilla’s heroism to help him
obtain a reward commensurate with his actions.130 Their letters, along with
Flores de Caldevilla’s relación, which he compiled in 1645, helped him
secure a ración in the cathedral chapter the following year.131
Not all priests were professionally ambitious. Some priests were satisfied with a career as a pastor. An appointment to a modest parochial
benefice provided a good living not only for its holder but also for a priest’s
parents and unmarried siblings. Pastors with good salaries and the assistance of curates often served in the same parish for many years. For example, Andrés de Suazo y Recalde was pastor of San Francisco parish in
Aguada for twenty years (1665–1685).132 Perhaps priests realized the difficulty of competing for a prebend and were comfortable with their station in
life, having achieved a certain level of prominence within the community
and established close ties with their parishioners. Also clerics who were
worthy of promotion were passed over because the service they performed
was too important. This happened to Juan Gómez de Govantes, whom
Bishop Francisco de Padilla described in 1686 as one of two priests who
should be promoted to the cathedral chapter (the other was Juan Francisco
de Cortinas). But because Juan Gómez de Govantes had a variety of duties,
including grammar instructor in the cathedral school, confessor for the
Carmelite convent, and administrator of the royal hospital, the bishop
would have had to find suitable replacements if he were promoted to the
128. Picó, History of Puerto Rico, p. 103; and Murga Sanz and Huerga, Episcopologio de
Puerto Rico, 3:211.
129. “Relación de méritos para Tomás Sánchez de Páez,” AGI, Indiferente General
212, no. 24, July 20, 1697.
130. “Relación de méritos para Álvaro Flores de Caldevilla,” AGI, Indiferente General
192, no. 185, March 17, 1645.
131. “Consultas y decretos originales pertenecientes a la isla de Puerto Rico, años
1586–1700,” AGI, Santo Domingo 535A, AGI, no. 293.
132. “Relación de méritos para Andrés Suazo Recalde,” AGI, Indiferente General 205,
no. 54, January 29, 1683.

DAVID STARK

473

cathedral chapter. This was a difficult task because of a hurricane that struck
the island in September 1685, unleashing a wave of disease that killed
twenty-seven clergy.133 Staffing became a concern and the bishop preferred
to leave Gómez de Govantes in charge of these important assignments.
Becoming a priest was a career choice that provided definite economic
and social advantages. Having a priest in the family could benefit families
of modest social origin like that of Tomás Sánchez de Páez.134 While it is
difficult to determine what motivated a young man to pursue a career in the
priesthood (clerics seldom addressed this in their relaciones), no doubt
financial considerations and opportunities for social mobility factored into
the decision. Once a young man and his family made the decision that he
would become a priest, they availed themselves of every opportunity to
advance his career. For some clerics, this meant compiling a relación that
highlighted their merits so they would be considered for a curacy or a
prebend. Priests sometimes took the opportunity to remind the king of
unpaid service or financial sacrifice they or their family had made on behalf
of the Crown. Other priests highlighted their financial need to maintain a
household with unmarried and widowed siblings or nieces. Priests were
keen to capitalize on the king’s largesse in their efforts to obtain a benefice
or a prebend. However, some families opted for a different strategy and
provided their sons with a university education as way of standing out.
Although most priests in this study lacked a degree from a university,
a surprising number obtained not only their bachiller but also their licenciado at universities in Spain, Mexico, and Santo Domingo. Elite families
and even some families of modest social were choosing to provide an education for the sons they sent into the priesthood. Families faced many
obstacles in doing so. Not only did they have to overcome the financial
hardships associated with study abroad at a time when there few legal outlets for trade, but also the difficulty of travel in the second half of the seventeenth century. If we recall that no ships from Spain arrived in the years
1651 to 1662 and only eight ships left Seville for Puerto Rico in the years
1662 to 1675, it is notable that families made the investment in a university
education and sent their sons (Luis de Coronado, Alonso Menéndez de
Valdés, Pedro Menéndez de Valdés, and Diego de Valdés y Montenegro)
to study abroad in these years. The image of an illiterate priesthood that
scholars such as Angel López Cantos propose for Puerto Rican clergy in
133. Murga Sanz and Huerga, Episcopologio de Puerto Rico, 3:213, 642.
134. Díaz Rodríguez, “Cabildos, catedralicios y clero capitular en el antiguo régimen”
pp. 156; Irigoyen López, Entre el cielo y la tierra, 202, 218, 267.

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A PROFESSIONALIZING PRIESTHOOD

this period does not accurately reflect the historical reality. López Cantos
has also made inferences about the parishioners’ moral laxity and cast
doubt on the quality of spiritual care the clergy provided in this period.
Rather than continue to cast aspersion on clergy in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Puerto Rico, we must reassess the depiction of clergy not
only on the island but across the Caribbean.
This was not an illiterate priesthood; it was quite the opposite. We see
evidence for the professionalization of the priesthood in San Juan during
the second half of the seventeenth century. Young men who wanted to
become priests availed themselves of educational opportunities in San Juan
and growing numbers of them went abroad to get as much education as
their family’s financial situation permitted. Not all the priests who studied
abroad were from the elite, either. What prompted this change? In part,
there was pressure from within the church hierarchy to embrace education.
Bishops such as Pedro de la Concepción Urtiaga stressed the importance
of an educated priesthood. It should also be noted that San Juan (and the
rest of colonial Latin America) was undergoing important changes in this
period. No longer was this a merit-based society in which a young man
could rest on the laurels of their ancestors. In the church at least, qualifications, experience, and training all mattered for professional advancement. Perhaps the most important factor in the decision to provide sons in
pursuit of a career in the priesthood with an education was the socioeconomic context of the times. San Juan (and Puerto Rico in general) was a
cash-starved economic backwater. Nevertheless, a career as a prebend in
the cathedral chapter provided a steady and reliable income that could be
used to support parents and family members. The chapter was an economic
haven for families from the cash-starved economy around them. Finally,
elite families in Puerto Rico (and throughout the Spanish Caribbean) had
to find other routes to status besides the service of ancestors to the Crown.
While it is impossible to know what was in the minds of the heads of these
elite families, the evidence suggests strongly that they preferred the Church
as a more stable and reliable route to power for their sons than the Crown.
Professionalization was a route to economic and family status, and this
explains why families were willing to invest in the education of the sons
they sent into the priesthood.

Education in the Name of the Lord:
The Rise and Decline of the
Catholic Labor Schools
WILLIAM S. COSSEN*
This article seeks to overcome a traditional disjuncture between labor
and religious history by analyzing the role of labor schools as central
points of contact between the Catholic Church and workers in the midtwentieth century. It takes as its primary subject Hartford’s Diocesan
Labor Institute, which operated from 1942 to 1967. Hartford’s program is of particular historical interest due to its longevity, its extensive public reach, and its role as a model for the founding of several
other labor schools. The present study argues that gender and class
shifts—particularly the increasing entry of women into the workforce
and a perceived climb up the class ladder by Catholic workers—
together contributed to both the rise and decline of Catholic labor education in Connecticut and the United States.
Keywords: Catholicism, consumerism, education, gender, labor

T

he priests of Hartford’s Diocesan Labor Institute once had the misfortune of receiving an anonymous letter, written in bright red crayon,
and addressed to “the Catholic yokels of the Hartford Diocesan Labor
Institute: The labor crooks appreciate having the help of the Catholic

*The author has a PhD in History from Penn State University. He is a member of the
faculty of The Gwinnett School of Mathematics, Science, and Technology, and is the online
book review editor for the Society for Historians of the Gilded Age and Progressive Era.
Thanks to the Department of History at The Pennsylvania State University and the Thomas
J. Dodd Research Center at the University of Connecticut for their financial assistance (from
Penn State, the Mark and Lucy Stitzer Seed Grant Award; and from the Dodd Research
Center, the Rose and Sigmund Strochlitz Travel Grant), and to the Dodd Research Center’s
Laura Smith and the American Catholic History Research Center and University Archives’
Maria Mazzenga, Timothy Meagher, and William John Shepherd for their research assistance. The author also appreciates helpful comments and suggestions from the following:
Christopher Clark, Alan Derickson, Roger Finke, Amy S. Greenberg, Philip Jenkins, Nelson
H. Minnich, Steve Rosswurm, Ronald W. Schatz, Mark E. Sullivan, Joseph White, and this
journal’s two anonymous readers. An earlier version of this article was the recipient of the
2012 Bernard Bellush Prize from the New York Labor History Association.

475

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EDUCATION IN THE NAME OF THE LORD

phonies! Do you also fall on your knees and bob your heads at the mention
of the ol’ swindler and hypocrit [sic], Roosevelt?”1 In a quick, stinging
rebuke, the priests were attacked as lying, slavish followers of an even worse
“swindler and hypocrit” in President Franklin Roosevelt and as cronies of
the racketeers who, in the anonymous writer’s opinion, populated the
American labor movement. This group of priests must have touched a sensitive nerve to elicit such a harsh denunciation.
The Diocesan Labor Institute was not, in fact, run by a pack of mendacious “phonies,” and its members were not blind followers of Roosevelt
or labor gangsters. It was instead an educational program founded in 1942
by Father Joseph Donnelly of the Catholic Diocese of Hartford, Connecticut, and staffed by a group of priests under his supervision. The institute
was part of a larger network of over one hundred Catholic labor schools
that were established and operated by dioceses, religious orders, colleges,
and Catholic trade associations throughout the United States. Priest and
social theorist Francis Haas considered the Catholic labor school movement to be “easily the most significant thing that has been set on foot to
make the Encyclical teachings vital in American national life.”2
Hartford’s program is of particular interest due to its longevity, its
extensive public reach, and its role as a model for the founding of several
other labor schools. The Hartford institute also provides historians with an
opportunity to examine the motivations and activities of labor priests and
Catholic workers in the postwar era, an important period of economic
adjustment and labor organizing in one of the country’s most industrialized
and Catholic states. Postwar Connecticut offers a broad spectrum of economic and social change through which to consider the Catholic Church’s
role in the labor scene and serves as a fitting case study of many of the
issues surrounding gender, labor-management conflicts, the living wage,
and the associated rising consumer culture that marked the postwar period,
all of which are themes that have not typically been tied to Catholicism in
the scholarly literature. The institute’s work demonstrates that gender and
class developments, particularly the increasing entry of women into the
workforce and a perceived climb up the class ladder by Catholic workers,

1. Letter, Box 2, Folder 91, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Archives and Special
Collections at the Thomas J. Dodd Research Center, University of Connecticut Libraries,
Storrs, CT (hereafter cited as Dodd Center) [emphasis in original].
2. Francis J. Haas, to Raymond S. Clancy, January 27, 1940, Box 25, Folder 8, Francis
J. Haas Papers, American Catholic History Research Center and University Archives, The
Catholic University of America, Washington, DC (hereafter cited as ACUA).

WILLIAM S. COSSEN

477

resided at the heart of the labor school project and acted as substantial,
interconnected, and underappreciated factors in the rise and, ironically, the
decline of Catholic labor education in the United States.
Historians of American Catholicism have studied the intersections
between the church and the labor movement, but several works, while
useful, tend to conflate the experiences of clerics with those of the entire
church and generally leave silent or relatively muted the perspectives of
lay Catholic workers.3 Generally, though, the study of labor and the
study of Catholicism have remained artificially separated. As a result,
Joseph McCartin observes, “vast tracts of the working-class past remain
invisible to labor historians.”4 To remedy this scholarly gap, several historians in recent years have undertaken analyses of the significance of
working-class religion.5
Catholic labor schools, however, have been largely neglected as primary subjects of research. Earlier works on Catholic labor schools are
problematic. Many suffer from a lack of historical distance from their subjects.6 More recent scholarship frequently neglects to place the institutes
within the context of a nationwide Catholic labor education movement,
does not account for the issues of class and gender that both motivated and
shaped the tenor of the church’s labor instruction, and sometimes does not

3. Aaron I. Abell, American Catholicism and Social Action: A Search for Social Justice,
1865–1950 (Notre Dame, IN, 1963); David J. O’Brien, American Catholics and Social Reform:
The New Deal Years (New York, 1968); Neil Betten, Catholic Activism and the Industrial Worker
(Gainesville, FL, 1976); Joseph M. McShane, “Sufficiently Radical”: Catholicism, Progressivism,
and the Bishops’ Program of 1919 (Washington, DC, 1986).
4. Joseph A. McCartin, “Estranged Allies on the Margins: On the Ambivalent Response
of Labor Historians to Catholic History,” U.S. Catholic Historian 21 (2003), 115–116.
5. Leon Fink, with research assistance from Alvis E. Dunn, The Maya of Morganton:
Work and Community in the Nuevo New South (Chapel Hill, NC, 2003); Thomas J. Sugrue,
The Origins of the Urban Crisis: Race and Inequality in Postwar Detroit, 2nd ed. (Princeton, NJ,
2005); Matthew Pehl, “Power in the Blood: Class, Culture, and Christianity in Industrial
Detroit, 1910–1969” (PhD diss., Brandeis University, 2009); Jarod Roll, Spirit of Rebellion:
Labor and Religion in the New Cotton South (Urbana, IL, 2010); Heath W. Carter, “Union
Made: Working People and the Rise of Social Christianity in Chicago” (PhD diss., University of Notre Dame, 2012); Pehl, “‘Apostles of Fascism,’ ‘Communist Clergy,’ and the UAW:
Political Ideology and Working-Class Religion in Detroit, 1919–1945,” Journal of American
History 99 (2012), 1–26. Also see the special issue of Labor: Studies in Working-Class History
of the Americas 6, no. 1 (2009), titled “Labor and Religion,” and the forum on labor and Christianity in Labor: Studies in Working-Class History of the Americas 11, no. 2 (2014), 11–34.
6. Patrick W. Gearty, “Diocesan Labor Institute: Diocese of Hartford” (M.A. thesis,
The Catholic University of America, 1947); Maurus Barrenechea, “Diocesan and Jesuit Labor
Schools in America—A Comparative Study” (M.A. thesis, Loyola University, 1958).

478

EDUCATION IN THE NAME OF THE LORD

account fully for the anti-communism that motivated several priests to
reach out to workers.7 Historians have much ground to cover in investigating the entire project of Catholic labor education as an important, indeed
central, point of contact between the Church and workers.
The National Catholic Welfare Conference’s (NCWC) Social Action
Department (SAD) in Washington, DC, stood at the center of the labor
school movement. Under the leadership of such priests as John Ryan and
George Higgins, SAD provided the initial spark that would eventually
grow into the much larger movement of organized Catholic labor education.8 SAD’s leaders envisioned a comprehensive curriculum with primary
attention paid to Catholic social teachings, particularly those drawn from
the encyclicals Rerum Novarum and Quadragesimo Anno, as well as those
explained in the writings of several contemporary Catholic social theorists,
such as John Ryan, Francis Haas, Raymond McGowan, and John Hayes.9
In addition to educating workers on Catholic social principles, SAD envisioned the schools “teach[ing] certain allied subjects of a more secular
nature,” such as “[l]abor history, collective bargaining, labor legislation,
grievance procedure, labor contracts, parliamentary law and public speak7. Douglas P. Seaton, Catholics and Radicals: The Association of Catholic Trade Unionists
and the American Labor Movement, from Depression to Cold War (Lewisburg, PA, 1981); Kimball Baker, “Go to the Worker”: America’s Labor Apostles (Milwaukee, 2010). There have been
some notable exceptions that detail more fully the theological, social, economic, and political
underpinnings of the work of labor priests. See McShane, “‘The Church Is Not for the Cells
and the Caves’: The Working Class Spirituality of the Jesuit Labor Priests,” U.S. Catholic Historian 9 (1990), 289–304; Francis Ryan, “‘The Apostle of Industrial Peace’: Brother Elzear
Alfred, F.S.C., the La Salle College Civic and Social Congress, and Catholic Labor Education in Philadelphia, 1938–1952,” American Catholic Studies 118 (2007), 55–81; James T.
Fisher, On the Irish Waterfront: The Crusader, the Movie, and the Soul of the Port of New York
(Ithaca, NY, 2009). After the present article was accepted for publication in 2014, a new article on the Hartford Diocesan Labor Institute’s founder, Joseph Donnelly, appeared in 2016.
It deserves recognition here: Ronald W. Schatz, “‘I Know My Way Around a Little Bit’:
Bishop Joseph Donnelly and American Labor, 1941–1977,” Labor: Studies in Working-Class
History of the Americas 13 (2016), 33–61.
8. On Ryan, see Francis L. Broderick, Right Reverend New Dealer: John A. Ryan (New
York, 1963); McShane, “Sufficiently Radical.” On Higgins, see George G. Higgins and
William Bole, Organized Labor and the Church: Reflections of a “Labor Priest” (New York,
1993); “Social Catholicism: Essays in Honor of Monsignor George Higgins,” U.S. Catholic
Historian 19, no. 4 (Fall 2001) [entire issue]; John J. O’Brien, George G. Higgins and the Quest
for Worker Justice: The Evolution of Catholic Social Thought in America (Lanham, MD, 2005);
Marco G. Prouty, César Chávez, the Catholic Bishops, and the Farmworkers’ Struggle for Social
Justice (Tucson, 2006); Baker, “Go to the Worker,” 239–58.
9. On the early influence of Ryan, Haas, and McGowan, see Higgins and Bole, Organized Labor and the Church, 21-40. On Hayes, see Baker, “Go to the Worker,” 29–52.

WILLIAM S. COSSEN

479

ing.”10 In 1936, Ryan, the department’s director, asked U.S. priests to join
SAD in promoting a new phase of the Church’s involvement in the American labor scene. Ryan hoped that cooperative priests would reach out to
local workers and “offer them gratis an opportunity to train themselves in
right thinking through the study of those questions closely related to their
daily lives as workers and as citizens.”11
SAD would function primarily as a provider of literature on labor education, workers’ rights, and Catholic social teachings for the nascent labor
schools. Joseph Donnelly, the director of the Hartford institute, was not
alone in receiving assistance from SAD to train priests to staff his labor
schools. Detroit priest Raymond S. Clancy also sought assistance in getting his Archdiocesan Labor Institute off the ground, as did Reynold Hillenbrand, the innovative rector of St. Mary of the Lake Seminary in
Mundelein, Illinois.12 In 1940, Baltimore labor educator Elizabeth
Bouchelle asked for help in “conducting classes for colored working men
along similar lines to those conducted for the white men,” assuring
Catholic University of America’s Francis Haas that she secured space in a
local parish and obtained “the hearty co-operation of the Josephites,” an
order of priests dedicated to serving African Americans.13
These requests for assistance did not travel along a one-way street.
After a meeting of priests in Chicago in 1945, George Higgins asked participants to send their course literature to SAD so that his office could
“serve as a clearing house for such material.”14 The Hartford institute benefited from this reciprocal relationship with the Social Action Department.
10. George G. Higgins, to James W. Carty, Jr., May 17, 1945, Box 40, Folder 15,
NCWC/USCC Social Action Department Papers, ACUA.
11. John A. Ryan, January 29, 1936, Box 40, Folder 17, NCWC/USCC Social Action
Department Papers, ACUA.
12. Joseph F. Donnelly, to Francis J. Haas, February 15, 1943, Box 25, Folder 16, Haas
Papers, ACUA; Francis J. Haas, to Joseph F. Donnelly, February 17, 1943, Box 25, Folder
16, Haas Papers, ACUA; Raymond S. Clancy, to Francis J. Haas, January 26, 1940, Box 25,
Folder 8, Haas Papers, ACUA; Reynold Hillenbrand, to Francis J. Haas, June 28, 1938, Box
26, Folder 18, Haas Papers, ACUA. On the Detroit Archdiocesan Labor Institute and
Detroit’s branch of the Association of Catholic Trade Unionists, see Leslie Woodcock
Tentler, Seasons of Grace: A History of the Catholic Archdiocese of Detroit (Detroit: Wayne State
University Press, 1990), 342–347. On Reynold Hillenbrand, see Higgins and Bole, Organized
Labor and the Church, 19-24.
13. Elizabeth T. Bouchelle, to Francis J. Haas, June 15, 1940, Box 28, Folder 16, Francis J. Haas Papers, ACUA.
14. George G. Higgins, February 9, 1945, Box 40, Folder 34, NCWC/USCC Social
Action Department Papers, ACUA.

480

EDUCATION IN THE NAME OF THE LORD

While it sent copies of its public sermons to SAD for national distribution,
it also agreed to disseminate written materials from the NCWC to
Catholics of the diocese. Furthermore, Higgins wrote a question-andanswer article for a brochure published by the institute in 1959 and, not
surprisingly, asked for 5,000 copies to distribute throughout the labor
school network.15
Such a mutually beneficial relationship between SAD and the schools
served as the foundation for a nationwide Catholic labor education movement.16 The movement’s scale was best illustrated by a regular series of
social action conferences, at which both labor priests and lay leaders from
across the country met to share more effective strategies for educating
workers and to chart the course of the larger Catholic social action movement. Among the most significant of these meetings were those held in
Cleveland and Brooklyn in 1943, at which representatives formulated the
movement’s mission and a plan for promoting the schools.17 These conferences set the tone for Catholic labor education for several years. They also
demonstrated that priests representing diverse parishes, dioceses, and
industries could come together to decide relatively autonomously, albeit
under the tutelage of the Social Action Department, how to best educate

15. Joseph F. Donnelly, to George G. Higgins, January 29, 1958, Box 210, Folder 16,
George G. Higgins Papers, ACUA; George G. Higgins, to Joseph F. Donnelly, December
15, 1958, Box 210, Folder 16, Higgins Papers, ACUA.
16. At the movement’s peak, there were dozens of Catholic labor schools in the United
States. See “Labor Schools, 1942,” Box 40, Folder 15, NCWC/USCC Social Action Department Papers, ACUA; “Active Labor Schools and Sponsors,” Box 40, Folder 15, NCWC/
USCC Social Action Department Papers, ACUA; “Directors, Labor Schools, 1943,” Box 40,
Folder 15, NCWC/USCC Social Action Department Papers, ACUA; “Labor Schools,
1944,” Box 40, Folder 15, NCWC/USCC Social Action Department Papers, ACUA; “Labor
Schools, 1945,” Box 40, Folder 15, NCWC/USCC Social Action Department Papers,
ACUA; Kathleen McCann, to Ray M. Hudson, April 12, 1948, Box 40, Folder 16, NCWC/
USCC Social Action Department Papers, ACUA; “Diocesan Social Education Projects
(Labor Schools and Related Projects),” Box 40, Folder 16, NCWC/USCC Social Action
Department Papers, ACUA; “List of Catholic Labor Education Programs,” Box 88, Folder
9, Higgins Papers, ACUA; Mark A. Fitzgerald, “Labor and Management go back to School,”
Grail (October 1954), 23–24, Box 88, Folder 12, Higgins Papers, ACUA; Kim Bobo, Wage
Theft in America: Why Millions of Working Americans Are Not Getting Paid—And What We Can
Do About It (New York, 2009), pp. 266–69. Also see the series of Workers’ Schools Information Cards, Box 40, Folder 13, NCWC/USCC Social Action Department Papers, ACUA.
17. Social Action Department, “A Report of the Conference on Labor Schools held at
Cleveland, Ohio—September 13–14, 1943,” Box 18, Folder 40, NCWC/USCC Social Action
Department Papers, ACUA; “Private Conference on Catholic Labor Education, arranged by
Social Action Dept. and Brooklyn P.S.A.C., Columbus Club, Brooklyn,” November 11, 1943,
Box 40, Folder 22, NCWC/USCC Social Action Department Papers, ACUA.

WILLIAM S. COSSEN

481

FIGURE 1. Bishop Joseph F. Donnelly as a Young Priest (Archdiocese of Hartford Archives)

Catholics and non-Catholics alike in the social teachings of the church and
in their rights as American workers. Linna Bresette, SAD’s field secretary,
characterized the new movement as one merely “aided” by her
department.18 The Social Action Department may have acted as the organizational center of the movement, but the schools themselves were even
more vital to the continued success of Catholic labor education.
Apart from their role as classroom educators, many priests associated
with the labor schools also aimed to eliminate communism from American
unions. An early scholar of Hartford’s Diocesan Labor Institute argued
“that the purpose of the Institute is decidedly not a negative one designed
merely to combat communists, as it might be accused by its enemies.”19
While not the institute’s sole goal, it is a mistake to downplay anti-communism as a prime motivator of many labor priests. Hostility toward communism was, in fact, a major goal of not only the Diocesan Labor Institute
18. Linna E. Bresette, “Labor Schools Promote Catholic Social Teaching,” Catholic
Action (March 1940), Box 18, Folder 8, Harry Cyril Read Papers, ACUA.
19. Gearty, “Diocesan Labor Institute,” p. 25.

482

EDUCATION IN THE NAME OF THE LORD

but also of several other labor schools of the period. As historian Steve
Rosswurm argues, “Anticommunism . . . was always central to [the
Catholic Church’s] concern for the Catholic working class.”20
Donnelly and the Diocesan Labor Institute were just as concerned
with the threat of communism in the industrial centers of Connecticut as
were labor priests in other parts of the country. A 1954 issue of the institute’s Social Action Bulletin asserted that “[d]uring the years of the strong
Communist influence in the American labor movement the tap root of
opposition to their tactics was the Catholic labor schools.”21 The institute
intervened actively in a dispute from 1942 to 1943 between rank-and-file
members of the International Union of Mine, Mill and Smelter Workers
and a group that non-communist workers identified as the “Communist
allies” of union leader Reid Robinson. The workers accused Robinson of
“infiltrating our Union with known Communist Agents as organizers and
staff members.” Donnelly seemed to identify personally with the aggrieved
workers and was pleased to report to the Social Action Department that
Robinson’s faction was eventually defeated, presumably with the assistance
of priests sympathetic to Robinson’s opponents.22
Donnelly’s exultation over Robinson’s downfall belied the institute’s
official stance of non-intervention in union affairs. In a 1947 letter to his
schools’ priests, Donnelly again revealed that the institute involved itself in
the ongoing Mine-Mill power struggle. In an upcoming union election,
Donnelly asserted that the “issue of Communistic or non-Communistic
leadership of the brass workers is the paramount issue.” However, he
seemed to sense that a direct intervention by the priests would be a risky
move, so he advised his associates to encourage their Mine-Mill students
“to be sufficiently interested in the welfare of the organization which will
intimately affect their economic welfare,” an underhanded method of
influencing union elections without taking a definitive public stance.23

20. Steve Rosswurm, “The Catholic Church and the Left-Led Unions: Labor Priests,
Labor Schools, and the ACTU,” in The CIO’s Left-Led Unions, ed. Steve Rosswurm (New
Brunswick, NJ, 1992), 119–37, here 128.
21. Social Action Bulletin (New Haven, CT) 9, no. 4, April 15, 1954, 2, Box 89, Folder
3, Higgins Papers, ACUA.
22. “Resolution Establishing Rank-and-File Councils of IUMMSW,” Box 41, Folder
36, NCWC/USCC Social Action Department Papers, ACUA; Joseph F. Donnelly, to John
M. Hayes, January 31, 1943, Box 41, Folder 36, NCWC/USCC Social Action Department
Papers, ACUA.
23. Joseph F. Donnelly, May 14, 1947, Box 1, Folder 4, Diocesan Labor Institute
Records, Dodd Center.

WILLIAM S. COSSEN

483

Donnelly was not the only institute priest to intervene in union matters. Vincent T. Iannetta, the Bristol chapter’s director, admitted that he
“took a more or less active part in the election at the Ingraham plant
between the U.E. and I.U.E.” Seemingly indifferent to the negative publicity that could ensue from such interference, Iannetta concluded, “[T]he
U.E. was defeated, so in the end it didn’t make too much difference.” Such
meddling in union and company affairs risked damaging the reputation of
the Catholic labor schools. Philip Carey was dismayed by rumors that
“‘Catholic priests in Connecticut were visiting the homes of union members, trying to influence their opinion. One International Representative
was threatened with the expulsion of his children from the parochial
school, if he did not cease backing Reid Robinson for President.” One of
the Connecticut priests in question disputed these charges in a response
rife with contradictions, calling the “International Representative” from
Carey’s letter
a perfidious Judas who will stoop to any depth to gain power. That was
malicious calumny. . . . I can see now that I shouldn’t have even gone to
see him. He is treacherous and a willing tool of the C.P.’s evidently. . . . I
have done nothing about this election or anything else concerning this
feud, and will do nothing more in the future. My main job is education, I
guess. . . . You can’t even trust Catholics when fighting the Communists.24

Several years later, the students of the Meriden chapter observed that “their
fellow workers expressed the opinion that the Church should take care of
teaching religion and not interfere or get mixed up with labor and management relations—not in Church field.”25
It was appropriate, then, that Connecticut, which witnessed dramatic
incursions of the Catholic Church into the world of organized labor, would
also play host for twenty-five years to the Diocesan Labor Institute. In
1955, the Connecticut Labor Department painted a decidedly rosy picture
of the state’s economy and workforce, noting that wages had increased significantly and that Connecticut’s per capita income was nearly the highest
in the United States. The state’s industrial base was also thriving in the
postwar economy, leading the way in per capita military contract awards.
24. Vincent T. Iannetta, “Report” [1950], Box 1, Folder 8, Diocesan Labor Institute
Records, Dodd Center; Philip A. Carey, to Joseph F. Donnelly, October 10, 1946, Box 1,
Folder 1, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center; Stanley E. Hastillo, to Joseph F.
Donnelly, October 21, 1946, Box 1, Folder 1, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
25. Meriden Chapter Survey Report, Topic No. 9, April [1955], Box 2, Folder 83,
Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.

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EDUCATION IN THE NAME OF THE LORD

The report noted that employment in the manufacturing, retail, and construction sectors was very healthy. The department dealt in passing, however, with some of the not-so-pleasant costs that accompanied such economic success: “Eighteen work stoppages involved 5,200 workers in
October. During the previous month, there were 1,550. All of the disputes
were in manufacturing industries. Most of the lost hours and idled workers
were in the machinery industry. . . . Hours worked per week are currently
the longest since May, 1953.”26 In the Brass Valley, management turned
increasingly to unskilled laborers to prevent such work stoppages. Additionally, management attempted to deskill the workforce to take power
away from workers over the labor they performed. On top of these laborrepressive workplace practices, management engaged in overt anti-union
tactics, often with the help of police and government officials.27
In addition to being one of the country’s most thoroughly industrialized
states, Connecticut was also one of its most Catholic. Throughout the period
the Diocesan Labor Institute operated, Connecticut stood third behind
Rhode Island and Massachusetts as having the highest percentage of
Catholics in its population. Catholics typically made up between forty and
fifty percent of Connecticut’s total population. Several of its cities and counties boasted overwhelmingly Catholic populations. In 1952, for example, the
Catholic population of Hartford County numbered over 180,000, and the
Catholics of New Haven County exceeded 230,000, figures towering over the
Catholic populations of entire states. According to The 1954 National Catholic
Almanac, Bridgeport ranked behind only Buffalo and Providence among all
American cities with populations over 150,000 in its percentage of Catholic
residents. New Haven ranked fourth and Hartford seventh on the same list.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Bridgeport, Hartford, and New Haven all hosted
chapters of the Diocesan Labor Institute, suggesting a strong link between
larger industrialized cities, workers, and the Catholic labor schools.28
26. “Connecticut Labor Situation: November, 1955,” Connecticut Labor Department
Monthly Bulletin (Hartford, CT) 20, no. 12 (December 1955), 10, Box 4, Folder 191, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center [emphases in original].
27. Jeremy Brecher, Jerry Lombardi, and Jan Stackhouse, eds., Brass Valley: The Story of
Working People’s Lives and Struggles in an American Industrial Region (Philadelphia, 1982),
119–21 and 126–30.
28. Data on city and state Catholic populations were drawn from the annual series The
National Catholic Almanac (Paterson, NJ, 1940-1968). The data on county Catholic populations were downloaded from the Association of Religion Data Archives,
www.TheARDA.com, and were collected by the National Council of Churches. See
“Churches and Church Membership in the United States, 1952 (Counties),” accessed
December 8, 2014, http://www.thearda.com/Archive/Files/Descriptions/CMS52CNT.asp.

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Unions saw their first major organizing success in brass factories in the
1930s, mostly without the help of the Catholic Church, which, according
to Mine-Mill leader John Driscoll, was either uninterested in or opposed
to the cause of labor. Driscoll recalled, “It wasn’t until Father Donnelly
appeared on the scene that we began to get some help. That was in 1941.
There remained a great many priests who were unfriendly or even hostile.
Father Donnelly was regarded as a radical by many of the clergy for quite
a while.”29 United Auto Workers leader Tony Gerace remembered Donnelly as “a very dynamic person. He was a very stern disciplinarian. He
emphasized the basic human values of respect and dignity. . . . His reputation was such that, in a sharply divided union local, he was repeatedly
called on as someone all parties could trust to serve as election chairman.”30
Donnelly viewed the Mine-Mill workers’ struggle as the practical foundation of the Diocesan Labor Institute.31 The institute, which was dedicated
in part to the promotion of cooperative relations between workers and
management, was born ironically out of labor strife.
With the approval of Hartford Bishop Maurice F. McAuliffe, the institute expanded by June 1944 from Waterbury to six additional cities: Bridgeport, Hartford, New Britain, New Haven, Stamford, and Willimantic.32 At
the end of the 1943-44 school year, the Executive Committee explained to
the public that its schools aimed only to promote “the program of social
action outlined by Pope Leo XIII and Pope Pius XI in their renowned social
encyclicals.” The committee pledged to achieve “a spirit of cooperation and
good will between labor, management and government.”33 Donnelly told the
students of his home chapter in Waterbury that the institute’s “sole objective
is to educate union members and union leaders so that they may be better
union members and union leaders.”34 In its public pronouncements, the
institute presented itself as a neutral party dedicated solely to the realization
of just, Christian solutions to the labor problem in the United States.35

29. Brecher, Lombardi, and Stackhouse, eds., Brass Valley, 40-41 and 167.
30. Ibid., pp. 177–78.
31. Oral History Interview with Joseph Donnelly, Bishop, by Ronald Filippelli, Hartford, CT, May 15, 1970, pp. 1–2, Historical Collections and Labor Archives, Special Collections Library, Pennsylvania State University.
32. Gearty, “Diocesan Labor Institute,” 17.
33. “Statement of Policy,” in the Yearly Report of the Director to the Bishop of Hartford, June 30, 1944, 3, quoted in Gearty, “Diocesan Labor Institute,” 28.
34. Joseph F. Donnelly, January 22, 1947, Box 1, Folder 1, Diocesan Labor Institute
Records, Dodd Center.
35. Joseph F. Donnelly, “A State Labor Relations Act for Connecticut,” February 6,
1945, Box 1, Folder 2, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.

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EDUCATION IN THE NAME OF THE LORD

For the first few years of their existence, chapters operated somewhat
autonomously, but by 1945, several chapter directors recognized the need
for a greater degree of unified action. Donnelly proposed a three-year
course in Catholic labor education, which, in light of the institute’s expansion to fourteen chapters by the beginning of the 1946–47 school year,
could not have come at a better time.36 This proposal resulted in the formulation of the “Labor School Notes,” a four-part series of lecture materials that would serve as the foundation for future courses. The institute gave
priests a degree of freedom in choosing which topics to discuss with their
students, but they were instructed that a “long and pompous lecture will be
of little use for our purpose. What we want rather is discussion. Get them
to talk and to think, and send them away with a few new ideas and a few
old ideas corrected.”37 The notes covered topics ranging from just wages,
strikes, and poverty to morality in industry, the church’s plan for industry
councils, and the differences between capitalism and socialism.
The institute’s work, however, was not confined solely to the classroom. Its priests also claimed for the Catholic Church a more prominent
space in public debates over matters of labor relations and other social justice issues. In its fifth year, the institute asked its priests “to engage actively
in local efforts being made to organize support” for the creation of a state
Fair Employment Practices Commission.38 It also fought against a proposed right-to-work law for Connecticut in 1957. Donnelly feared that the
anti-union spirit that surrounded such a law “could push labor-management relations in Connecticut back fifteen years.”39
The schools at times moved beyond questions of labor and publicly
challenged the ongoing problem of racial discrimination in the Connecticut National Guard, in public housing, and in public accommoda-

36. These fourteen chapters were located in Ansonia, Bridgeport, Bristol, Danbury,
Hartford, Meriden, Middletown, New Britain, New Haven, New London, Stamford, Torrington, Waterbury, and Willimantic. See Gearty, “Diocesan Labor Institute,” 20.
37. “Labor School Notes—Part I, Diocesan Labor Institute, Diocese of Hartford,” ii,
Box 462, Folder 5, Higgins Papers, ACUA. Also see “Labor School Notes—Part II: Moral
Problems in Industrial Relations,” Box 462, Folder 6, Higgins Papers, ACUA; “Labor School
Notes—Part III: The Social Problem and Some Answers,” Box 462, Folder 7, Higgins
Papers, ACUA; “Labor School Notes—Part IV: Reconstructing Society with Christ,” Box
462, Folder 8, Higgins Papers, ACUA.
38. “Summary Report of the Meeting of the Directors on January 28, 1947,” Box 1,
Folder 1, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
39. Joseph F. Donnelly, to T.A.D. Weaver, April 9, 1957, Box 4, Folder 10, John C.
Cort Papers, ACUA.

WILLIAM S. COSSEN

487

tions.40 In a 1965 award ceremony conducted by the institute, Hartford
Archbishop Henry J. O’Brien, speaking in the midst of the nationwide
struggle for civil rights, asserted that all people had an obligation to assist
African Americans in their attempt to achieve social equality. He told his
audience that “[t]his struggle is one none of us can escape. This is a
struggle none of us should wish to escape. This is a struggle which must
have our support. This is a struggle of which we must be a part.”41
The institute also acted in this period to confront inequities and
hypocrisy inside the Catholic Church. Labor priests were especially active in
challenging Catholic officials who denied Church employees the right to
unionize or who treated them poorly on the job. Donnelly complained to
Archbishop O’Brien that two lay teachers at a Catholic school earned a salary
of only twenty-five dollars per week, noting that he was “embarrassed” by
such employment practices.42 Among the most prominent of the institute’s
crusades against intra-church injustice was its support for striking employees
of the Knights of Columbus headquarters in New Haven in 1955. Luke
Hart, the Knights’ Supreme Commander, seemed to take exception to Donnelly’s public criticism of his “arrogant discharge of ten employees during the
contract negotiations for observing a practice long-accepted in the office of
going to a Funeral Mass during working hours.” Hart requested that Donnelly turn over any private correspondence in which the priest may have
mentioned him. Not surprisingly, Donnelly refused Hart’s “somewhat
shocking” and “highly improper” demand. He admitted that he had attended
a “‘labor dinner,’” which was held for the purpose of decrying “‘the disgraceful action of Luke Hart.’” At the dinner, Donnelly pointedly “expressed
regret that . . . this great body of Catholic men, which could give such noble
service to the social apostolate which has been so earnestly urged upon the
laity by the Holy Father, has both in its leadership and in so much of its general membership evidenced little interest in the problems of social reform,
economic reform, racial justice, etc. which so sorely trouble our society.”43 In
appreciation for his assistance during the strike, several Knights’ employees
40. “Resolution” [1949], Box 1, Folder 6, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd
Center.
41. “Archbishop Calls on All to be Part of the Negro’s Struggle for Civil Rights,” Press,
Radio and TV Release, May 11, 1965, Box 3, Folder 140, Diocesan Labor Institute Records,
Dodd Center.
42. Joseph F. Donnelly, to Henry J. O’Brien, March 3, 1954, Box 1, Folder 13, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
43. Joseph F. Donnelly, to Luke E. Hart, November 17, 1955, Box 1, Folder 18,
Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center; Luke E. Hart, to Joseph F. Donnelly,
November 3, 1955, Box 1, Folder 18, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.

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EDUCATION IN THE NAME OF THE LORD

expressed their gratitude to Donnelly. One employee assured him that he
had “the sincere admiration and respect and the unending gratitude of all the
employees of the Knights of Columbus.” Another thanked him “for making
it possiable [sic] to have a Union at the Knights of Columbus. . . . If it wasn’t
for our faith in God, our prayers and a friend like you to turn to when our
burdens were getting too heavy for us I know this Union #329 could not have
been possiable [sic].”44
On the whole, though, the institute’s chapter directors felt that their
educational efforts “reach[ed] but a fringe of our Catholic people.”45 By the
end of the 1940s, they recognized the need to expand their operations further outside the classroom.46 Some directors urged the diocese to send
brochures on the Church’s social teachings to Connecticut’s parochial
schools, which could then be used in classroom instruction.47 The institute’s annual essay contest was its most lasting and widespread form of
interaction with the Diocese of Hartford’s youth. To mark the sixtieth
anniversary of Rerum Novarum, the institute promoted the contest in 1951
to encourage young students to explore the Church’s social teachings.48 By
its sixth year, the essay contest had grown substantially, with 2,168 essays
submitted from twelve diocesan secondary schools.49 The contest never
could have expanded as rapidly as it did without the support of a wide array
of unions, which funded the prizes for the winning essays.50
44. Frances McLeod, to Joseph F. Donnelly, August 20, 1955, Box 1, Folder 17,
Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center; M. Geraldine O’Connor, to Joseph F.
Donnelly, August 21, 1955, Box 1, Folder 17, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd
Center.
45. “Summary Report of the Meeting of the Directors on January 28, 1947,” Box 1,
Folder 1, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
46. “Report—Meeting of the Directors of the Institute, New Haven, Connecticut,”
September 22, 1949, Box 2, Folder 33, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center. The
institute eventually followed through with a plan to conduct a radio program to promote its
work. See “Report—Meeting of the Directors of the Institute, New Haven, Connecticut,”
October 3, 1950, Box 2, Folder 34, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
47. Joseph F. Donnelly, to Arthur J. Heffernan, October 3, 1949, Box 1, Folder 7,
Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
48. Joseph F. Donnelly, March 19, 1951, Box 1, Folder 8, Diocesan Labor Institute
Records, Dodd Center. For several examples of student essays, see Box 2, Folders 94–98
(Subject Files, Essay Contest, 1951–1955), Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
49. “A Report Submitted to His Excellency the Most Rev. Henry J. O’Brien, D.D.,”
July 1, 1955–June 30, 1956, Box 2, Folder 47, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd
Center.
50. See the large series of correspondence from union locals in Box 2, Folder 92 (Subject Files, Donations and Records, Essay Contest, 1951–1957), Diocesan Labor Institute
Records, Dodd Center.

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Also in 1951, the institute’s priests convinced the diocese to participate in an annual Social Action Sunday commemoration, during which the
bishop issued public statements on the Church’s social teachings and on
matters of social justice. Pastors delivered sermons on similar topics, for
which they received assistance from the institute in the form of sermon
notes. By Social Action Sunday of 1956, a remarkable “189,225 copies of
the special literature prepared for the Sunday” were distributed free of
charge to Catholic laypeople in an impressively coordinated campaign in
Connecticut’s three dioceses.51
The institute worked to cultivate ties with both labor and industry
leaders. Beginning in 1949, the institute presented the annual McAuliffe
Medal Award at a banquet attended by hundreds of individuals involved in
labor relations. By recognizing members of both labor and management,
the institute symbolically placed on the same plane these traditionally
opposing camps. The institute’s outreach efforts appear to have had some
success. A management representative told Father Joseph F. Flanagan, the
Torrington chapter’s director, “‘I definitely think it (the Institute) is a good
thing and I have had more than a few non-Catholics compliment the
Church for its progressiveness, interest and action in the labor-management situation, by conducting such institutes.’”52 An issue of the institute’s
Social Action Bulletin in 1951 reported that another member of management attending an institute meeting, while disappointed “that Management was not given as much opportunity to express its views as was Organized Labor,” was still confident “that the more Management people that
can be attracted to these sessions the greater may be the understanding of
the wage-earner’s point-of-view and the greater may be the benefits therefrom to all concerned.”53
The directors, however, were still disappointed with workers’
responses to their educational efforts. They felt that after years of activity
in the labor scene, they should have produced “500 . . . apostles devoted by
intellectual conviction to the program of Catholic social action. . . .

51. “A Report Submitted to His Excellency the Most Rev. Henry J. O’Brien, D.D.,”
July 1, 1955–June 30, 1956, Box 2, Folder 47, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd
Center; “Brief Resume of the Program and Activities of the Diocesan Labor Institute,” n.d.
[ca. 1960/1961], Box 2, Folder 62, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
52. Joseph F. Flanagan, Report for the Month of November [1947], Box 1, Folder 5,
Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
53. “News and Notes of the Institute,” Social Action Bulletin 6, no. 1 (January 15, 1951),
3, Box 4, Folder 188, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.

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EDUCATION IN THE NAME OF THE LORD

[A]lthough we have done valuable work of substantial apostolic value with
large groups, we do not have the 500.” As early as 1948, the institute’s sixth
year of operation, the directors sensed that they needed to change course.
Moving away from their previous strategy of educating as many workers as
possible, the directors envisioned a new program in which they would
narrow the scope of their classroom activities by selecting for the chapters
only those workers perceived to have leadership potential.54
Chapter leaders now had the responsibility to reach out to other priests
in their respective regions of the state in order to undertake “an earnest
attempt to sell an interest in the program to the priests who are contacted.”
They, in turn, would contact labor and management leaders who were
members of their parishes to encourage them to attend study groups.
Through this multi-level, parochial process, the institute sought to draw
students from several geographically and industrially diverse parishes.55 By
January 1951, several directors reported that the new model brought about
better attendance and participation in the chapters’ activities.56
The small group format also served to educate the institute’s priests.
Beginning in the 1954-55 school year and continuing the following term,
the chapter directors undertook an extensive series of surveys, through which
the institute sought to learn more about the work and personal lives of its
students.57 Priests recorded the thoughts of the labor and management representatives on a variety of topics, such as the job market in the chapter’s city,
the adequacy of current wage levels, local union affairs, workplace morals,
and the place of women in the postwar workforce.58 The students were
ostensibly free to answer the questions honestly, but the possibility that
priests may have exercised undue influence over students’ responses should
not be discounted. Directors were responsible, according to an institute
report, for “guiding those in attendance to the proper moral conclusions.”59
54. “Report—Meeting of the Directors of the Institute,” February 3, 1948, Box 1,
Folder 5, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
55. “Regulations of Formal Program,” October 3, 1950, Box 1, Folder 8, Diocesan
Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
56. “Report—Meeting of the Institute Directors,” January 9, 1951, Box 1, Folder 8,
Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
57. For a brief overview of the surveys, which includes some lengthy excerpts, see
Ronald W. Schatz, “Connecticut’s Working Class in the 1950s: A Catholic Perspective,”
Labor History 25 (1984), 83–101.
58. Diocesan Labor Institute, Diocese of Hartford, “Group Discussion Program, 19541955,” September 29, 1954, Box 89, Folder 3, Higgins Papers, ACUA.
59. Diocesan Labor Institute, Diocese of Hartford, “Report—Meeting of Institute Directors, Hartford, Connecticut,” September 29, 1954, Box 89, Folder 1, Higgins Papers, ACUA.

WILLIAM S. COSSEN

491

The survey series, however, was in many ways the last major innovation of the Diocesan Labor Institute. While the institute soldiered on until
1967, it never again attempted such a significant revision of its educational
program and social mission. Even after its first decade of operation, its
leadership already sensed an overall state of decline in both its activities and
in the larger labor scene. In an annual report submitted to the bishop in
1953, the directors lamented a feeling of “[i]ndifference among the rank
and file unionists; complete apathy among management generally; and
interest dulled by years of industrial prosperity and now with little concern
for socio-economic problems.”60 In light of the fact that this report was
issued just six years after the passage of the Taft-Hartley Act in 1947—a
law that historian Nelson Lichtenstein argues “prefigured and codified
much of labor’s postwar retreat”—it should perhaps come as no surprise
that the labor priests of the Diocese of Hartford found their students, especially the unionists among them, depressed and demoralized.61
Just as with its rise in the early 1940s, the decline of the Diocesan
Labor Institute was part of larger national trends in the field of labor education. In 1953, Robert D. McGrath, director of the Hartford chapter,
identified six factors that played a role in the waning popularity of Catholic
labor schools:
1. Other professional groups have taken up the program—University of
Connecticut, Yale, University of Bridgeport, University of Fairfield.
These groups have finances and technical help necessary to carry out a
much more organized program than we could attempt.
2. Contracts have become more or less stabilized.
3. National patterns have lessened local friction in negotiations.
4. Communist labor leadership has been eliminated in this area.
5. Unions have been accepted by management and conflict has been
minimized.
6. Trained labor leadership has been increasing.62

If McGrath’s assessment is accurate, then the Catholic schools were, in
some respects, too successful for their own good. The fact that universities

60. “Diocesan Labor Institute: Diocese of Hartford: A report submitted to His Excellency the Most Reverend Henry J. O’Brien, D.D., July 1, 1952–June 30, 1953,” Box 113,
Folder 7, Higgins Papers, ACUA.
61. Nelson Lichtenstein, State of the Union: A Century of American Labor (Princeton, NJ,
2002), 114.
62. Robert D. McGrath, “Report” [1953], Box 1, Folder 10, Diocesan Labor Institute
Records, Dodd Center.

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EDUCATION IN THE NAME OF THE LORD

joined the cause of labor education demonstrated that the Catholic program was not conducted in vain. Contract stabilization was a blessing for
workers, as was the legitimization of unions. Additionally, the replacement
of left-leaning labor leaders with those more acceptable in the eyes of both
the national labor establishment and Catholic officials signaled a victory for
the anti-communist priests who exercised such a significant degree of
influence over the Catholic labor school movement.
At its foundation, the Hartford institute’s decline stemmed from a
general weakness on the part of chapter directors in simply attracting students to the program. One of the chief reasons for such indifference from
workers, according to the directors, was “years of industrial prosperity and
now . . . little concern for socio-economic problems.”63 The students themselves would confirm this sentiment in the surveys that the institute
designed to stem the tide of just such an exodus from the program. Some
factors were entirely out of the hands of the institute and the wider
Catholic labor school movement. One commentator supported McGrath’s
suspicions of labor education programs at non-Catholic universities. These
schools’ financial, professional, and technical resources far surpassed those
of the Catholic labor institutes.64 In perhaps the most distressing development, workers themselves often confirmed the priests’ worst fears. According to the students surveyed by the Naugatuck Valley chapter in 1955,
“[T]he rank and file employee still doesn’t know why the Church is interested in the worker.”65 Similarly, students from Bristol felt that many of
their fellow workers saw the Church primarily as a foe of communism
rather than as a defender of workplace justice.66
Mostly overlooked, however, and serving as another central factor in
the institute’s decline, was the question of gender relations, specifically of
women entering the workforce in greater numbers during and after World
War II.67 It is in this matter that the student surveys conducted by the

63. “Diocesan Labor Institute: Diocese of Hartford: A report submitted to His Excellency the Most Reverend Henry J. O’Brien, D.D., July 1, 1952–June 30, 1953,” Box 113,
Folder 7, Higgins Papers, ACUA.
64. Fitzsimons, “The Church and Worker Education in the U.S.A.,” 425.
65. Naugatuck Valley Chapter Survey Report, Topic No. 9, March 24, 1955, Box 2,
Folder 83, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
66. Bristol Chapter Survey Report, Topic No. 9, April 25, 1955, Box 2, Folder 83,
Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
67. Ronald Schatz also concludes that the priests and male students of the Hartford
schools were dismayed by increased numbers of working women. See Schatz, “Connecticut’s
Working Class in the 1950s,” 86–87.

WILLIAM S. COSSEN

493

institute from 1954 to 1956 prove particularly valuable. The students themselves provided unique insights into industrial relations. The surveys also
reveal much about the motivations of Connecticut’s labor priests, who
included their own comments in the reports.
Chapter directors specifically asked the students to share their opinions on working women, and their answers and the priests’ comments generally reveal profound fears that such extra-household labor would destroy
familial harmony, cause children to become delinquents, and eventually
lead to a loss of men’s masculinity. In New Haven, a group of eight workers related that an overwhelming number of women sought jobs outside
their homes. The director reported the workers’ sentiment that working
mothers were “a decidedly bad thing for the family and for the community.”68 Torrington’s students were struck by the fact that children of families in which both parents worked were “running loose for an hour or two
after school.”69 Waterbury’s students recognized that many women needed
to work to support their families, but alarmingly, the chapter director dismissed out-of-hand his students’ recognition of the need for women workers. The priest fell back on a facile explanation for domestic dysfunction by
noting that “[i]n practically all cases of delinquency in school the mothers
of these children are working. The home is falling apart.”70
In some chapters, the students grudgingly accepted that women workers had become a fact of life. The New Britain chapter admitted that
women could become valuable employees and unionists in their own right,
and in his report, the director highlighted a family in which a man had
essentially become a stay-at-home father: “One wife, a nurse, makes more
in 3 days work than her husband does in a whole week; the money is going
to educate their 3 boys; the hours she works are such that the husband is
home to take care of the family.”71 Workers from both Hartford and Naugatuck Valley also recognized the benefits of women working outside the
home. The Hartford students regarded women as “good union members.”72

68. New Haven Chapter Survey Report, Topic No. 8, February 17, 1955, Box 2, Folder
83, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
69. Torrington Chapter Survey Report, Topic No. 8, February 9, 1955, Box 2, Folder
83, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
70. Waterbury Chapter Survey Report, Topic No. 8, March 8, 1955, Box 2, Folder 83,
Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
71. New Britain Chapter Survey Report, Topic No. 8, April 4, 1955, Box 2, Folder 83,
Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
72. Hartford Chapter Survey Report, Topic No. 8, n.d., Box 2, Folder 83, Diocesan
Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.

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EDUCATION IN THE NAME OF THE LORD

Women students were especially vocal in the Naugatuck chapter meeting
and defended the necessity of earning extra income because “in many cases
the wife is the sole supporter of the family,” perhaps reflecting a sense of
the “labor feminism” that historian Dorothy Sue Cobble argues emerged
in this period.73 In the following week’s report, it is possible that the priest
may have inserted his own opinion in the written record of the workers’
discussion: “Strange as it may seem, some women claim they have benefitted
by working outside the home. They claim they mingle more socially among
others, and overcome loneliness.”74 Perhaps stranger is the fact that when
faced with repeated assertions from women workers themselves that their
extra-household labor was beneficial, the priests and mostly male workers
were frequently unable to come to grips with this new reality. The chapter
directors seemed much more concerned with buttressing their male students’ interrelated identities as men and workers. For several priests and
male students, worker and man were inextricably connected roles, and a
woman leaving the home to enter the workforce disrupted their masculine
conceptions of labor. The Bristol director made his position clear, noting,
“The old slogan, a woman’s place is in the home, still holds.”75
The labor schools were formed, in part, to help workers adjust to the
changes wrought by industrialization, and they continued to operate
through the years of wartime mobilization, the latter of which brought
about the entry of more women into the workforce. A revitalized postwar
economy allowed many workers to begin their long climb up the class
ladder, and the ongoing transition of women from domestic to extrahousehold laborers helped fuel this occasionally jarring transition from
working to middle class.76 The institute’s students often seemed generally
satisfied with their worksites and jobs.77 Workers in many chapters, how73. Naugatuck Valley Chapter Survey Report, Topic No. 7, March 10, 1955, Box 2,
Folder 83, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center; Dorothy Sue Cobble, The Other
Women’s Movement: Workplace Justice and Social Rights in Modern America (Princeton, NJ, 2004).
74. Naugatuck Valley Chapter Survey Report, Topic No. 8, March 17, 1955, Box 2,
Folder 83, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center [emphasis added].
75. Bristol Chapter Survey Report, Topic No. 8, April 18, 1955, Box 2, Folder 83,
Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
76. On the roles of women in the emergence of the Catholic middle class, see Robert
A. Orsi, Thank You, St. Jude: Women’s Devotion to the Patron Saint of Hopeless Causes (New
Haven, CT, 1996).
77. New Haven Chapter Survey Reports, Topic No. 1 and Topic No. 2, October 28,
1954, and November 11, 1954, Box 2, Folder 83, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd
Center; Torrington Chapter Survey Report, Topic No. 1, January 5, 1955, Box 2, Folder 83,
Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center; New Britain Chapter Survey Report, Topic
No. 1, January 3, 1955, Box 2, Folder 83, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.

W ILLIAM S. COSSEN

495

ever, demonstrated a palpable fear that their wages were too low, not so
much from the perspective of a living wage necessary for basic survival but
rather from the perspective that they would not be able to maintain for
their families the improved lifestyles to which they were becoming accustomed. New Haven’s students argued that some workers needed second
jobs to bring in incomes sufficient to support their families, but most
agreed “that people too often spend more than they can afford and do so
follishly [sic].”78 Torrington’s workers expressed a similar sentiment, pointing out that “[w]orkers are going into debt. They are purchasing homes,
autos, modern appliances. . . . [S]elfishness or keeping with the Jones’ was
not the motive for purchasing these modern appliances but rather the convenience and usefulness of the items themselves motivated their plunge
into debt.” Torrington’s director believed that workers were, in fact,
actively attempting to join the larger consumer revolution sweeping
through the postwar U.S.79 Several other chapters expressed similar sentiments. The Naugatuck Valley students, while recognizing the value of
women workers, argued that these same women played a role in perpetuating the new consumer culture that encouraged workers to live beyond
their means by relying on credit to purchase new “refrigerators, TV sets,
furniture, etc.,” all visible markers of a consumer-oriented middle class.80
The Meriden group agreed with its counterpart in Naugatuck, arguing that
workers entered into debt because they were “trying not to miss out on
anything.”81 The New Britain chapter, perhaps due to the fact that the city
was in much better financial shape in 1955 than other institute cities,
argued two related points: first, women’s wages were “not necessary to help
the family,” and second, the main reason women entered the workforce
was to maintain a more privileged, middle-class lifestyle.82

78. New Haven Chapter Survey Report, Topic No. 3, November 14, 1954, Box 2,
Folder 83, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
79. Torrington Chapter Survey Report, Topic No. 3, January 12, 1955, Box 2, Folder
83, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center. On the rising consumer culture, see
Lizabeth Cohen, A Consumer’s Republic: The Politics of Mass Consumption in Postwar America
(New York, 2003); Meg Jacobs, Pocketbook Politics: Economic Citizenship in Twentieth-Century
America (Princeton, NJ, 2005); Cohen, Making a New Deal: Industrial Workers in Chicago,
1919–1939, 2nd ed. (New York, 2008), 99–158.
80. Naugatuck Valley Chapter Survey Report, Topic No. 3, February 10, 1955, Box 2,
Folder 83, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
81. Meriden Chapter Survey Report, Topic No. 3, March [1955], Box 2, Folder 83,
Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
82. New Britain Chapter Survey Report, Topic No. 8, April 4, 1955, Box 2, Folder 83,
Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center; New Britain Chapter Survey Report, Topic
No. 2, January 10, 1955, Box 2, Folder 83, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.

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EDUCATION IN THE NAME OF THE LORD

These workers, however, did not consider the possibilities that women
enjoyed work, that they sought out new opportunities for personal
improvement or increased sociability that they could not realize inside the
home, or that they were not content with their present financial situations.
In commenting on Bristol’s rank-and-file workers, the chapter remarked
that the workers’ “ideas take more the materialistic form of economic
necessity, of a sort of class warfare, of the law of supply and demand.”83 If
this is indeed an accurate judgment, then it seems that workers in Bristol,
and possibly in the remaining cities of Connecticut in which the institute
maintained a presence, had internalized the consumerist ideology that historian Lawrence Glickman argues supplanted anti-wage-labor producerism around the turn of the twentieth century. Glickman also points out
that early twentieth-century working men were distressed by what they
perceived to be their loss of control over women, especially when the latter
became consumers. This attitude is strikingly similar to those opinions
expressed by Connecticut’s labor school students in the mid-1950s.84
Problematic for the institute was the fact that many workers felt they
had no need for further assistance from the church or from their unions
following their perceived migration to the middle class. In New Haven,
students reflected, “[M]ost workers are content but reserve [the] right to
gripe,” and the “[a]verage worker has good relations with owners or immediate superiors.” The city’s workers were happy to simply “[l]et [union]
leaders do the work” and to only “[c]omplain when things do not suit
them.”85 Similarly, Torrington’s students lamented that “[u]nion workers
are not active unionists. There is just a general indifference. They pay their
dues and let it go at that.” Compounding this indifference was an apparent
“anti-clerical spirit” present among many workers.86
Of course, workers’ very real fears of unsympathetic management
should not be ignored. One chapter made these concerns abundantly clear

83. Bristol Chapter Survey Report, Topic No. 9, April 25, 1955, Box 2, Folder 83,
Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
84. Lawrence B. Glickman, A Living Wage: American Workers and the Making of Consumer Society (Ithaca, NY, 1997), 25, 116–24.
85. New Haven Chapter Survey Report, Topic No. 1, October 28, 1954, Box 2, Folder
83, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center; New Haven Chapter Survey Report,
Topic No. 5, January 20, 1955, Box 2, Folder 83, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd
Center.
86. Torrington Chapter Survey Report, Topic No. 5, January 19, 1955, Box 2, Folder 83,
Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center; Torrington Chapter Survey Report, Topic
No. 9, February 9, 1955, Box 2, Folder 83, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.

W ILLIAM S. COSSEN

497

in its finding that “the biggest drawback to organization is fear and the all
too-real probability of being fired for being too ‘pro-union.’”87 Bristol’s students complained that employers often fired workers capriciously.88 It
seems, then, that in several cities in Connecticut, especially those in which
future economic prospects could not be easily discerned, workers were subjected to a carrot-and-stick treatment: they were offered the prospect of
moving to the middle class but at the significant cost of incrementally
losing their already tenuous ability to meet management as equals. As a
consequence, the Diocesan Labor Institute lost much of its effectiveness in
establishing meaningful relationships with Connecticut’s workers.
Although the institute faded away by the late 1960s, its record was not
one only of failure. While it may have lost its attractiveness to many of
Connecticut’s workers, its influence outside the state was substantial. It
acted as a supplier of instructional materials, particularly the “Labor School
Notes” series, to parishes, libraries, social action groups, Catholic colleges,
and labor schools across the U.S. The institute also fielded several international requests for these materials.89 George Higgins, for instance, passed
on to Donnelly an appeal for multiple copies of notes from American missionaries in Central America, who were “anxious to receive as much material as possible in the field of labor education.”90 Manuel Velazquez, a
priest in charge of foreign relations at the Secretariado Social Mexicano in
Mexico City, explained to Donnelly that he was part of a “National Organization entrusted by the Mexican Hierarchy with the job of spreading out
the Catholic Doctrine of the Church in our country. Being in sore need of
literature to help us in our labor education program, we would be very
grateful if you could provide us with the periodicals, lessons, newspapers,
or any other material published or used in your work.”91 Thomas Joseph, a
social action priest working in India and director of the Catholic Workers’
Union in Madras, asked Donnelly for assistance in reaching out to members of the working class. Joseph expressed a desire to involve his organi-

87. Naugatuck Valley Chapter Survey Report, Topic No. 6, March 3, 1955, Box 2,
Folder 83, Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center [emphasis in original].
88. Bristol Chapter Survey Report, Topic No. 2, March 7, 1955, Box 2, Folder 83,
Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
89. See the various requests for “Labor School Notes,” in Box 3, Folders 109–113,
Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
90. George G. Higgins, to Joseph F. Donnelly, November 30, 1950, Box 3, Folder 112,
Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.
91. Manuel Velazquez, to Joseph F. Donnelly, September 13, 1952, Box 3, Folder 113,
Diocesan Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.

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EDUCATION IN THE NAME OF THE LORD

zation in the larger, international network of “persons engaged in this
urgent task of improving the condition of workers.”92
The history of the Diocesan Labor Institute and of the wider Catholic
labor education movement is one of great success and great disappointment, of innovation and unrealized potential, and of the promise of the
postwar labor movement and the enduring tragedy of an anti-union countermovement that has continued to the present day. The labor schools were
at the center of several of the larger social trends of the postwar years,
including anti-communism, urban deindustrialization, the growth of the
middle class, and the rise of labor feminism, all of which shaped the
schools’ overall program and philosophy. The schools’ lengthy record of
engagement with workers provides compelling evidence of the importance
of religion as a fundamental category of analysis when considering the history of the postwar working class. While the schools’ efforts to educate and
improve the lives of workers may have often fallen short of their goals, they
demonstrated to representatives of labor and management that the
Catholic Church offered important perspectives on workplace justice,
social action, and the meaning and prospects of the industrial system.

92. Thomas Joseph, to Joseph F. Donnelly, May 15, 1950, Box 3, Folder 112, Diocesan
Labor Institute Records, Dodd Center.

The Holy See’s Eastern Policy—
The Yugoslav Example
MIROSLAV AKMADŽA*
The Second Vatican Council, among other things, heralded the opening
of the Catholic Church to atheist societies and the beginning of dialogue
with communist regimes. It also ushered in a period of more intensive
pursuit of the Holy See’s Eastern Policy, whose objective was to
improve the position of the Church in communist countries. Not being
a part of the Soviet Bloc, Yugoslavia was considered the best place to
start working towards this goal. This paper relies on original archival
materials and relevant literature to elaborate on the implementation of
the Holy See’s policy and its bearing on the normalization of the relations between the Church and the government in Yugoslavia and
between Yugoslavia and the Holy See.
Keywords: The Holy See, Yugoslavia, Eastern Policy, Agostino
Casaroli, Josip Broz Tito
Introduction
Diplomatic ties between the Holy See and Yugoslavia were severed on
December 17, 1952, after a period of very strained diplomatic relations
between the Catholic Church and the communist regime in Yugoslavia.
Following the end of the Second World War, the Catholic Church in
Yugoslavia could hardly be expected to accept the new communist government, whose program was among other things based on atheist ideology,
*Dr. Akmadža is a senior research fellow with the Croatian Institute of History in
Zagreb, the Unit for the History of Slavonija, Srijem and Baranja, Slavonski Brod. He teaches
courses in modern Croatian and world history at the Catholic University of Croatia in
Zagreb, the Centre for Croatian Studies in Zagreb and the Dag Hammarskjöld University
College of International Relations and Diplomacy in Zagreb. His research focuses on topics
related to the relations between the government and the Church in communist Yugoslavia,
about which he published ten scientific monographs and several dozen papers in relevant
journals. This paper was written as a part of the scientific research project “Croatia in the
Twentieth Century: Modernization in Circumstances of Pluralism and Monism,” funded—
co-funded by the Croatian Science Foundation, Project 3481.
Translated from Croatian to the English language by Ana Levak Sobolović.

499

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THE HOLY SEE’S EASTERN POLICY

which in its own right is unacceptable to the Church’s teachings, but also
because it was aware of the Communist Party of Yugoslavia’s official position on the Church’s standing in society. Moreover, the Church was aware
that the Yugoslav government was under direct influence of the USSR’s
communist regime, which had been ruthlessly persecuting religious communities since the first day of coming to power. As early as 1936, the
Yugoslav bishops warned about communism and stated a desire to protect
the faithful from “this terrible danger for faith and civilisation.”1 In his
Easter sermon on April 13, 1941, the Archbishop of Zagreb Alojzije Stepinac stated that communism was a negation of all truth and justice, and
as such was the biggest obstacle to peace.2 Early in 1943, his circular letter
to the clergy called for the Church to stand at the forefront of the fight
against communism, which “had threatened not only Christianity but also
humanity’s positive values in their entirety.”3
Stated attitudes were not characteristic only of the situation in Yugoslavia, but were in line with the standard views on communism expressed
by the representatives of the Holy See and bishops in countries facing the
greatest threat of communist activity against the Church.4
Prior to terminating diplomatic relations between Yugoslavia and the
Holy See, the communist regime battled the Catholic Church openly,
striving to undermine its power and influence and to form a governmentcontrolled “people’s church” that would not rely so heavily on the Holy See
in its activities. When this plan failed in spite of many repressive measures
launched by the communist regime to support it (priests imprisoned and
murdered, Archbishop Alojzije Stepinac convicted and imprisoned, religious education thrown out of state schools, church press banned, church
properties confiscated etc.), the regime tried to disunite the Catholic
Church by establishing class associations for priests with the help of its
supporters among the clergy and the priests who succumbed to political
pressures or were bribed with various privileges. Following the communist
regime’s establishment of priests’ associations, the clergy in Bosnia and
Herzegovina responded most positively. There almost one hundred percent
1. Josip Franulić, Skrajnje pogubna zabluda: jedan pogled u komunističku prošlost [Utterly
Fatal Error: One Perspective into the Communist Past], (Makarska, 1994), 11.
2. Alojzije Stepinac: Propovijedi, poruke, govori 1941–1946. [Alojzije Stepinac: Sermons,
Messages, Speeches 1941–1946], priredili Juraj Batelja i Celestin Tomić, (Zagreb, 1996), 23.
3. Franulić, Skrajnje pogubna zabluda, 23.
4. For the general standpoint of the Catholic Church toward Communism see: Andrea
Riccardi, Il Vaticano e Mosca, 1940–1990 (Roma, 1993); Philippe Chenaux, L’Église catholique
et le communisme en Europe (1917–1989), de Lénine à Jean-Paul II, (Paris, 2009).

MIROSLAV AKMADŽA

501

of members came from the Franciscan order. In Slovenia, bishops were
more inclined towards cooperation with the communist government. On
the other hand, a very modest positive response was achieved in Croatia,
due to strong opposition from the majority of bishops and especially the
imprisoned Archbishop Stepinac.5
When the bishops supported by the Holy See forbade priests to establish or join such associations, the Yugoslav government accused the Holy See
of meddling in Yugoslavia’s internal affairs and using the elevation of Archbishop Alojzije Stepinac to cardinal as an excuse to sever diplomatic ties.
When diplomatic relations with the Holy See ended, the communist
regime changed its policy toward the Catholic Church and abandoned
open repressive methods, but efforts to weaken the Church and sow discord within its ranks continued. No serious efforts at reconciliation of the
Church and the government were attempted until Cardinal Stepinac’s
death on February 10, 1960, when a new period in the relations between
the Catholic Church and the communist regime in Yugoslavia as well as in
the relations between Yugoslavia and the Holy See began. The Holy See’s
Eastern Policy gradually took shape in this period, resulting in the signing
of the Protocol on the Normalization of Relations between Yugoslavia and
the Hoy See in 1966 and the restoration of diplomatic relations in 1970.6
The turnabout in the relations between Yugoslavia and the Holy See
and the relations between the government and the Church in Yugoslavia
partly resulted from the Yugoslav government’s agenda as one of the leaders of the Non-Aligned Movement in the context of the Cold War and
related events, which required it to improve the country’s standing in the
international community. Moreover, the Holy See needed to change its
policy for this turnabout to happen. This change occurred as soon as Pope
John XXIII was elected on October 28, 1958. In due course, the Second
Vatican Council issued its guidelines about opening dialogue with the

5. On priests’ association in Yugoslavia, see Miroslav Akmadža, “Staleško društvo
katoličkih svećenika Hrvatske u službi komunističkog režima [Association of the Catholic
Priests of Croatia in the Service of the Communist Regime],” in Tkalčić, 7/2003 (Zagreb,
2003), 47–156.
6. Concerning this topic see Radmila Radić, Država i verske zajednice 1945–1970 [The
State and the Religious Communities 1945–1970], vol. 1 and 2 (Beograd, 2002); Zdenko
Roter, Katoliška cerkev in država v Jugoslaviji 1945–1973 [The Catholic Church and the state
in Yugoslavia, 1945–1973] (Ljubljana, 1976); Miroslav Akmadža, Katolička crkva u komunističkoj Hrvatskoj 1945–1980 [The Catholic Church in the Communist Croatia, 1945–1980]
(Zagreb-Slavonski Brod, 2013).

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THE HOLY SEE’S EASTERN POLICY

communist regimes, and it culminated in the implementation of the Holy
See’s Eastern Policy, launched during Pope Paul VI’s (1963–1978) pontificate and implemented at the time of John Paul II (1978–2005).7
This paper aims to narrate the implementation of the Holy See’s Eastern Policy citing the example of Yugoslavia as a country outside the Soviet
camp for purposes of comparison with the implementation of the same
policy in countries under Soviet influence. The case of Yugoslavia provides
a unique example of the Vatican’s Eastern policy as implemented relatively
quickly and successfully unlike the experience in other Eastern European
communist countries. I will therefore not provide a detailed overview of
the Eastern policy in general but highlight the Yugoslav case.8
Relations between the Church and Yugoslavia in the early 1960s
After Pope Pius XII died on October 9, 1958, and Cardinal Alojzije
Stepinac followed on February 10, 1960, representatives of the Yugoslav
government set their sights on placing most of the blame for the strained
relations between the Church and the government and between Yugoslavia
and the Holy See on the two late dignitaries, so they released a trial balloon
announcing that the government wanted to improve its relations with the
Catholic Church.
Yugoslav authorities judged that the Catholic bishops were becoming
increasingly disinclined to strain their relations with the authorities any
further. They noticed that the bishops were showing an increasing readiness to negotiate with the government, and that the Holy See was showing
an increasing desire to normalize their relations, although it wanted to
make the impression that Yugoslavia was succumbing to the pressure of
religious masses. The authorities believed that three main issues to be
resolved in dealings with the Church were religious instruction, religious
press, and priest associations.9 The authorities attempted to use their con7. „Problem ateizma u koncilskoj konstituciji «Gaudium et Spes»” [The Problem of
Atheism in the Council Constitution ‘Gaudium et Spes’] and “Kardinal Šeper o ateizmu”
[Cardinal Šeper on Atheism], in: Glas Koncila, January 23; “Gaudium et Spes,” for more
details see: Sto godina katoličkog socijalnog nauka, Socijalni dokumenti Crkve [Hundred Years of
the Catholic Social Doctrine, Social Documents of the Church], Ed. Marijan Valković (Zagreb,
1991), 203–291; Vjekoslav Cvrlje, Vatikanska diplomacija [The Diplomacy of the Holy See]
(Zagreb, 1992), 72–82.
8. For the general development Holy See’s Eastern Policy see Giovanni Barberini,
L’Ostpolitik della Santa Sede: un dialogo lungo e faticoso, (Bologna, 2007).
9. Croatian State Archives (hereinafter: CSA), The Fond of the Commission for the
Relations with Religious Communities (hereinafter: CRRC), Box 40, 29/1960.

MIROSLAV AKMADŽA

503

tacts with the bishops to inform them about the government’s stands,
which the bishops then forwarded to the Holy See.10
Catholic Church representatives started to meet with the authorities
more often, and some of the tension was relieved. National authorities
started to warn local governments about the illegalities arising from excessive, harsh, and forced measures undertaken by government officials in an
attempt to curb artificially the activities of religious communities. They
were instructed to tone down the “petty harassments” and the administrative measures because such measures could not help the Church adapt to
the new social and political circumstances.11 They were also instructed to
replace administrative anti-Church measures with political measures
whenever possible.12
The first informal contacts between the Holy See representatives and
the Yugoslav embassy in Rome were established in early 1960 by the mediation of the Italian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, headed by newly appointed
Foreign Minister Antonio Segni. The Yugoslav government instructed its
ambassador to inform the prefect of the Congregation for the Discipline of
the Sacraments, Cardinal Aloisi Masella, about several of the most important conditions Yugoslavia was going to insist on before it agreed to the
normalization of relations. Yugoslavia wanted the Vatican to: 1) recognize
the social and political system in Yugoslavia; 2) recognize the separation of
Church and state; 3) stop its hostile propaganda against Yugoslavia; 4) not
interfere in Yugoslavia’s internal affairs; 5) cooperate with the officials on
resolving some specific issues; 6) take no action against the social and political system in religious schools; 7) stop supporting and assisting the
Ustasha emigrants; 8) abandon the possible beatification of Cardinal
Stepinac; 9) depoliticize the Pontifical Croatian College of St. Jerome in
Rome; and 10) define diocesan territories.13
On March 12, 1960 the Federal Secretariat for Foreign Affairs of
Yugoslavia issued instructions for its embassies, detailing how they should
conduct possible talks with representatives of the Holy See. The instruc10. Minutes from the Meeting of the Commission for Religious Affairs of the People’s
Republic of Croatia from April 21, 1960, in CSA, CRRC, Minutes, Book 2.
11. CSA, CRRC, Box 40, 8/1960, the copy of the Local People’s Committee of
Kutina.
12. “The Work Plan of the Commission for Religious Affairs of the People’s Republic
of Croatia for 1960,” in CSA, CRRC, Box 40, 8/1960.
13. Report “Relations Vatican-Yugoslavia” 62, in CSA, CRRC, Box 41, 131/1960;
Radić, Država i verske zajednice 1945–1970, 2, 453, note 1515.

504

THE HOLY SEE’S EASTERN POLICY

tions highlight that the Holy See had exhibited an obvious willingness to
change its policy toward Yugoslavia as manifested in its less tolerant position regarding the émigrés, in more subdued tones of its press and radio
programs, and in tolerance of the bishops’ contacts with the Yugoslav
authorities. They stress in particular that Cardinal Stepinac’s death would
contribute to more tolerant relations between the state and the Catholic
Church. The Secretariat wanted the government to present a united front
in possible talks, so it instructed Yugoslav representatives not to show any
initiative or interest in negotiating about the restoration of diplomatic relations, but instead to use the talks as an opportunity to find out as many
details as possible about the Holy See’s positions and to dismiss the view
that the termination of diplomatic relations had been Yugoslavia’s fault.14
At a meeting held in late July, the Sacred Congregation for Extraordinary Ecclesiastical Affairs concluded that the relations with Yugoslavia
needed to be normalized. A modus vivendi between the bishops and the
Yugoslav government was to be sought first, and diplomatic relations
between the Holy See and Yugoslavia were to be reestablished later. Pope
John XXIII voiced a personal interest in normalizing relations with
Yugoslavia, and gave instructions to that effect to his Secretary of State
Cardinal Domenico Tardini and to the acting president of the Bishops’
Conference of Yugoslavia, Archbishop Josip Ujčić.15
Yugoslav Bishops and Normalizing Relations
After the government indicated its readiness to improve relations with
the Church, the Catholic Church in Yugoslavia announced its first specific
step on September 23, 1960. Responding to frequent statements of relevant Yugoslav government officials indicating that the government wanted
to normalize its relations with the Catholic Church as soon as possible, the
bishops sent a memorandum to the Federal Executive Council from their
annual conference in Zagreb, voicing their agreement with officials of this
department and their conviction that such a normalization of relations
would benefit the Church and Yugoslavia alike, and that it would go a long
way toward consolidating the situation in the country and thus improving
the position of the Yugoslav nations and Yugoslavia in the international
community. The bishops voiced their willingness to support all honest
efforts to find and establish a truly healthy and permanent modus vivendi
between the Church and the authorities. Moreover, they warned that the
14. Radić, Država i verske zajednice 1945–1970, 454.
15. Radić, Država i verske zajednice 1945–1970, 456.

MIROSLAV AKMADŽA

505

Holy See, and not the bishops, was the ultimate authority in the Catholic
Church, and that the bishops accordingly could not conduct negotiations
about the relations between the Church and the government with government officials, or to enter into any kind of a final agreement. This assertion
did not mean that the bishops were not able to participate actively in
preparing the ground for successful negotiations between Yugoslavia and
the Holy See. They emphasized that the government needed to make an
effort to resolve certain issues, such as religious education, religious rights
of soldiers and prisoners, celebration of religious holidays, suppression of
religious schools, return of confiscated Church properties, construction of
churches, return of the Church’s sacramental registers, freedom of religious
press, and the priest-associations issue.16
The reaction of government officials to the memorandum was for the
most part positive. It was interpreted as an initiative on the bishops’ part to
open negotiations about the establishment of diplomatic relations between
Yugoslavia and the Holy See. Moreover, they believed the Holy See probably approved it.17
The officials told Archbishop Ujčić that they wanted to open negotiations with the bishops, and he passed on their views to Cardinal Tardini.
Tardini refused to authorize the bishops to discuss any kind of an agreement with the Yugoslav government because such talks were in the Holy
See’s jurisdiction. He stated, however, that the bishops were allowed to
discuss local issues with the authorities and assert their rights in the area
under their jurisdiction. He suggested that the Yugoslav authorities could
ask the Holy See to send a delegate authorized to negotiate with the
Yugoslav government. This led the Yugoslav authorities to the conclusion
that the Holy See was attempting to reestablish diplomatic relations with
Yugoslavia, but that it wanted Yugoslavia to make the first step, which they
believed was a step backwards from the progress that had been accomplished. As far as the Pope’s legate was concerned, they concluded that
they should inform the Vatican that they could only speak about the normalization of relations with the bishops in Yugoslavia.18
Monsignor Agostino Casaroli, appointed Undersecretary of the Congregation of Extraordinary Ecclesiastical Affairs in 1961 and the Holy
See’s chief negotiator with the Yugoslav and other socialist governments,
16. CSA, CRRC, Box 41, 130/1960.
17. CSA CRRC, Minutes, Book 2.
18. Radić, Država i verske zajednice 1945–1970, 2, 460–1.

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THE HOLY SEE’S EASTERN POLICY

described how Archbishop Ujčić, heartened by the Yugoslav government’s
reaction, rushed to the Vatican, but was received with much less optimism
than he had expected. The question of opening talks about a modus vivendi
had to be studied carefully because, in spite of the indications of leniency,
which inspired hope that the Church might be able to secure a better position in Yugoslavia, too many matters still had to be resolved before the
talks could even begin.19
After the Second Vatican Council opened in October 1962, initiatives
for talks came to a halt. To Yugoslav officials, this halt occurred because
the bishops were waiting for the Council to provide guidelines on how to
proceed, especially in communist societies.20
It is important to stress that the Yugoslav government did not prevent
a single bishop from attending the Council. The arrival of bishops not only
from Yugoslavia but also from other Central and Eastern European countries under communist rule signaled to the Holy See that the communist
regimes were prepared to accept the possibility of talks about the Church’s
position in these countries and negotiations with the Holy See. The implementation of the Eastern Policy could begin. Its co-designer and main
enforcer, Casaroli, started his first journey in Czechoslovakia and Hungary. Even though he maintained that the name Eastern Policy was inaccurate, he used it in his own communications, and the name was also
widely accepted by the general public.21
Opening Negotiations between the Holy See and Yugoslavia
In early 1962 Yugoslav authorities considered the possibility of occasionally allowing the Holy See to send its representative to Yugoslavia for
visitations consistent with its authority over the Catholic Church there.
Initially this person was intended to be a Yugoslav citizen. However, the
government dismissed the possibility of granting the Catholic Church a
special privileged position, and the possibility of renewing diplomatic relations with the Holy See.22
The first signals that negotiations between Yugoslavia and the Holy
See were a possibility were manifested in early 1963, when, according to
19. Agostino Casaroli, Il martiro della pazienza. La Santa Sede e i paesi comunisti (1963–
89), (Torino, 2000), 205–6.
20. CSA, CCRC, Box 46, 113/1962.
21. Casaroli, Il martiro della pazienza, 26–8.
22. Radić, Država i verske zajednice 1945–1970, 2, 467.

MIROSLAV AKMADŽA

507

Casaroli, the Yugoslav ambassador to Italy, Ivo Vejvoda, voiced his government’s desire to establish contact with the Holy See.23 The Yugoslav
government, on the other hand, maintained that the initiative for the
negotiations had come from the Holy See through its mediator Nicolo
Jaeger, a member of the Italian Constitutional Court, who had been close
to the Holy See. The importance for the Yugoslav side was that the Holy
See was exerting pressure on the Yugoslav bishops to normalize their relations with the authorities. The Yugoslav government instructed its embassy
in Rome to tell Jaeger at their next meeting that the Yugoslav side expected
to receive a direct invitation if the Holy See wanted to make contact. They
also instructed the embassy to make clear that the specific issues of interest
to the Church could and should be solved by dialogue between the
Yugoslav bishops and the government.24
Officials at the Yugoslav embassy in Rome believed that establishing
relations with the Holy See had fallen behind schedule and that the Council’s influence over the Yugoslav bishops had been overestimated.
Nonetheless, some of the highest-ranking Yugoslav officials believed that
the embassy should only maintain informal contacts with the Holy See to
pave the way for possible talks with the representatives of the Yugoslav
government.25
The first informal, probing meetings between representatives of
Yugoslavia and the Holy See occurred in May 1963. Pope Paul VI, who
succeeded the Pope John XXIII in June 1963, authorized his associates to
continue the informal contacts with Yugoslav authorities.26 On the occasion of his inauguration on June 21, 1963, he asked the Yugoslav ambassador Vejvoda to convey the following message to President Josip Broz
Tito: “I greatly appreciate the presence of Yugoslavia’s representatives at
my papal inauguration as a token of respect and considerable tact. I hope
that my pontificate will lead to an improvement in the relations between
the Holy See and Yugoslavia. Pray tell President Tito that I care very
deeply about Yugoslavia.” In the meantime Ambassador Vejvoda learned
from Jaeger that Pope Paul VI had initiated their contacts even before he
had become the Pope.27

23. Casaroli, Il martiro della pazienza, 208.
24. CSA, CCRC, Box 49, 24/1963.
25. Radić, Država i verske zajednice 1945–1970, 2, 486.
26. Casaroli, Il martiro della pazienza, 208.
27. CSA, CCRC, Box 51, 130/1963.

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THE HOLY SEE’S EASTERN POLICY

Casaroli and Nikola Mandić, representing the Yugoslav embassy in
Rome, continued their talks on October 18, 1963. On this occasion
Casaroli expressed the Pope’s wish to normalize the relations with
Yugoslavia but made it clear that the Holy See wanted to know what the
other side was expecting from their talks. He stated the Holy See no longer
insisted that diplomatic relations had to be renewed first. Instead, he said,
in the first stage the Holy See was prepared to renew relations on consular
level or in the form of occasional visits of a papal delegate to Yugoslavia.
Mandić said that the talks with the bishops were not progressing at the
same pace as the talks with the Holy See, and voiced his displeasure with
the position of the Zagreb Archbishop Franjo Šeper in particular.28
There were quandaries in the Roman Curia, in the College of Cardinals, and among the church officials in the communist countries if it would
better suit the Church’s purposes to fight communism to its last breath, or
if the resistance—albeit firm in principle—could still allow for certain limited agreements to give religious life some more freedom, but entail the
potential danger of turning the whole thing into an illusion to benefit only
the reputations of the communist regimes without producing lasting benefits for the Church.29 Hungarian Cardinal Jószef Mindszenty thus wondered in his discussions with Casaroli why the Church should negotiate
with the Hungarian communist authorities if the agreement would only
bring an illusion of improvement, considering that the position of the
Hungarian Church was so bad that it could hardly get any worse. He
believed a complete destruction of communism was the only solution.30
Understandably, similar dilemmas troubled the Polish, Czechoslovakian, and Yugoslav bishops and made them fearful of possible consequences. Most Yugoslav bishops were reserved about the Eastern Policy.
Their reserve was manifested, among other things, in accusations that the
Holy See, although with a well-meaning intent to protect the Church’s
general interests in the communist East, sacrificed the particular interests
of the national churches in their immediate environment. A smaller group
of bishops heartily supported the Eastern Policy, believing that the Church
needed to come to terms with the reality of the socialist system and not
expect it to collapse anytime soon. They believed an arrangement with the
authorities was needed for the Church to function normally. Incompatible
28. Radić, Država i verske zajednice 1945–1970, 2, 494.
29. Cardinal Achille Silvestrini in the “Introduction” of Casaroli, Il martiro della
pazienza, XII-XIII.
30. Casaroli, Il martiro della pazienza, 53–4.

MIROSLAV AKMADŽA

509

as these opposing views may have seemed, in time most bishops would side
with the latter view, especially under the influence of the Council reforms.
Still a considerable dose of caution and suspicion remained that the Holy
See was not doing enough to protect the interests of the national Church.
Pope John XXIII firmly believed that something appearing unacceptable or unfruitful at one moment can undergo a radical change overnight.
He never stopped believing this, not even in the last days of his life, when
he received Casaroli, who had in May 1963 returned from his first mission
in Eastern European countries with communist regimes (Czechoslovakia,
Hungary), and informed him of his satisfaction to see dialogue opened
with this hostile world. He held that “nothing would ever be able to mend
the crack that he managed to make in the Iron Curtain.” However, the
Pope let Casaroli know that he should proceed with good will but without
haste.31 His successor Pope Paul VI, a great diplomacy enthusiast, also
believed that the Church should not shy away from talking with communist regimes, but was initially very skeptical about the chances of success.
Yet, he embraced his predecessor’s view that something appearing impossible at one moment could become very much possible over time and
eagerly continued to guide the Holy See’s policy with this idea in mind.32
Since it was a so-called “softer socialism” country, Yugoslavia was considered a good starting point for realizing the Holy See’s plans. The
Yugoslav authorities, however, believed that the conditions for a more
complete normalization of relations had not yet been fulfilled even though
the bishops’ position on relations with the authorities had taken a positive
turn. They also held that it would not be a good idea to establish relations
with the Holy See, either on the diplomatic level or on the level of apostolic delegate, because it would strengthen the Church and contribute to
its affirmation as a political power. The normalization of relations with the
Church was considered an internal affair and not a matter to be regulated
by an agreement with the Holy See. The Yugoslav authorities’ analyses
maintained that the Holy See’s primary goals were to reinforce the
Church’s position in the country, pave the way for possible normalization
of relations with the other socialist countries, and alleviate the difficulties
the Church faced worldwide. As far as Yugoslav interests were concerned,
it was believed a normalization of relations with the Holy See would
strengthen the positive trends in the Catholic Church and globally, and
31. Casaroli, Il martiro della pazienza, 63–4.
32. Cardinal Achille Silvestrini in the “Introduction” of Casaroli, Il martiro della
pazienza, XIII–XV.

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THE HOLY SEE’S EASTERN POLICY

support the more moderate streams and tendencies in the Holy See’s
policy. It would also partly neutralize the activity of the reactionary circles
in the Holy See and globally, anti-communist propaganda, and the activities of the émigrés.33
In late November 1963 Pope Paul VI received in audience the bishops
of Yugoslavia. On this occasion he voiced his pleasure with the improvement of relations between the Church and the Yugoslav authorities. He
authorized them to inform the authorities about the Holy See’s stands
regarding the Church’s situation and the relations between the Church and
the authorities and to make it clear that the Catholic Church was asking
for nothing more but the fundamental church liberties. He asked the bishops to cooperate on the improvement of relations between the Church and
the government.34
Casaroli continued his informal talks with the Yugoslav representative
Mandić in Rome in early 1964. Casaroli suggested that they start a new
phase in their talks and discuss specific aspects of important issues and
asked what the Yugoslav side was hoping to accomplish with their talks
and what goals it had set. Mandić repeated that they were not planning to
reestablish diplomatic relations yet.35
Ambassador Vejvoda advocated the establishment of diplomatic relations with the Holy See at an extended meeting of the Federal Commission
for Religious Affairs on May 18, 1964. His views did not receive much support there. The prevalent view was that it was still too early to reestablish
diplomatic relations, and that possible reactions in the country, in particular
the reaction of the Serbian Orthodox Church, had to be considered.36
The Federal Commission for Religious Affairs believed it very important
for their mutual relations that the Church profess its loyalty regarding issues
related to the unity of the Yugoslav nations’ federation and integrity of the
country, that it would not instigate or promote religious and national intolerance, that it would not abuse religion for purposes it was not allowed to, and
that it would not infringe upon citizens’ constitutional rights and liberties.37

33. Radić, Država i verske zajednice 1945–1970, 2, 496–9.
34. The note about the conversation Vito Dobrila, the secretary of the Yugoslav
embassy in Rome, had with the Skopje Bishop Smiljan Čekada at the embassy in Rome on
December 21, 1963, in CSA, CRRC, Box 52, 22/1964.
35. Radić, Država i verske zajednice 1945–1970, 2, 501–-2.
36. Radić, Država i verske zajednice 1945–1970, 2, 503–4.
37. CSA, CRRC, Box 56, no file number.

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511

In order to find and maintain a modus vivendi with the Holy See, the
Yugoslav government in mid-1964 decided to open negotiations for the
establishment of relations through an apostolic delegate who would represent the Holy See in Yugoslavia. In the beginning the apostolic delegate
was intended to act primarily as the representative of the Holy See in dealings with the Church in Yugoslavia, but he was also authorized to discuss
problems in the area of church-state relations with representatives of the
authorities. At that time seventeen national churches maintained such
diplomatic relations with the Holy See including the United States,
Mexico, and Great Britain.38
Launching Official Negotiations between Yugoslavia and the Holy See
Negotiations between Yugoslavia and the Holy See became official in
June 1964, when the two sides exchanged memoranda sketching the points
that they wished to discuss.39 The Holy See’s list of priorities included
application of the principle of freedom of conscience and religion to all citizens and adherence to these principles, the government’s neutrality in the
relations between anti-religious and atheistic organizations on the one
hand and religious organizations on the other, the issue of religious education, seminaries, novitiates, military service for priests, freedom to perform
religious rites, administration of sacraments, the Catholic press, priest
associations, the return of Church buildings and places of worship, the
equality of priests before the law, and the freedom of Church representatives to communicate with the Holy See. The priorities on the Yugoslav
side included the matter of the government’s permission for the appointment of bishops, the demarcation of diocesan borders, the condemnation
of the priests’ political activities, especially the emigrant priests, the issue
of priest associations, and status of the College of St. Jerome in Rome.40
The activities of Croatian émigrés, especially priests, were one of the
key issues for the Yugoslav side. According to the Croatian authorities,
Casaroli maintained that the émigrés’ activities were based on foundations
that included national and separatist elements, alluding to the unsolved
Croatian issue. However, the Yugoslav side refused to acknowledge that
such an issue even existed. The Vatican was prepared to condemn the terrorist activities of the émigrés but not their political activities.41
38. Radić, Država i verske zajednice 1945–1970, 2, 506.
39. Casaroli, Il martiro della pazienza, 208.
40. Radić, Država i verske zajednice 1945–1970, 2, 505–6.
41. Minutes from the meeting of the Commission for Religious Affairs of the Socialist
Republic of Croatia held on September 10 and 25, 1964, in CSA, CRRC, Minutes, Book 6.

512

THE HOLY SEE’S EASTERN POLICY

As much as the Yugoslav bishops worried about the outcome of the
negotiations, they still warned and advised the Holy See not to stop them,
concluding that reestablishing diplomatic relations would benefit the
Catholic Church. The Yugoslav side, on the other hand, insisted on some
form an agreement, albeit excluding the possibility that the general and
unilateral regulations governing the Catholic Church’s legal position could
be changed. The government made this agreement a condition for reestablishing official relations with the Holy See. The negotiating issues specified
by the government corresponded almost entirely with those about which
the bishops voiced their concerns.42
In late 1964 Casaroli proposed to Yugoslav representatives that they
could continue their negotiations after the Holy See wrapped up its negotiations with Czechoslovakia.43 Since there was no headway in negotiations
with Czechoslovakia, and the situation in Hungary44 was similar in spite of
certain minor successes, the Holy See decided to intensify the negotiations
with Yugoslavia after all. Pope Paul VI received Ivo Vejvoda, the Yugoslav
ambassador to Italy, on January 15, 1965. On this occasion the Pope stated
that the Church had no ambition to interfere in the political situation in
the country and that it was asking for no privileges. He voiced his hopes
that negotiations would be concluded successfully, and insisted that the
Church needed to be allowed to participate in the education of the youth.45
According to Casaroli, the first true and proper negotiations between
the Holy See and the Yugoslav authorities were opened in Belgrade on that
same day. In his memoirs he described these talks as very open and wrote
that the excessive cordiality of his collocutors, who acted as if the Church
and the government had never been in a conflict, occasionally inspired
doubts in him.46
The negotiations continued in April 1965, but in this round Yugoslav
authorities got the impression that the Holy See had backed away from its
42. Casaroli, Il martiro della pazienza, 211.
43. Radić, Država i verske zajednice 1945–1970, 2, 510–11.
44. The Holy See signed a document with Hungary on September 15, 1964, that aimed
to represent the first step in the normalization of relations between the Church and the state,
but the Holy See soon realized that the position of the Hungarian Church had not improved
at all. On the contrary, several priests were soon arrested, and Casaroli had to urgently open
new talks with representatives of the Hungarian government. See Casaroli, Il martiro della
pazienza, 89-103.
45. Radić, Država i verske zajednice 1945–1970, 2, 511.
46. Casaroli, Il martiro della pazienza, 212–23.

MIROSLAV AKMADŽA

513

original stand and had reservations regarding the final document. It was
believed that this was partly influenced by the opinions of the Yugoslav
bishops, who had visited Rome and asked the Holy See not to accept the
demands of the Yugoslav side.47
As the negotiations continued, the two sides agreed on a draft agreement. They also agreed to coordinate the texts of their statements about
issues they had not been able to come to terms about, and that had not
been included in the agreement. The Yugoslav government held the view
that an effort should be made to sign some kind of an agreement while not
backing down in any general issue because it would be of major political
significance.48
Casaroli states that the result of this round of negotiations, plus some
later additions and modifications, in essence represented the final text of
the Protocol that was signed later along with most of the “spoken statements” that had been exchanged on the occasion. The discussion about
youth education at schools had been the fiercest. At one point Casaroli
stopped the talks and, having lost his patience, said during a break that the
pressure the Yugoslav authorities were putting on the youth could prove
counterproductive for them one day. Even though the government wanted
the document to be signed as soon as possible, the Holy See postponed the
signing until the views of the Yugoslav bishops had been heard. In their
response, the bishops were rather reserved about the agreement, fearing
that the Holy See could be tricked. Cardinal Šeper and other bishops
believed the agreement was of no use because it changed nothing of importance, since the government insisted on the general legal framework without any kind of a special agreement with the Catholic Church. The bishops
favored the idea of exchanging envoys now and signing the agreement
later, after the Holy See’s delegate had a chance to see for himself if any
progress had been made as far as the Church’s position in Yugoslavia was
concerned. They also disliked certain spoken statements that the Holy See
reputedly made, especially the statements about the priest associations and
the emigrant priests. But the bishops did not want the talks to stop under
any circumstances.49
47. Radić, Država i verske zajednice 1945–1970, 2, 513.
48. The Summary of the Negotiations between the Socialist Federative Republic of
Yugoslavia and the Holy See, the draft for the meeting of the Commission for Religious
Affairs of the Socialist Republic of Croatia, on June 18, 1965, in CSA, CRRC, Minutes,
Book 7.
49. Casaroli, Il martiro della pazienza, 227–33.

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THE HOLY SEE’S EASTERN POLICY

Increasingly frequent complaints could be heard in the Vatican circles
too, maintaining that negotiations with communist regimes were useless
because communism was strong and deeply rooted in these countries, and
that talks with these regimes would have a negative impact on the Church
because they would be interpreted as an acknowledgement of the communists’ reliability. The results of the negotiations were deemed ridiculous
because the concessions to the Church were minimal and were not implemented in practice. The negotiations, then, meant the Church was abandoning everyone in its own ranks who had suffered persecution and had
proven heroic in their resistance. It was also believed that the negotiations
deprived the Holy See of its liberty to protest the persecution of the
Church in these countries. Pope Paul VI, nonetheless, believed the Church
was facing one of its historical duties that required wisdom and foresight
but also courage.50 He admitted that he was refraining from more frequent
and harsher, albeit justified protests and condemnations, not because he
was ignoring or neglecting the actual circumstances, but because he was
exercising Christian patience so as to avoid causing even greater evils. His
statement, made on September 12, 1965, threw the communist regimes
into an uproar. The Czechoslovakian government used it as an excuse to
postpone talks with the Holy See until the end of the Council. In reality
they resumed much later with much stalling and with no results.51
Yugoslav authorities concluded that the Holy See had taken a rather
firm stand in the belief that Yugoslavia needed the agreement more than
the Holy See did and that firmness would force the Yugoslav side to be
more lenient. Religious education at schools was the subject of the most
heated debates. The Holy See demanded the anti-religious education at
schools be stopped and the Church be allowed to participate in the education process. Tensions were so high over this issue that it even seemed at
one point the talks would fall apart. The Yugoslav bishops were particularly
insistent about this issue. The Holy See refused to condemn the emigrant
priests too. The former only agreed to a general phrase stating that the
Holy See was opposed to all acts of political terrorism and that the priests
were not allowed to abuse faith for political purposes, with the disclaimer
that a priest was allowed to hold personal political views. The Yugoslav
authorities were divided as to whether they should attempt to establish full
diplomatic relations or not. Eventually, the view prevailed that it would be

50. Cardinal Achille Silvestrini in the “Introduction” of Casaroli, Il martiro della
pazienza, XV–XVI.
51. Casaroli, Il martiro della pazienza, 73.

MIROSLAV AKMADŽA

515

better not to pursue establishing diplomatic relations because it would be
too risky. Relations could become strained again, and the Yugoslav government would be in a very awkward position then. In the initial provisional
period they therefore decided to establish relations with the Holy See
through an apostolic delegate as its representative to the Church not to the
government, although he would be able to maintain contacts with the government too. Yugoslavia would be represented at the Holy See by an official of the Yugoslav government who would not be a diplomat and would
not have diplomatic status.52
Concluding Negotiations and Signing the Protocol
In late 1965 the Yugoslav ambassador to Italy Ivo Vejvoda notified the
Federal Commission for Religious Affairs that negotiations were finished
and that all that remained to be done was to sign the agreement. He
believed that Pope Paul VI did not want to sign the agreement before the
end of the Council because it would be difficult to explain why he signed
it when the Church was not obtaining anything apart from the promise
that the government would uphold the law and the Constitution.53
The Yugoslav bishops attended several meetings in Rome at which the
draft Protocol was discussed at the Holy See’s request. In their reply to the
Holy See, the bishops opposed the proposed inclusion of statements about
emigrant priests in the agreement because it would give Yugoslav authorities too much liberty to meddle in the activities of the priests abroad and
to pressure the bishops regarding their activities. They devoted special
attention to the issue of the Holy See’s representative in Yugoslavia, on
whose appointment, they insisted, was the only benefit of the negotiations
with Yugoslavia. The Holy See was satisfied with their stand.54
At a meeting with Mandić in Rome on December 4, 1965, Casaroli
said that the Sacred Congregation for Extraordinary Ecclesiastical Affairs
raised certain difficulties regarding the text of the Protocol and the statements issued from Belgrade. Their main complaints were that the documents contained no concessions to the Church other than what was
already written in the Yugoslav Constitution and the law, whereas the
Holy See was expected to accept new obligations in issues that the
Yugoslav bishops considered very sensitive (religious education, priest
52. CSA, CRRC, Minutes, Book 7.
53. CSA, CRRC, Minutes, Book 7.
54. Radić, Država i verske zajednice 1945–1970, 2, 521.

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THE HOLY SEE’S EASTERN POLICY

associations, emigrants, and the College of St. Jerome). Casaroli said that
Pope Paul VI personally voiced some complaints. Yet, he stated that everything would in general remain as it was agreed, and only the form would
change, i.e., the statements would be made in speech rather than in writing. Mandić said that this was a step backwards, and the Yugoslav side
might conclude that conditions were not yet ready for the agreement. He
also said that it was apparent that the bishops were influencing the negotiations with their negative opinions, and raised the possibility negotiations
could be postponed indefinitely. Casaroli said it was not necessary because
a normalization of relations could have a positive effect on the bishops too.
He suggested that both delegations meet in Rome soon and discuss the
proposed changes.55
The Second Vatican Council closed on December 8, 1965. Its messages about opening dialogue with atheists and atheist societies were of
special importance. All the Council’s debates and its documents opened up
new opportunities for the Catholic Church to address contemporary developments around the globe. The Council’s work was thus bound to reflect
on the relations of the Catholic Church with Yugoslavia too: a new, more
conciliatory approach had to be employed to try and improve the Church’s
position in Yugoslavia, even though the bishops in Yugoslavia were not
happy with the text of the Protocol, and even though the Church was well
aware that the communist authorities would try to pass the Protocol off as
their victory.
The negotiations continued in Rome on December 9 and 10, 1965,
when Casaroli suggested two possible conclusions to the negotiations. The
first was to reestablish diplomatic relations between Yugoslavia and the
Holy See by exchanging letters detailing the points about which the two
sides were in agreement. The second was to accept the Protocol, but without the statement about the College of St. Jerome and with some slight
stylistic corrections. The Yugoslav government dismissed the suggestion to
reestablish diplomatic relations without signing the agreement. Because
Yugoslavia and the Holy See were unprepared to provide additional guarantees about several issues in the agreement itself, the guarantees in question were to be expressed in the form of verbal statements (the Yugoslav
government’s guarantees about schools, the Holy See’s guarantees about
the College of St. Jerome. . .). Casaroli wrote in his memoirs that the only
option left at the moment had been either to let the negotiation fall
through and give up on the presence of the Holy See’s representative in
55. Radić, Država i verske zajednice 1945–1970, 2, 522–3.

MIROSLAV AKMADŽA

517

Yugoslavia or to try and improve the strenuously negotiated and renegotiated result of the negotiations, as Cardinal Šeper suggested, and which was
ultimately accepted. 56
After the texts were reconciled to some extent, another round of talks
was held in Rome between April 18 and April 23, 1966, when the points
about property issues and the College of St. Jerome were deleted from the
agreement and regulated by verbal statements instead. The latter were not
a part of the Protocol. They only carried a moral obligation and had no
legal force. The Yugoslav authorities believed that the most important issue
was that they had not backed down in the matter of youth education. The
Protocol was to be signed in mid-June after the meeting of the Serbian
Orthodox Church and the congress of the Socialist Alliance of the Working People of Yugoslavia had concluded.57
On May 26, 1966, Pope Paul VI received Cardinal Šeper, who presented him with the bishops’ petition against the signing of the Protocol,
and suggested a postponement and a reexamination of the entire issue.
Eventually Šeper, abiding by the Pope’s wishes, asked that the bishops be
allowed to make a statement indicating that their suggestions had not been
taken into account, and that they had not been consulted during the formulation of the Protocol. The decision to sign the Protocol, nevertheless,
was made because it was believed that a failure to sign it would place the
Catholic Church in Yugoslavia in an even more difficult position than
before.58
Casaroli and Mandić met one more time on June 6, 1966 in Rome to
discuss the content of the letters that the Holy See’s Secretary of State’s
office and the Yugoslav State Secretariat for Foreign Affairs were to
exchange about the exchange of delegates, the text of the minutes about
the act of signing the negotiation Protocol, and the date for its signing. On
this occasion Casaroli informed Mandić that trouble had been stirred by
the reactions of certain Vatican circles and Yugoslav bishops to the press
reports suggesting that the Yugoslav government had made the text of the
Protocol available to the Synod of the Serbian Orthodox Church for its
56. Information about the Continuation of Negotiations with the Holy See, addendum
to the meeting of the Commission for Religious Affairs of the Socialist Republic of Croatia
on January 19, 1966, in CSA, CRRC, Minutes, Book 8; Casaroli, Il martiro della pazienza,
233–4.
57. Minutes from the Meeting of the Commission for Religious Affairs of the Socialist
Republic of Croatia on May 19, 1966, in CSA, CRRC, Minutes, Book 8.
58. Casaroli, Il martiro della pazienza, 240–3.

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THE HOLY SEE’S EASTERN POLICY

consideration. Casaroli pledged to address the newly arisen troubles by
sending one of his emissaries to Cardinal Šeper, aiming to respond to the
bishops’ complaint that they had not been informed about the content of
the agreement, unlike the Episcopate of the Serbian Orthodox Church.
Mandić denied that the government had made the text of the agreement
available to the Serbian Orthodox Church for its consideration and stated
that Casaroli had not mentioned the real reasons why the signing of the
agreement was being postponed: the resistance of Yugoslav bishops and
the political émigrés to it. Casaroli appealed for patience and requested a
written statement confirming that the agreement had not been made available to the Serbian Orthodox Church for consideration. This statement
was then sent to Casaroli.59 The Holy See’s Congregation for Extraordinary Ecclesiastical Affairs accepted all the proposed statements about the
agreement on June 10, 1966.60
A day before the Protocol’s signing in Belgrade on June 25, 1966, the
Pope addressed the cardinals in Rome that it constituted “a fair, albeit
incomplete regulation of the relations between the Church and the state,”
adding that he had “very gladly” granted his consent and provided guidelines for the talks “that the civilian authorities indicated they wanted to
open with the Holy See.”61
The Protocol states that the governments of Yugoslavia and the Holy
See had agreed to exchange semi-official representatives. Under the agreement, the Holy See was to appoint an apostolic delegate residing in Belgrade to serve as envoy to the Yugoslav government, and the Yugoslav government was to appoint its delegate to the Holy See. Both delegates would
enjoy the privileges and the immunity proper to diplomatic
representatives.62
In signing the agreement, Casaroli stressed “the essential brevity” of
the document that nevertheless reflected efforts undertaken over a longer
period of time. He said that they “could not delete and did not wish to
forget” the past, but he also observed that they needed to “keep their eyes

59. Radić, Država i verske zajednice 1945–1970, 2, 530–1.
60. Minutes from the Meeting of the Commission for Religious Affairs of the Socialist
Republic of Croatia on July 5, 1966, in CSA, CRRC, Minutes, Book 8.
61. Glas Koncila, July 17, 1966.
62. Addendum to Item 1 on the Agenda of the meeting of the Commission for Religious Affairs of the Socialist Republic of Croatia on July 5, 1966, in CSA, CRRC, Minutes,
Book 8.

MIROSLAV AKMADŽA

519

trained on the present and the future in a perspective of hope and good
will, rather than on the past.” 63
The text of the Protocol states among other things that the Yugoslav
government guarantees to the Catholic Church the freedom to tend to
religious affairs and perform religious ceremonies within the confines of
legal and constitutional principles, and the relevant authorities would make
sure the laws protecting the freedom of conscience and the freedom of religion were applied consistently to all citizens. The government voiced its
readiness to consider any cases the Holy See noted in relation to this issue.
The government also acknowledged the Holy See’s competencies and jurisdiction over the Catholic Church in Yugoslavia in church matters, provided that they did not contradict the internal order in the country.
Yugoslav bishops were promised the possibility of maintaining contacts
with the Holy See under the assumption that this interaction would be of
a religious nature only.
The Holy See, on the other hand, confirmed the general expectation
that the activity of Catholic priests should be confined to church and religion, and they could not abuse their religious and church offices for purposes of a political nature. The Holy See also voiced its willingness to consider any cases the Yugoslav government might deem obligated to bring to
its attention. In accordance with principles of Catholic morality, the Holy
See disapproved and condemned all acts of political terrorism and similar
criminal forms of violence regardless of the perpetrator. Accordingly, if the
Yugoslav government found that priests participated in such activities
aimed against the government, it was obligated to bring this to the Holy
See’s attention. The Holy See was prepared to examine such occurrences
and decree possible measures as Canon Law prescribed in such cases.
In the end the Protocol established that Yugoslavia and the Holy See
were prepared to exchange delegates. 64
Reactions to the Protocol’s signing varied. Casaroli viewed it as establishing the prerequisites for discussion and for a gradual resolution of the
remaining open issues in the relations between the Church and the government.65 The Yugoslav side used its public media to paint the agreement
63. „Izjave potpisnika protokola o razgovorima vođenim između SFRJ i Svete Stolice”
[The Statements of the Signatories of Protocol on the Talks Held Between SFRY and the
Holy See], in Glas Koncila, July 3, 1966.
64. Official Gazette of the Zagreb Diocese, no. VI, 1966.
65. Casaroli, Il martiro della pazienza, 245.

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as its victory and a result of the correctness of its policy toward the Catholic
Church. The authorities were very pleased with the commentaries about
the Protocol that appeared in the foreign press and believed that this was
likely the most positive publicity Yugoslavia ever received in foreign press
about one of its foreign affairs issues. Serbian émigrés were critical of the
agreement, and the Serbian Orthodox Church was not very pleased with it
either, considering the Protocol a new concordat that gave the Catholic
Church special privileges in comparison with the other religious communities. Moreover, Yugoslav authorities fully controlled the Serbian Orthodox Church, and its leaders had not protested the agreement openly.66
Some Catholic bishops intended to pen letters to the Holy See opposing
the Protocol, but they did not do so after the message Pope Paul VI sent
through Cardinal Šeper and after the latter’s assurances.67
Cardinal Šeper supported the agreement in principle but believed that
its biggest weakness was its failure to solve the issue of religious education at
schools. He hoped, however, that this issue would be solved adequately as
the relations between the Church and the government gradually improved.68
Croatian emigrant priests were the loudest in their protests against the
Protocol. Croatian priests convened in Königstein, Germany, on August 7,
1966, and issued a declaration about the Protocol whose purpose was to
provide “accurate information to the international public.” The declaration
maintained that the Communist Party was above the Constitution in
Yugoslavia and that it openly worked to destroy religion in accordance with
its ideology, irrespective of its occasional maneuvering. The declaration also
stated that there was no freedom of conscience and no freedom of religion
in Yugoslavia, that the citizens were not equal, and that the Croatian people
and Catholics in particular were subjected to inhumane pressures and discrimination. However, after Šeper’s assurances, the Alliance of Croatian
Priests in the U.S. and Canada issued a “joint statement” in October 1966,
voicing their loyalty to the Catholic Church and to the Pope, acknowledging the Holy See’s right to negotiate issues related to the protection of faith
with the communist governments, and voicing their agreement with the
Catholic Church’s stand on political actions, political terrorism, and various
forms of violence. After this statement the emigrant press became more tolerant in its reports about of the Protocol. Unlike the Croatian emigrant
66. Radić, Država i verske zajednice 1945–1970, 2, 533–4.
67. CSA, CRRC, Box 66, 28/1966.
68. Minutes from the Meeting of the Commission for Religious Affairs of the Socialist
Republic of Croatia on July 5, 1966, in CSA, CRRC, Minutes, Book 8.

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521

communities, the Serbian emigrants believed the Protocol was a new concordat and proved their thesis that Croats were “increasingly taking hold of
positions in Yugoslavia” and thus compromising the interests of the Serbian
Orthodox Church and the Serbian people.69
To appease the dissatisfaction of the Serbian Orthodox Church’s with
the Protocol, the government decided to reinforce its financial and other
supports to the Church.70
Yugoslav president Josip Broz Tito, viewing the reestablishment of
relations with the Holy See as a positive step, believed development of relations would depend on the behavior of the Holy See’s representative in
Yugoslavia. What really concerned him was whether the Holy See’s representative would interfere in Yugoslavia’s internal affairs, or if he would help
to normalize the relations between the Catholic Church and the government. He believed that Pope Paul VI was more progressive than the bishops in Yugoslavia and that this fact was to be considered while formulating
the government’s policy toward the Church. He stressed the need to monitor the Catholic Church’s activities in the period after the Council and to
involve all social and political factors for as long and as much as was necessary to control the increasingly offensive activities of the Church, which
had stepped out of the confines of religion and started increasingly to interfere in social life, primarily fighting for an influence over the youth. He
explained that reestablishing full diplomatic relations with the Church had
to be postponed because of the sensitivity of the Serbian Orthodox
Church. He believed, however, that full diplomatic relations could be considered at some point if the situation developed favorably.71
Reestablishing Diplomatic Relations between Yugoslavia and the
Holy See
For the Holy See, the Protocol and efforts to reestablish full diplomatic
relations with Yugoslavia were starting points for similar efforts in other
European socialist countries, especially in Czechoslovakia, but the Soviet military intervention in 1968 impeded the process there. Yugoslav authorities
welcomed the Pope’s condemnation of the Soviet intervention in Czechoslovakia. Pope Paul VI described the Soviet actions as an act of violence that
69. CSA, CRRC, Box 70, 211/1966.
70. Radić, Država i verske zajednice 1945–1970, 2, 535.
71. The note about the conversation of J. B. Tito and V. Cvrlje on November 1, 1966,
in CSA, CRRC, Box 70, 208/1966.

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THE HOLY SEE’S EASTERN POLICY

infringed upon fundamental principles, jeopardized the peace in Europe and
globally, and set back positive processes in Europe. Similarly, the Yugoslav
condemnation of the Soviet intervention in Czechoslovakia was welcomed in
Vatican circles. The Holy See also had useful perspectives for the normalization of relations with Hungary, while relations with Poland were troubled by
the conflict between the Polish Church and the government.72
Yugoslav authorities monitored the Holy See’s international activities
with special interest, in particular its peacekeeping efforts, an area in which
Yugoslavia wanted to play an important role through the Nonaligned
Movement. Josip Broz Tito thus tried to promote his peace initiative for
the resolution of the Middle Eastern crisis in September 1967 by circulating his proposals to all important world leaders. Among others, he sent a
letter to Pope Paul VI. The Pope praised Tito’s dedication to solving the
crisis but did not take a clear stand regarding his plan.73
The visit of the Yugoslav Prime Minister Mika Špiljak to Pope Paul VI
on January 10, 1968, a part of his official visit to Italy, was an important
breakthrough in the development of the relations between Yugoslavia and
the Holy See. It was the first time that a prime minister of a socialist country
visited the Pope. During their meeting the Pope stressed that he considered
Špiljak’s visit a reflection of the good relations between the Holy See and
Yugoslavia, pointing out that he had been informed about the improving
relations between the Yugoslav authorities and the Church, which did not
mean that all problems had been solved. Yet he voiced his conviction that
matters were headed in a positive direction. He expressed interest in the
expansion of religious education rights, which would help citizens become
more cultured and perfect, inspired by Christian principles and as such loyal
to the Church and to their country. Špiljak, too, voiced hopes that his visit
would be a new step in improving relations between Yugoslavia and the
Holy See as well as the relations between the Church and the government
in Yugoslavia. These relations had been positively affected by the Council’s
decisions headed in a direction supported by the Yugoslav government.
Regarding the Pope’s remark about religious education, Špiljak pointed to
the constitutional separation of Church and state, adding that there was still
enough room and plenty of opportunities for expanding religious education
within the framework of existing regulations.74
72. CSA, CRRC, Box 79, 226/1968.
73. The Pope’s letter to Tito and other related files, in CSA, CRRC, Box 74, 195/1967.
74. Information about M. Špiljak’s visit to Pope Paul VI, in CSA, CRRC, Box 75,
9/1968.

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523

Yugoslav authorities also believed that the improved relations between
the Holy See and Yugoslavia made some bishops more favorably disposed
toward them.75 These authorities attempted to take advantage of the normalization of the relations with the Holy See to influence the appointment
of new bishops in Yugoslav dioceses but to no avail. 76
Yugoslav authorities were pleased with the Holy See’s policy toward
the relations between the Church and the government because the bishops
were allowed to resolve some disputes on their own. That the Holy See had
not once officially intervened toward the Yugoslav side in connection with
a dispute between the Church and the authorities since the Protocol was
signed in 1966 and until late 1969 was believed to be the result of the Holy
See’s policy.77
At its meeting on October 17, 1969, the Federal Commission for
Religious Affairs concluded that an improvement in the relations
between the Holy See and Yugoslavia would reinforce the existing division within the Catholic Church in the country and strengthen its more
progressive element, which was expected to have a favorable impact on
the development of the relations between the Church and the authorities
in the country and on the activities of emigrant priests. They believed
that other religious communities would not react too harshly to the
establishment of diplomatic relations with the Holy See, although the
Serbian Orthodox Church could have been expected to react more coldly
than others. The Commission’s general stand was that full diplomatic
relations should be reestablished with the Holy See, but that the public
should be informed beforehand with the clear message that the Catholic
Church was not being favored over other religious communities. Accordingly, the State Secretariat for Foreign Affairs proposed to the Federal
Executive Council that the Yugoslav ambassador to Italy should be
authorized to resume, this time officially, the talks about the establishment of full diplomatic relations and the elevation of both delegations to
embassy and nunciature level.78

75. CSA, CRRC, Box 79, 226/1968.
76. The report that the President of the Federal Commission for Religious Affairs Mile
Jovićević delivered to the Executive Council of the Sabor of the Socialist Republic of Croatia,
no. 402, from November 6, 1968, in CSA, CRRC, Box 79, 224/1968.
77. File of the SFRY’s Delegation with the Holy See from October 16, 1966, title
“Some Characteristics of the Development of Relations between Yugoslavia and the Vatican,”
in CSA, CRRC, Box 85, 14/1970.
78. CSA, CRRC, Box 85, 14/1970.

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THE HOLY SEE’S EASTERN POLICY

Fearing a possible negative reaction of the Serbian Orthodox Church,
Milo Jovićević, the President of the Federal Commission for Religious
Affairs, spoke to Patriarch German on November 19, 1969, and informed
him about the Yugoslav government’s intent to establish full diplomatic
relations with the Holy See, emphasizing that the Catholic Church would
not have a preferential treatment in Yugoslavia in comparison with the
other religious communities. The Patriarch thanked him for letting him
know and only asked if a special document would be signed on the occasion.
Jovićević told him that there were no plans to sign a special document.79
The Holy See also wanted to raise its relations with Yugoslavia to full
diplomatic level, about which Pope Paul VI informed the Yugoslav ambassador Vjekoslav Cvrlje during a reception the Holy See organized for the
diplomatic corps on January 12, 1970. The Pope asked Cvrlje to inform
Tito about the Holy See’s wishes, and voiced hopes that the plan could be
put to work sometime that year.80
In April 1970 the Federal Executive Council concluded that the negotiations with the Holy See about raising relations to the diplomatic level
would be opened in Rome in May 1970.81 On August 14, 1970 the Holy
See and Yugoslavia announced the decision to upgrade their diplomatic
relations.82
The establishment of full diplomatic relations garnered a lot of attention in western media, and almost all reports announced the possibility that
Tito might visit Paul VI during his official visit to Italy in 1971. The media
also announced the possibility that the Pope might visit Belgrade during
the International Marian and Mariological Congress in Zagreb in 1974.83
However, while Tito indeed visited the Pope, the Pope never came to
Yugoslavia.

79. CSA, CRRC, Box 82, 61/1969.
80. CSA, CRRC, Box 85, Conf. 14/1970.
81. Minutes from the Meeting of the Commission for Religious Affairs of the Socialist
Republic of Croatia from April 24, 1970, in CSA, CRRC, Minutes, Book 12.
82. “Establishment of Full Diplomatic Relations Vatican-Yugoslavia,” Glas Koncila,
August 30, 1970, 1; Informative Bulletin of the Commission for Religious Affairs of Socialist
Republic of Croatia, no. 4/1970, October 5, 1970, 1–2, in CSA, CRRC, Box 86, 36/1970.
83. “Information about the Upgrade of Diplomatic Relations between the Holy See
and Yugoslavia. . . ,” addendum to the meeting of the Commission for Religious Affairs
of the Socialist Republic of Croatia on September 29, 1960, in CSA, CRRC, Minutes,
Book 12.

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525

Josip Broz Tito’s Visit to Pope Paul VI
During talks on the Brijuni Islands on August 26, 1970, Tito told
Casaroli that he was going to visit Italy next year and that he had not yet
had a chance to meet Pope Paul VI, whom he thought very highly of. He
thus indirectly let him know that he would like to visit with the Pope, and
Casaroli apparently got the message and said that he felt Tito’s remark had
been meant as a polite gesture. The Pope sent word to Tito that he could
visit him whenever he liked. The Yugoslav authorities believed that Tito’s
visit with the Pope would be well received in the Demochristian and
Catholic communities, and that it would support the progressive currents
in the Roman Curia.84
Tito visited the Pope on March 29, 1971, and they spoke alone, with
no one else present. Both sides voiced their satisfaction with the progress
achieved in the relations between Yugoslavia and the Holy See and
between the Church and the authorities in Yugoslavia.85
It had been the first time that a president of a socialist country paid an
official visit to the Holy See. Tito told the Pope how much he respected
his efforts to contribute to a peaceful resolution of international conflicts
and global social and economic problems as well as his support to the peoples fighting against colonialism and for the elimination of all forms of
racial discrimination. He also voiced his satisfaction that the Holy See’s
views about the said issues were mostly aligned with Yugoslavia’s. The
Pope, on his part, spoke about the long-lasting spiritual and cultural connections between the Holy See and the peoples of Yugoslavia in his
address. He stressed that the Yugoslav peoples, considering their unique
position in Europe at the confluence of different and often opposing civilizations, were “tasked by Providence to try and become a bond of communication and understanding” so as to avoid new conflicts and work with
others in paving the way for “more complete progress and a brotherly civilization.” He added that the practice had shown that closer relations
between Yugoslavia and the Holy See produced “some positive effects and
promised even more positive results.” He stated that the Church was
asking for nothing for itself apart from legal freedom to pursue its spiritual
mission and offer its loyal service to the individual and the community,
devoid of any other interest clashing with its religious or moral mission. He
84. Peđa Radosavljević, Odnosi između Jugoslavije i Svete Stolice 1963–1978. [Relations
between Yugoslavia and the Holy See 1963-1978.] (Belgrade, 2012), 133–7.
85. File “President Tito’s Visit to the Holy See,” in CSA, CRRC, Box 91, 58/1971.

THE HOLY SEE’S EASTERN POLICY

526

said there was no reason to fear that the Church would interfere in matters
under sovereign and legal jurisdiction of the state without a good cause.86
Overall, Tito’s visit to the Pope was the result of progress in the relations between Yugoslavia and the Holy See after the Protocol was signed
in 1966. It was also an important breakthrough in implementing the Holy
See’s Eastern Policy in the other European communist countries. Cardinal
Franjo Šeper would perform an important role on this path, since his
appointment as the Prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the
Faith helped to keep the Roman Curia better informed about the Church’s
position in communist countries and the available courses of action there.
The involvement of the bishops from communist countries in implementing the Eastern Policy eventually resulted in the election of a Pole, Cardinal Karol Józef Wojtyła, as Pope John Paul II on October 16, 1978.
During his pontificate the communist regimes in Eastern Europe would
collapse, and the Church would regain full freedom of action in this region.
In implementing its Eastern Policy, the Holy See did not rely so much
on its efficiency, as indisputable it may have been in some cases, as on the
loyalty of the Church’s mission, which Pope Paul VI explained with the
following words in the speech he delivered before the consistory of cardinals on June 21, 1976:
To mend this sad state of affairs and to steer its course in the direction of
justice, the Holy See engaged in an active and relentless, patient and
open dialogue, as firm in confirming the principles and the full rights of
the Church and the faithful as it was prepared to enter into honest and
loyal agreements in accordance with these principles.87

Conclusion
The Catholic clergy and the religious communities in Croatia and other
former Yugoslav countries hold differing opinions as to whether the Holy
See’s Eastern Policy had a beneficial effect on their work at the time of the
totalitarian communist regime. Some of the participants in these events
from the Church’s ranks will do their best to underrate the results of the
Eastern Policy in Yugoslavia, criticizing the Holy See for sacrificing the
interests of the national churches, the Croatian Church in particular, to

86. The texts of Pope Paul VI’s and Tito’s speeches, in CSA, CRRC, Box 91, 64/1971.
87. Insegnamenti di Paolo VI, XIV, 1976, 505–506; Cardinal Achille Silvestrini in the
“Introduction” of Casaroli, Il martiro della pazienza, XXVI.

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527

general church interests, but the results of the Eastern Policy were indisputably very much in evidence. Even though priests were still occasionally
put on trial and incarcerated after the relations between Yugoslavia and the
Holy See were normalized, such cases became an exception rather than a
rule compared to the earlier period. The Catholic Church enjoyed a much
greater freedom in its public work. More and more churches were built in
spite of the attempts of the bureaucratic apparatus to obstruct their construction. The religious press, which had been practically nonexistent before
the Glas Koncila appeared in 1962, increased in number and availability, and
we could also say it enjoyed a greater freedom, as much as the authorities
were careful not to allow the religious press to venture outside of the confines of religious topics and address political matters. The regime was prepared to make concessions to the Church in many areas of its activity under
the condition that the Church stayed away from politics. The bishops did
not manage to secure a victory in the matter that had been the most important to the Church and reinstate religious education in schools, but religious
education classes organized at churches undeniably faced less and less opposition. Many other aspects of religious freedoms became more visible, which
does not mean that the regime abandoned its main objective of weakening
the Church and religion as such. However, as far as measures to further this
objective were concerned, the regime stopped its open war against the
Church and its repressive actions, turning to an ideological war waged
through the state media’s propaganda system, its influence on the youth
through its strict control of the school system, and various political and
administrative measures designed to make the Church’s activity more difficult and undermine its influence in the public. Yugoslavia, however, did not
escape the general anti-communist revolt in Poland, East Germany,
Czechoslovakia and the other European countries under communist rule,
and the Catholic Church reaped the fruits of democracy born from these
changes that had been, among other things and in some segments, the
result of the Holy See’s controverted Eastern Policy.

Forum Essay
ROBIN DARLING YOUNG, JON F. DECHOW,
DAVID MALDONADO RIVERA,
ANDREW S. JACOBS, YOUNG RICHARD KIM
Andrew S. Jacobs, Epiphanius of Cyprus: A Cultural Biography of Late
Antiquity. Oakland, CA: University of California Press, 2016. xiv +
335; $95.00.
Young Richard Kim, Epiphanius of Cyprus: Imagining an Orthodox World.
Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2015. Xvi + 278; $85.00.

INTRODUCTION BY ROBIN DARLING YOUNG
Blessed with a steely temperament and a remarkably long life for his
own era, Epiphanius of Salamis (310/20-403), monk, bishop, author and
controversialist, was a man whose vast ambition was disproportionate to
his moderate learning. Epiphanius came from a wealthy family in Palestine
and made the most of imperial toleration for Christianity, expanding his
power and influence not only by cannily associating with ambitious Christian leaders, but also—and with great labor—by assembling a book (The
Panarion) cataloging heresies for the increasingly prominent church. The
fourth century saw the defeat of one major heresy, with imperial assistance,
and the birth of others; Epiphanius presciently had written an outline of
orthodoxy, the Ancoratus, and he stuck to leadership and diplomacy, avoiding the perils of philosophy.
Both Kim’s and Jacobs’ book are thorough, polished and intriguing
accounts of a man whom most historians of the later Roman Empire, and
historians of Christianity, have found odious. Both take a biographical
approach to the man, and follow Epiphanius in his career; both express
some wonder at his success and at the reactions to him—they remark on
the cultural differences between Epiphanius and his more learned contemporary writers; and both accord him the same grudging recognition that he
has received from earlier historians, pious or not.
Kim, trained as a classicist, bases his understanding of Epiphanius
upon his deep familiarity with the text of the Panarion, a translation of
which he had earlier published. He reviews Epiphanius’ life as a thoroughly
528

FORUM ESSAY

529

monastic one; reviews the proto-orthodoxy of the Panarion, and treats it as
a work of history rooted in a particular knowledge of Judaism. Epiphanius
early recognized the importance of monastic discipline, orthodox faith, and
the city of Jerusalem within the newly-Christian Holy Land. Epiphanius
developed the episcopal power he had been granted; as an old man he travelled with Jerome to Rome to exercise their mutual influence, and was
defeated only by the superior machinations of Theophilus of Alexandria—
a successor to the bishop Epiphanius admired most, Athanasius.
Jacobs takes a different approach to Epiphanius. A historian of Christianity, he employs theory to perform cultural analyses of Epiphanius’ life
and works as represented in literary remains, continually placing the resulting portraits of Epiphanius in juxtaposition to contemporary understanding of the topics he has chosen. Placing the ancient figure and his writings
in conversation with postmodern literary studies, he considers Epiphanius
under five categories: celebrity studies; conversion; scripture; salvation; and
“afterlives”—two hagiographical treatments of Epiphanius, one from the
fifth and one from the early twentieth centuries.
Using these literary-analytical tools, Jacobs notes the way in which
Epiphanius turns his celebrity into power. Jacobs asserts that celebrity is
different from fame, a well-known ancient quality, in its improvisational,
collective and somewhat accidental or fortuitous quality; for Epiphanius,
his ambition and priesthood coincided with historical circumstances he
might not have foreseen, but without which he never would have become
a star. As a scripture scholar, Epiphanius was not a philosopher or a textual
critic in his exegesis; rather, he employed an aesthetics of antiquarianism.
His construal of salvation, he—like the even longer-lived Shenoute of
Atripe—centered on the human body, unlike the followers of Origen, with
their thinly-veiled neoplatonist metaphysic. Finally, Epiphanius might
unknowingly provide contemporary historians with a certain salvation.
Writes Jacobs: “It may be that, at the end of the day, remembering
Epiphanius will allow us not only to bring historiographic nuance to the
field of late antiquity, but ethical nuance to our own considerations of the
past, and the present.”
Both Kim and Jacobs acknowledge that Epiphanius was clever; both
evince slight surprise at his success. Thanks to Epiphanius’ alignment
with fourth-century orthodoxy, and for his defense of the perpetual virginity of Mary, he is a saint in east and west, and his icon adorns Kim’s
book; but in each book his skill as an ecclesiastical maneuverer provides
thematic unity.

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FORUM ESSAY

Kim approaches Epiphanius through a series of autobiographical
anecdotes that appear in the Panarion. He finds interwoven in each a formative historical experience and its later rhetorical elaboration, which,
through judicious reading, he unravels to reveal both the historical Epiphanius and his carefully crafted rhetorical persona. The attempt by Gnostic
women to seduce the young Epiphanius, for example, serves initially as the
basis for an account of the bishop’s confrontation with heresy (“his first act
of heresy-hunting”), which Kim then expands in a following chapter (2) to
explore Epiphanius as a historian who creatively reimagined the biblical
and classical past as historical trajectories of depravity into which current
aberrations of the faith fit as contemporary examples. Subsequent anecdotes couple accounts of Epiphanius’s monastic phase to his imagination
of himself as a successor to Athanasius (chs. 3–4), and his life as a bishop
confronting heresies to his reimagining of the conflict through the image
of wilderness (chs. 5–6).
Jacobs, while covering much of the same ground, approaches the
material with a more sophisticated methodology that aims to use Epiphanius to write a cultural biography of his times, which in turn serves to challenge many underlying assumptions in late antique historiography. Jacobs
views Epiphanius as a window into “the times he reflected and shaped.” He
serves as the basis for intriguing analyses of the understanding and place of
celebrity, conversion, discipline, scripture, and salvation in the late forth
century. In a fascinating chapter that explores the bishop’s fame through
the lens of modern celebrity studies, for example, Jacobs unmoors Epiphanius’s renown from his specific accomplishments, challenging scholars to
think outside their academically trained box that posits a directed correlation between the two. The chapter seemed remarkably relevant in view of
the current political situation in America. Subsequent chapters explore
conversion in terms of the “exteriorized management of difference,” discipline through a lens of improvisation, scripture as evidence of the power of
knowledge, and salvation understood in terms of the moral unity of human
and divine. A final chapter, “Afterlives,” traces the treatment of Epiphanius in two later sources from the sixth and nineteenth centuries.
These volumes, each in its own way, establish Epiphanius as a significant player in late antiquity. He emerges as an educated person imbued
with classical interests (antiquarianism and improvisation) and an ability to
use them to further his ecclesiastical and political goals. While Kim’s
analysis brings Epiphanius more fully to life as a player in late antiquity,
Jacobs uses the bishop to complicate and thereby enhance our understanding of the cultural world in which he lived and worked. Together these two

FORUM ESSAY

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authors offer a powerful example of how much of the past remains hidden
beneath the layers of our assumptions about it.

COMMENTS OF JON F. DECHOW1
Epiphanius in his writings, particularly the Ancoratus (374 CE) and
Panarion (375–377), has a great deal to say about variety, mostly that he
doesn’t like it. But to the historian he provides a wealth of information on
what he does not like—a veritable feast. This is confirmed by the alleged
heresies he posits in the early Christian centuries, culminating in his vehement polemic against the great theologian Origen and Origen’s monastic
followers in Egypt and Palestine, whom he considered the worst of
heretics.2 The primary merit of the books on him by Young Richard Kim
and Andrew S. Jacobs is that they move the study of him from heresy to
history, from the heresies he imagined to the actual historical situation of
Christianity and Christian Roman Empire in his time.
If we take my research, although including much biographical data
about Epiphanius, as more a vertical study (sources, development of heresiological tradition from first to fourth century, the significance of what he
has to say about Jewish, Christian, and religious pluralism, etc.), we may
consider the books for our review as primarily horizontal, fleshing out the
detailed picture of Epiphanius as a major figure in late antiquity. That they
do remarkably well, advancing the study of Epiphanius with modern scholarly methodologies and deconstructing in the best sense. The French word
déconstruction, according to Merriam Webster (merriam-webster.com),
“doesn’t actually mean ‘demolition’; instead it means ‘breaking down’ or
analyzing something (especially the words in a work of fiction or nonfiction) to discover its true significance, which is supposedly almost never
exactly what the author intended.” With a demurrer on Epiphanius
because he certainly did intend to demolish heresy too, we can say that our
1. Chronologically, in order of publication, Young Richard Kim, Epiphanius of Cyprus:
Imagining an Orthodox World (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2015); and Andrew
S. Jacobs, Epiphanius of Cyprus: A Cultural Biography of Late Antiquity; NAPS, Christianity in
Late Antiquity (Oakland: University of California Press, 2016).
2. See my Dogma and Mysticism in Early Christianity: Epiphanius of Cyprus and the
Legacy of Origen (DM), with Preface by Henri Crouzel; NAPS.PMS 13 (Macon, GA: Mercer
University Press, 1988); “From Methodius to Epiphanius in Anti-Origenist Polemic,”
Adamantius: Journal of the Italian Research Group on “Origen and the Alexandrian Tradition” 19
(2013): 10–29; and “Methodius’ Conceptual World in His Treatise De resurrectione,” in
Methodius of Olympus: State of the Art and New Perspectives, ed. Katharina Bracht; TUGAL
178 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2017 [or early 2018?]), 125–148.

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FORUM ESSAY

authors have done well in prying Epiphanius’ mind apart, and getting at
many of his underlying motives.3
So much bibliographical support is provided that the involvement of
Epiphanius with practically every major aspect of fourth-century Christianity can be affirmed, and at least some linkage with peripheral issues.
Each of our authors has made an original selection of characteristic
episodes from Epiphanius’ life, Kim drawing more directly from the orthodoxy/heresy repertoire of Epiphanius’ imagination, and Jacobs correlating
typical themes of “late antiquity” as a category with their expression in the
heresiologist’s life and writings. It would have been useful if the authors
had provided an index of references to these and other contemporary writings, the better to appreciate the comprehensiveness of the coverage, but
the germ of each author’s work is clearly in Epiphanius’ text. I liked Kim’s
persistence in making understandable how Epiphanius used orthodoxy as
a personal, though in the end “imagined,” method of self-definition. I
found Jacobs’ late-antique cultural sensitivity exemplary, including a useful
description and overview of Epiphanius’ writings, while extending the perspective to analysis of the hagiographical tradition. Thus Kim and Jacobs,
with appropriate reservations, have “anchored” Epiphanius well in the
foundations of our culture, just as, in a different sense, his Ancoratus
attempted to anchor an ultra-right version of the Christian faith.
But I come away from Epiphanius and the two biographies with the
sense that something more may be said about how terribly unfair Epiphanius’ attitude was—and is. One is reminded of Martin Luther King’s quotation from the nineteenth-century clergyman Theodore Parker, “The arc of
the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” We have already
mentioned Epiphanius’ distaste for Christian variety, which might more
justly be understood, within wider limits than he allows, as witness to the
dynamic creativity of a great religion. In the Panarion he not only condemns
the Arians (chapter 69), but even the Semi-Arians (73), literally “HalfArians,” whom he considers “rabid dogs.”4 A more mainstream view might
recognize their contribution to the reaffirmation of orthodoxy at the Council
of Constantinople in 381, and hence the Nicene synthesis. Such extensive
intolerance, except of evil, is not really a virtue, despite Epiphanius’ example
otherwise. “Separating out” is what he and the heresiological tradition “tried
so hard to do—I think unsuccessfully, if Christianity is taken in its total cultural manifestations and not simply in terms of Western Christian institu3. On the fear of perishing aspect, see note 9 below.
4. Pan. 73.1.7. See my “From Methodius to Epiphanius,” 13.

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tionalization. . . . [T]he narrowing of Christianity—on the one hand for
heresiological polemics or apologetics, or on the other hand for philosophical
and sociological critique of Christian claims where officially expressed—is
sometimes hard pressed to do justice to the facts of history.”5
“Separating out” goes against what a more mature Christianity in the
twentieth and twenty-first centuries tries to realize in reaching understanding of other Christian and religious views, i.e., modern ecumenism.
Epiphanius would rather attack Origen’s and the Origenists’ “universalism,” as if the mere mention of it should condemn them automatically.6
Scholarship today, as our two books here show, is moving toward a more
comprehensive picture—from heresy to actual history—of the first four
centuries of Christianity, including its parent Judaism’s place in that picture, while recognizing the often pejorative meandering of Epiphanius and
other heresiologists. The unfairness was strongly felt by many in Epiphanius’ day and its fifth-century aftermath, even if the ecclesiopolitical direction of late antiquity often tended otherwise, as we can see from the way
Evagrius Ponticus’ spirit seems to have haunted Palladius’ remembrances
of early monasticism.7 The persistence of Origen’s heritage, Epiphanius’
main target in the Panarion, remains strong today anyway, and along with
it, of course, the lingering cloud of Epiphanius’ misguided criticisms.8
Kim and Jacobs have provided us two books now basic to the study of
late antiquity, the Origenist controversies, and early Christian pluralism.
They say many good things about Epiphanius. Yet one feature from
Epiphanius’ text against Origen does not come through, and a second, not
very well, that persists through Epiphanius’ life and writings. The first
shows Epiphanius’ genuine mean streak, a meanness of spirit, a nastiness

5. See my “The Nag Hammadi Milieu: An Assessment in the Light of the Origenist
Controversies ([1982] with Appendix 2015),” in The Nag Hammadi Codices and Late Antique
Egypt, ed. Hugo Lundhaug and Lance Jenott; STAC (Tubingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2017 [at
press, forthcoming 2017 or early 2018]).
6. On universalism, see DM, 19, 421–423, and the other references in Index 6, 583. For
a sound discussion of many biblical passages stressing universalism, see Gerald O’Collins, Salvation for All: God‘s Other Peoples (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008).
7. See my review, featuring Evagrius’ influence, of Demetrios S. Katos, Palladius of
Helenopolis: The Origenist Advocate; Oxford Early Christian Studies (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012); RBL 13 March 2015.
8. See the quadrennial Origen colloquia research, most recently Origeniana Undecima:
Origen and Origenism in the History of Western Thought, ed. Anders-Christian Jacobsen (BETL
279; 2013; Leuven: Peeters, 2016, including my “Origen’s Shadow over the Erasmus/Luther
Debate, Part II,” 367–394.

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FORUM ESSAY

even. He tries to justify it under the aegis of opposition to heresy, lest he
“perish,” as he says.9 How mean? I invite the reader to listen to Epiphanius
at his worst. At the heart of the Panarion is chapter 64 against Origen, and
at the heart of 64 is Epiphanius’ association of Origen’s “deeper meaning
(ὑπόνοια)” with the sexual Eucharist of the obscene Borborites in Panarion
26, the heresy that he alleges tried to lead him astray as a youth in Egypt.10
Not only does he associate it (obliquely) with Origen by cleverly sequencing the obscene Origenists of Panarion 63 right before chapter 64, though
admitting the historical connection with Origen is dubious, but he also
makes the outrageous assertion that Origen’s “deeper meaning (ὑπόνοια)”
is actually worse.
The heresiologist “has woven a thread through the Panarion associating many heresies with the ‘obscenity (αἰσχρότης),’ which becomes a kind
of code-word for sexual immorality,” especially the Borborites’ Eucharist,11
“the mucky (βορβορώδης) perversity of the scummy obscenity
(αἰσχρουργίας).”12 He praises Origen for in-depth scriptural study and the
huge six-column Hexapla comparing major Hebrew and Greek versions of
the Old Testament:
But in the end, “from the [summit] of his great experience (πολυπειρίας)”
he had a “great fall (μέγα πτῶμα)” (Pan. 64.3.8). And here Epiphanius
presents what he has been getting at, with innuendo here and there, the
downfall of Origen because of something worse than the obscenity:
“(64.3.9) For from that purpose itself, wanting to leave nothing of the
sacred scriptures go unexplained, he reverted from his own purpose to
[the] introduction of error and expounded words that kill. (64.3.10)
From this [practice] the Origenists (Ὠριγενιασταὶ) get their name, not
the prior ones [who practiced] the obscenity (αἰσχρουργίαν). Of course,
I do not have to speak about them, since I have already done so, whether
they originate from this Origen, surnamed Adamantius, or they have
some other founder, <and he> [is] called Origen. . . . (64.4.1) The heresy

9. Pan. 69.72.9. See “From Methodius to Epiphanius,” 15, 24.
10. Kim (Epiphanius, 35–37) translates the obscenity account (Pan. 26.17.1–26.18.6) as
the thematic episode of his first chapter, on the youthful Epiphanius in Egypt, titling it “But
the Merciful God Rescued Me from Their Depravity” (Pan. 29.17.8). Jacobs cites Bart
Ehrman (Forgery and Counter-Forgery in Early Christian Polemics: The Use of Literary Deceit in
Early Christian Polemics [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013], 22), who argues that, in
Jacobs’ words, “one of the most famous incidents in the Panarion . . . was invented out of
whole cloth” (Epiphanius, 2).
11. “From Methodius to Epiphanius,” 24.
12. As Frank Williams translates, The ‘Panarion’ of Epiphanius of Salamis: Book I (Sects
1-46), NHMS 63 (Leiden: Brill, 20092), 93.

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535

that sprang from him first began in the land of the Egyptians, but it is
now found among highly prominent [people] who are reputed to have
taken up the monastic life, among those who literally withdraw to the
wilderness and choose poverty. In addition, this [heresy is] dangerous
and more wicked than all the ancient ones, and it expresses a mentality
like them. (2) Even if it does not prepare its adherents to engage in [the]
obscenity (αἰσχρότητος), it nevertheless hurls [the] wicked ‘deeper meaning (ὑπόνοιαν),’ more wicked than [the] obscenity (αἰσχρότητος), against
divinity itself (εἰς αὐτὸ τὸ ϑεῖον).”
So to Epiphanius, worse than the obscenity is deeper meaning,
ὑπόνοια, defined in the best patristic dictionary as “underlying meaning,
deeper sense . . . hence allegory” (PGL [1961] definition 3., 1452).13

A second feature not prominent in our two authors is Epiphanius’
self-contradiction about Christianity’s Hellenistic heritage. In the
Panarion and other writings, Epiphanius frequently rails against Hellenism. His anti-Hellenism regarding Origen is well expressed at the end
of the chapter against Origen, appealing to Methodius of Olympus: “We
considered the presentation of [the section] here to be sufficient for opposing his [Origen’s] fooleries and the subversion [done] [when] he [destroys
the hope] of human life by means of a malignant disposition under a façade
of Greek superstition.”14 Kim and Jacobs both give some regard to a proper
appropriation of Hellenistic education and tradition, and the many individuals who successfully integrate culture and faith,15 but more could be
made of this.
Epiphanius’ reliance on Methodius as anti-Hellenistic is not supported by current research. Detailed study of Methodius’ relation to philosophical tradition shows strong, though selective, use of it together with
sometimes conciliatory engagement with Origen.16 In interpreting
Methodius, one does not need to go, at least so extensively and maliciously,
the Epiphanius route. According to Nathanael Bonwetsch’s index of
church and pagan writers referenced or alluded to in the Methodian
corpus, only eleven are to Aristotle, while fully two three-column pages
reference Plato.17 Our two books on Epiphanius contribute to the pro-

13. “From Methodius to Epiphanius,” 25–26.
14. Pan. 64.63.1 in DM, 364–365; see also DM index 6, 571, s.v. “Hellenism.”
15. See Kim, Epiphanius, 63–67, and Index, s.v. “education,” 274; “Greek culture” and
“Hellenism,” 275; paideia, 277; also Jacobs, Epiphanius, s.v. paideia, 328.
16. See my “Methodius’ Conceptual World,” 137.
17. Nathanael Bonwetsch, ed., Methodius (GCS 27; Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs, 1917), 532,
535–537.

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FORUM ESSAY

Hellenistic reassessment of early Christianity and late antiquity, but this
point deserves to be expressed more strongly. On the whole, however, our
two authors succeed remarkably well in moving the study of Epiphanius
from heresy to history, and their books are highly recommended.

COMMENTS OF DAVID MALDONADO RIVERA
Jerome of Stridon’s catalog of intellectuals, On Illustrious Men (which
includes Christians of various persuasions, plus authors like Philo, Seneca,
and Josephus honoris causa), offers a contemporary appraisal of Epiphanius
of Cyprus’s work and reputation. There Epiphanius’s literary works are
described as “eagerly read by the learned, on account of their subject
matter, and also by the plain people, on account of their language.”18 Subject matter (particularly heresy-hunting and antiquarian treatment of biblical lore) and language (which is noted to lack Attic elegance at least since
Photius) did not sustain Epiphanius’s early fame, as his name became a virtual synecdoche of the repressive and unenlightened traits of late antiquity.
The catalog of insults to which Epiphanius has been subject is directly proportional to the amount of heresies (eighty in total) described and refuted
in the Panarion, the work of heresiology that takes center stage in most
explorations of Epiphanius’s work. Young Richard Kim and Andrew S.
Jacobs share the toil of countering the apprehension that eclipsed Epiphanius’s earlier popularity with kindred but importantly distinct outlooks.
The opening salvo of Kim’s book, “Epiphanius of Cyprus was late
antiquity” (1), provocatively summons the stakes of this study: a reappraisal of the nuances of Epiphanius’s career in the broader landscape of
late ancient Christianity. Kim’s biographic style juxtaposes chronological
and thematic explorations that give us different progressions and clashes in
Epiphanius’s personae: from curious (almost heretical!) ascetic to seasoned
monastic; from denouncer of heresy to continuator of a pro-Nicene lineage; from historian and naturalist to eager pastor seeking to deploy his
churchmanship. Kim’s Epiphanius possesses a proto-Quixotic quality built
on the fractured autobiographical repository of the Panarion, which conflates maps and territories and imagines entire populations as abject realities with which Epiphanius has to besmirch himself. It is fitting then that
Kim devotes the latter part of his book to Epiphanius’s involvement in the
18. Jerome, On Illustrious Men 114 (E. C. Richardson, ed., Hieronymus. Liber de viris
inlustribus. Gennadius. Liber de viris inlustribus, Texte und Untersuchungen 14 [Leipzig: J. C.
Hinrichs, 1896], 51; Thomas Halton, trans., Jerome: On Illustrious Men, FC 100 [Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1999], 148).

FORUM ESSAY

537

Origenist controversy of the early fifth century. The denouement of his
participation in the conflict is itself worthy of the Panarion: Epiphanius
died on a boat ride leaving Constantinople (and his rivalry with John
Chrysostom) in an odd place, more vanquished than victor. His immediate
literary fortune, however, was different: the Panarion, completed in the late
370s, influenced a cadre of fellow heresy-hunters including Augustine,
Theodoret, John of Damascus and others. “Epiphanius” would become a
textbook case of the Foucault’s “author function” as it became linked to the
erudition of encyclopedic and reference works as diverse as collections of
proof texts, prophets’ lives, and the intricate traditions of the Physiologus.
Jacobs’s treatment of the bishop of Cyprus is a broader reflection on
the culture(s) of empire and the “threads of that Christian culture deconstructed” (47). Epiphanius showcased a cultural capital anchored in a
“rustic paideia” (59) that was not only a vehicle of self-promotion to foster
a plural “celebrity” effect but also a form of self-preservation in a wider,
highly competitive milieu. This insight is further developed in Jacobs’s discussion of Epiphanius’s antiquarian modality of reading Scripture, which
itemized the sacred text through different means: lists, compartmentalized
histories, and manifold areas of focus that are featured in the Panarion and
more prominently in On Weights and Measures and On Gems. This mode of
reading generated a space for a form of erudition at odds with other contemporary alternatives (Origen’s allegorizing being one of them). The supplement to this reading practice was a pastoral/disciplinarian style that
found in improvisation a versatile and adaptable performance of power in
search of authority. A theology of the moral continuity of the human
person brings these vectors together in a repetitive practice that rather than
obliterating otherness cultivates it, as Jacobs asserts: “For Epiphanius, otherness is to be collected, catalogued, memorialized, even publicly condemned, but it will never—can never—be eradicated” (272).
An ethics of remembering relates these two projects. Recalibrating the
memory of Epiphanius is not a naïve campaign of rehabilitation but rather
a commitment to explore how certain forms of thought and action invented
relevance, created audiences, and reshaped communities (of experts, amateurs, and those interpellated as “heretic” or any other form of subjectivity
identifiable in this late ancient context). There is also a shared insight in
these two books which, to borrow from Corey Robin’s title, show how the
reactionary mind rehearses its own grammar, aspirations, violence, and frustrations in a relational manner that may not mirror contemporary sensibilities—or perhaps mirrors some of them in uncomfortable ways—but serves
as a reminder that late antiquity—or any experiment in periodization—sub-

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FORUM ESSAY

sists as a joint venture of material circumstances, ideas, literatures, hegemonies, vulnerabilities, and struggles that invite rethinking.

RESPONSE OF ANDREW S. JACOBS
Elizabeth A. Clark, in her enormously important book on the Origenist controversy, explicitly and unabashedly set out “to give a sympathetic
reading to the Origenist side of the debate. Evagrius Ponticus, Rufinus, and
the Pelagians are thus the ‘heroes’ of my account—not Epiphanius, Jerome,
and Augustine” (The Origenist Controversy: The Cultural Construction of an
Early Christian Debate [Princeton University Press, 1992], 10). My first
encounter with Epiphanius was, in fact, in Dr. Clark’s graduate course on
Origen where I, too—like many of us who toil in the fields of late antiquity—learned to think of Epiphanius as one of the villains of late antiquity,
to view him (in Robin Darling Young’s words) as “odious.”
Having published a book on Epiphanius many years later, I cannot say
my personal feelings for the bishop of Cyprus have changed. I do not
imagine I would find his company pleasant, nor he mine. I thoroughly
concur with Jon F. Dechow’s assessment of “Epiphanius’s genuine mean
streak, a meanness of spirit, a nastiness even”; if I have somehow managed
to convey otherwise I apologize here. (I would also point out, however, that
Epiphanius’s nastiness is not unique to him among our canon of late
ancient Christian authors.) My interest in Epiphanius has never been in
rehabilitation but rather, as David Maldonado Rivera so aptly phrases it, to
“recalibrate the memory of Epiphanius.” To see his villainy not as a reason
to marginalize him but rather as an opportunity to deepen our understanding of a key historical moment and its lessons for today.
Given that my first encounter with Epiphanius took place deep in the
last millennium, why attempt this recalibration now? What about our present moment has impelled not one but two books about the reactionary purveyor of (in Dechow’s words) “an ultra-right version of the Christian
faith”? Partly I was fortunate to follow a path made easier to traverse by
Young Kim, first in his excellent dissertation, then in his remarkably lucid
translation of Epiphanius’s Ancoratus, and finally in his own monograph.
Without Dr. Kim’s intellectual leadership and companionship, my own
work might never have progressed.
Moreover I think my attempt to (as James Goehring puts it) “bring
Epiphanius back to life” and “raise him up from the bottom of the page as
a footnoted source” speaks more directly to my desire to come to terms

FORUM ESSAY

539

with our own complicated—and, at times, complicit—roles as historians in
creating histories that do particular work in our present moments. Allowing Epiphanius to remain comfortably and safely at the bottom of the page,
even as we hold our noses and mine his work for otherwise lost sources for
early Christian history, might grant his nastiness the cover of indifference
and allow his “meanness” to flourish in other quarters. (As Robin Darling
Young reminds us, after all, Epiphanius remains a saint in the east and the
west.) To the extent that we as scholars have been unwilling to confront
Epiphanius not merely as a busybody and a crank but as a popular and successful busybody and crank we have not fully acknowledged the persistence
of his legacy.
I continue to think of Epiphanius, in some ways, as a villain from our
own twenty-first century perspective due to his mendacity, his narrowness,
his meanness, and his intolerance (characteristics, I remind us once more,
not unique to Epiphanius in his time, or in our own). Yet reorienting
Epiphanius toward the center of late fourth-century imperial Christian
culture has been, for me, an exercise in recalibrating late antiquity more
broadly and disclosing its uncomfortable echoes with our own cultural
moment. It is, perhaps, not enough for us to point out the villainy of intolerance and nastiness, but to map out its contours and grasp its enduring
and unfortunate appeal.
Let me express my thanks for the esteemed scholars who have taken
time to offer thoughts on my recent book on Epiphanius in its efforts to
learn from a late ancient villain without capitulating to its logic.

RESPONSE OF YOUNG RICHARD KIM
For the last eight years, Andrew Jacobs has been an invaluable conversation partner on the life, work, and legacy of Epiphanius, and so it is particularly gratifying to have our books reviewed together in this journal. I sincerely believe that our studies of this fascinating and frustrating figure from
the fourth century are complements that reflect different but mutually reinforcing approaches and interpretations, and we have been amused by our
initiation of an “Epiphanian Renaissance” (with due respect to the earlier
work of Dummer, Riggi, Dechow, Pourkier, Lyman, and Kösters) and our
roles as “Epiphaniacs,” who arranged for the first time (to my knowledge)
panels solely dedicated to Epiphanius at the 2014 annual meeting of the
North American Patristics Society and participated in an Epiphanius session at the 2015 International Conference on Patristic Studies in Oxford.
So far, no Epiphanius handbook or companion volume is in the works.

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FORUM ESSAY

My first encounter with Epiphanius occurred in the spring of 2000,
during my first year of graduate school, at the behest of my advisor Raymond Van Dam, who (I believe intentionally so) suggested that I read the
Panarion and study Epiphanius as a potential research subject. My deep
engagement with this text thoroughly challenged my own (perhaps naïve)
understanding of the development of orthodoxy and heresy in early Christianity and the role that powerful individuals in the church influenced and
shaped its beliefs and practices. So in some sense, my own personal deconstruction/reconstruction opened the door for me to attempt the same with
Epiphanius, and both the strengths and shortcomings of my book ultimately reflect the tension that we scholars bear as we apply our methodologies on subjects that captivate our curiosity and at times when our personal convictions intersect with our professional endeavors.
Nine years is a relatively long time to move from dissertation to monograph, but the extended interval enabled me first to reckon meaningfully
with Epiphanius’s other major writing, the Ancoratus, resulting in the first
English-language translation, in the Fathers of the Church series (CUA
Press, 2014), and second, to really mature as a scholar. Robin Darling
Young is right to observe that my reading of Epiphanius is very much
informed by my training in classics and ancient history, and I resonate with
Jon Dechow’s observation that my work on Epiphanius has tried to bring
him “from heresy to history,” however problematic that notion may be. My
decision to juxtapose a series of chapter pairs, one biographical with one
thematic, was my attempt to move beyond a traditional diachronic biography to explore themes that we often associate with the late antique world:
revisions of history, Christian totalizing discourse, and the rhetoric of
exclusion and violence. At the same time, Jim Goehring makes an important critical observation that my own methodology lacks the sophistication
of Andrew’s masterful application of postmodern theoretical frameworks
to present his Epiphanius. David Maldonado-Rivera’s remark is astute,
that the opening line of my book is provocative, and as such has been critiqued elsewhere by other reviewers. I stand by the argument that “Epiphanius was late antiquity,” but in retrospect I also wonder if this should have
been qualified. Epiphanius was undoubtedly one important part (of many)
of what we understand Late Antiquity to have been, and it would have
been most fitting (that is, if the timing was right) to have placed a footnote
at the end of that first sentence, with a reference to the entirety of
Andrew’s book. Nevertheless, I am honored that my book will often be
read together with his, and I hope that they indeed have challenged our
readers to think differently about Epiphanius.

Book Reviews
MEDIEVAL
The Myth of the Andalusian Paradise: Muslims, Christians, and Jews under Islamic Rule
in Medieval Spain. By Darío Fernández-Morera. (Wilmington, DE: Intercollegiate Studies Institute. 2016. Pp. xii, 358. $29.95. ISBN 978-1-610-7095-4.)
In 1986, I published an article, “Islam and the Jews: Myth, Counter-Myth,
History” (The Jerusalem Quarterly, no. 38). I explained then, and later on in the first
chapter of my book, Under Crescent and Cross: The Jews in the Middle Ages (Princeton
University Press, 1994; new edition, 2008) (a book that Darío Fernández-Morera
admires—p. 243), that the old, originally nineteenth-century Central European
Jewish “myth” of a harmonious, interfaith utopia of Jews and Muslims in Islamic
Spain—which in the book under review is represented by the “convivencia” of Muslims, Christians, and Jews—had come under assault after the Six-Day War of June
1967 by a new, Jewish “countermyth” of Islamic persecution. The countermyth was
aimed at Arab writers and politicians who blamed Israel for whatever hatred of the
Jews Muslims harbored. In my book I explained, through a multifactorial, comparative juxtaposition of Jewish life in northern Christian Europe and the Islamic
world, why, though not an interfaith utopia, Jews had lived more securely under
Islam than under Christianity.
Fernández-Morera has written an unrelenting countermyth history of Muslim
treatment of Christians and Jews during the “Golden Age” of the Umayyad Emirate and Caliphate of Spain (tenth century)—aimed at dispelling the myth of
Islamic tolerance. The book is intended as a precautionary tale. One commentator
on the book jacket calls it “desperately needed . . . shed[ding] much-needed light
on current debates about the relationship between the West and Islam.”
The root problem with the book is that it holds “tolerance” to a modern standard. In fact, before early modern times in Europe, tolerance among the three
western monotheistic faiths was not regarded as a virtue, but a weakness, and no
one practiced it in the modern sense of the term. If anything, it was a virtue to be
intolerant, since God himself was viewed as having rejected one religion in favor of
another, and it was the duty of followers of the replacement religion to subordinate,
if not sometimes persecute, those who had forfeited their claim to the truth. None
of the three monotheistic faiths practiced tolerance in the way Fernández-Morera
understands it. The ancient Israelites, acting on God’s will, the Bible tells us
(Deuteronomy 7:1–6), extirpated the seven pagan nations of the Land of Canaan.
Medieval Christians massacred Jews. Islam offered pagans the choice of Islam or
the sword, but a term and an institution that more closely approximated tolerance
541

542

BOOK REVIEWS

than Christianity did: dhimma, “protection,” meaning, “security,” in exchange for
humble demeanor, respect for the superiority of Islam, and payment of an annual
poll-tax—not a “gangster-like ‘protection racket’” (p. 210).
The author has nothing redeeming to say about Islam. Rather, he points to
what he insists is the jihād-ist essence of the religion. The fusion of politics and religion differed from what he considers the salutary separation of the two in Christendom, which created a more tolerant environment for Muslims living under northern
Catholic rule. The Islamic conquest, he claims, echoing Claudio Sánchez-Albornoz,
interrupted the organic, progressive, Catholic fusion of Visigothic and HispanoRoman societies (pp. 78–82), disrupting the development of a high Catholic culture
in the Iberian Peninsula. Islam’s contribution to intellectual life in Spain, on the
other hand, was wholly derivative, through Arabic translations of Greek literature.
The author deserves credit for exploiting the bountiful translations of Islamic
legal texts and the plethora of Spanish sources on the subject, but his methodology
raises questions. He cites the rigid policy of Islamic Maliki law as counter-evidence
of convivencia. But methodologically, it could equally be argued that legists were
actually trying to stamp out a pervasive Muslim/non-Muslim coexistence. “Exclusionary” (the author’s term) legislation in Jewish and Christian law could be interpreted as a sign that Jews and Christians were identifying too closely with Muslims
and Muslim-Arabic culture. The violent executions of the “martyrs of Córdoba,” he
emphasizes, stemmed from Islamic intolerance of blasphemy, but the martyrs
themselves, as has been argued by Jessica Coope, were protesting Iberian Christian
assimilation to Muslim ways. The adoption of Arabic by Jews and Christians, what
the author calls the result of “Islamic colonization” (p. 214), explains, better than
anything, the thoroughgoing linguistic and cultural coexistence between Muslims
and their Jewish and Christian neighbors.
The author explains Islamic rigidity as a necessary policy “to keep under control the boiling cauldron that was ‘multiethnic’ and ‘multireligious’ al-Andalus” (p.
138). He contrasts this with the “relatively more ethnically and religiously uniform
Catholic kingdoms [which] did not present the same problems for their rulers and
therefore did not encourage the same drastic solutions.” But historically, it has been
cogently argued by many scholars, multiethnicity and religious pluralism have
counteracted intolerance. In the multiethnic Germanic society of early medieval
northern Europe, for instance, when Catholicism penetrated little more than the
ruling class, Jews experienced substantial security. Only when Catholic and monastic Christianity trickled down to the masses in the eleventh century, leading to the
First Crusade, did the first major massacres of Jews occur—in the Rhineland in the
summer of 1096. Only when Christian Spain moved toward territorial, Catholic
unity, did society begin to rid itself of its Jews, through the pogroms of 1391,
through the Spanish Inquisition’s persecution of the conversos, and ultimately
through the expulsion of all professing Jews in 1492.
In the multiethnic, multireligious society of medieval Islam, dhimmī Jews,
dhimmī Christians, and dhimmī Zoroastrians intermingled with Muslims, such that

BOOK REVIEWS

543

no one group bore the brunt of Islamic exclusivism. Berbers, Turks, Armenians,
Slavs, Arabs, Jews, Christians (of many denominations), and Persians gave society
a multiethnic hue, in which individuals, even dhimmīs, could exist in peace most of
the time. Violent, Islamic radicalism in the twenty-first century may seem to some
readers and reviewers to echo the characteristics that the author finds in tenth-century Spanish Islam, but his implicit analogy is highly questionable and, at least to
this writer, unproven.
Princeton University (Emeritus)

MARK R. COHEN

The History of Courts and Procedure in Medieval Canon Law. Edited by Wilfried
Hartmann and Kenneth Pennington. [History of Medieval Canon Law.]
(Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press. 2016. Pp. xiv, 506.
$75.00. ISBN 978-0813229041.)
This long-awaited volume addresses church courts in western and central
Europe between about 1100 and 1500. Bringing together an international group of
senior scholars, it contains fourteen essays divided into two parts.
The basic story is familiar. In the first half of the twelfth century, academic
jurists at the nascent universities developed a set of procedural rules derived from
newly discovered texts of Roman law. These rules—known as the ordo iudiciorum—
standardized the stages of litigation, modes of proof (namely, witness testimony),
and rendering of judgments. The ordo was quickly adopted by the papacy and incorporated into the canon law of the Church, giving birth to a joint “Romano-canonical procedure” that replaced older forms of proof such as the ordeal and oath-compurgation. Between 1150 and 1250, bishops across Europe adopted the ordo and
established fixed courts (consistory courts, officialities, etc.) whose jurisdiction
included—but was not limited to—marriage, sexual crimes, church property, injury
to clerics, and oaths/contracts. Part of an appellate network which reached all the
way to the pope in Rome, these courts survived well into the early modern period.
Essays in this volume explore aspects of the Romano-canonical legal system,
including its procedure, personnel, jurisdiction, physical location, documentation,
and regional variation. Kenneth Pennington and Charles Donahue explain its procedural norms as described by jurisprudential treatises and papal decretals. Barbara
Diemling addresses the location of church courts, identifying a transition around
the year 1200 away from church portals and toward separate civic courtrooms.
James Brundage charts the development of legal professionals, including advocates,
proctors, and notaries. Brigide Schwarz describes the papal court and its officials,
while Charles Duggan explains the rise and fall of the papal judge delegate between
1150 and 1250. Essays in the second part focus on the records of individual regions:
France and adjoining territories (Charles Donahue and Sara McDougall), England
and Scotland (Richard Helmholz), Spain (Antonio García y García), and Poland
and Hungary (Péter Cardinal Erdő).

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The main question that this volume seeks to answer is whether the procedural
rules of ordo iudiciorum were actually applied in practice. In other words: do the
proceedings described in church court records reflect the procedural norms
described in academic treatises and papal decretals? While this question might
seem trivial to the non-specialist, it is hugely important and has never actually been
answered in a comprehensive way. The essays assembled here make a strong case
that legal practice does, in fact, reflect legal theory. Allowing for some practical and
local flexibility, the authors conclude that bishops’ courts from the thirteenth century onwards did generally follow the ordo. Other recurring topics throughout the
volume include regional variation in jurisdiction, conflicts with secular courts, the
use of torture, and summary procedure. In general, the authors present a positive
view of the ordo, which offered protection to the accused through its requirement
of due process.
Given the scale of this project, it is not surprising that logistical issues occasionally impede the reader. Essays range in length from the admirably succinct
(Duggan) to the tediously long (Schwarz), and topical overlap sometimes results in
repetition. This reviewer would also like to know more about ecclesiastical tribunals
such as synods and archdeacons’ courts which may not have employed the ordo.
Brundage and Donahue point out that the ordo was expensive, requiring lengthy
proceedings, extensive documentation, and trained personnel. Would the average
peasant really have been able to access these courts? What were the alternatives?
Helmholz points out that some major kinds of cases, such as the trials of accused
clerics, almost never appear in the records of consistory courts/officialities. Such
cases were surely tried at episcopal synods, which, as García y García notes, do not
always follow the ordo. Do other kinds of cases follow a similar pattern?
This volume provides a firm foundation upon which we might explore such
questions. The editors and authors should be praised for undertaking and completing such a monumental project, which will be enormously edifying to scholars of
medieval law and religion for years to come.
University of Notre Dame

JOHN BURDEN

The Intellectual World of the Italian Renaissance: Language, Philosophy, and the Search
for Meaning. By Christopher S. Celenza. (New York: Cambridge University
Press. 2018. Pp. xvi, 438. $120.00. ISBN 978-1-107-00362-0.)
In The Intellectual World of the Italian Renaissance, Christopher Celenza provides a priceless vademecum for the study of Italian humanism. It rolls up in a
delectable ball all that has come before: Garin and Kristeller; Burckhardt, Baron,
and Martines; Fubini and Vasoli; Hankins, Allen, and the others. It presents in
depth and with exquisite clarity the major works of nine leading humanists from
Petrarch to Poliziano (plus many others introduced in discursive “parentheses”),
culminating with the writer and critic Pietro Bembo, who translates the humanist
heritage into a new language of art, a Latinized Tuscan. The lucidity of the expli-

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cation de textes is matched by the precision with which Celenza profiles his cast of
characters, who are presented with full dimensionality in their psychological, social,
and cultural contexts: the careerist Poggio, the brawler Valla, the self-made man
and Medici servitor Poliziano.
Celenza’s work offers more than a series of text summaries and intellectual
portraits, although these would be sufficient. It unravels a complex of interlocking
themes, with three in particular rising to prominence. The first is the nature of philosophy as it is transformed by the humanists, who energize its study with new
translations from the Greek of Aristotle and Plato, reject the metaphysical preoccupations of the university-based professionals, and, as philologists rather than as
logicians, crossing disciplinary and cultural boundaries, seek a mode of living more
than a theory of being. The second is the humanist understanding of Christianity,
which is not slighted but affirmed, most notably by Petrarch, Ficino, and Valla, by
its integration with the classical tradition on the one hand and philosophy on the
other, even as doctrinal technicalities are avoided. The third and predominant
theme is that of language, also central to Celenza’s earlier volume The Lost Italian
Renaissance: Humanists, Historians, and Latin’s Legacy (2004). Celenza explores the
departure from the vernacular stream initiated by the “three crowns,” Dante,
Petrarch, Boccaccio (all three of whom wrote also in Latin), through the honing of
Latin prose by the Ciceronian whetstone, to the eventual triumph of a reinvented
Italian vernacular, disciplined and polished by humanist Latinity, and equipped to
reach a national and even international audience for whom the specialized Latin of
the humanists was inaccessible. Machiavelli, Castiglione, and Galileo, the inheritors of this language revolution, employed the Latinized Tuscan Bembo crafted,
the gift of humanism to the early modern era.
But does the title work? Celenza gives a nod to “vernacular classicism” and the
“polyphony” of Florentine culture, which featured a rambunctious Pulci alongside a
complaisant Poliziano. But many corners of “the intellectual world of the Italian Renaissance” do not register here: Florence massively dominates, and while some scope
is given to Rome, virtually none is given to Venice, Milan, and Naples, let alone Ferrara, Mantua, or Urbino, in which centers humanism thrived; learned women are
mentioned, but not one makes it to the index; devotional works, memoirs, and private
letters, all vigorous and important genres, are invisible. But though the title overreaches, we may let it pass. It is in the sub-title that we find a better key to Celenza’s
objective: he is concerned with the “language, philosophy, and the search for meaning.” He has searched for the meaning of the humanist episode—the Latin “parenthesis” in Italian history, the long fifteenth century in which intellectuals captivated
by classical texts devoured, circulated, and imitated them—and presents it in this
volume. Five generations of humanists achieved, in effect, Rome’s final conquest of
Europe, synthesizing and structuring that continent’s civilization as it was about to
leap forward on the next five hundred years of unparalleled productivity; and they
achieved, as well, the final conquest of Rome by the barbarians, completing the
advance begun in the first five centuries of the Christian era, absorbing, appropriating, and exploiting what Rome had achieved; and by way of Rome, also Greece.

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A final observation: If Celenza’s real achievement is expressed in his subtitle
more than in his title, the identity of his real hero, one of the nine humanist worthies he examines and brilliantly portrays, is also hidden. It is Lorenzo Valla—that
great disruptor, that human engine of creative destruction who wanted to reform
“everything,” who smashed the boundaries of philosophy, faith, and language, for
whom Latinity, Christianity, and all of human culture were one essence—who
jumps forth from these pages.
Brooklyn College and the Graduate Center,
City University of New York (Emerita)

MARGARET L. KING

Ruling the Spirit: Women, Liturgy, and Dominican Reform in Late Medieval Germany. By Claire Taylor Jones. [The Middle Ages Series.] (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. 2017. Pp. viii, 224. $59.95. ISBN 978-0-81224955-2.)
The religious orders of women in Germany associated with the mendicant
friars are at times portrayed as experiencing rapid decline and decadence during the
late Middle Ages, beginning soon after their foundation in the early thirteenth century and well before being swept away, mostly in the aftermath of the Reformation.
Yet, this view has been increasingly discredited by recent scholarship that has highlighted the aspirations and vitality of the movements of reform of the fourteenth
and fifteenth centuries, especially as manifested by the Observant branches of these
orders. Claire Taylor Jones, who displays close acquaintance with this scholarship,
focuses on some of the monasteries of the cloistered, women’s branch of the
Dominican order that fell within the orbit of the Observant movement active in the
friars’ Province of Teutonia, primarily St. Katherine in Nuremberg, at first an
Augustinian foundation but soon associated with the Dominicans and integrated
into the Observance in 1428. On the basis of a meticulous investigation of the
suviving evidence of these monasteries’ rich library resources, Jones argues for a
close connection between the friars’ governance and spiritual direction and the sisters’ devotional and liturgical practices. The sisters responded to the friars’ proposal
of the ideals of the Dominican order, especially obedience, by appropriating a
didactic approach that stressed a high level of Latin literacy as a prerequisite for the
solemn recitation of the Divine Office as a vehicle for genuine piety and even the
attainment of ecstatic prayer.
The book comprises six chapters, each of which reiterates its principal argument while presenting the various sources employed in a flexible chronological
order. It opens with an examination of the discrepancies in liturgical practice
between the sisters’ and the friars’ branches at the order’s beginnings and concludes
with the legislation (1259) of master general Humbert of Romans that sought to
introduce uniformity. The second chapter evaluates the impact on the sisters of the
linkage of the spiritual and the liturgical life proposed in the works of the Dominican preachers and mystics Heinrich Seuse (c. 1300–1361) and JohannesTauler
(1295-1366). The third considers the “sistersbooks”—collections of biographies

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compiled for the edification of future generations of sisters—that reveal a persistent
tension between formal liturgical practice and affective, mystical manifestations of
piety, factors ultimately reconciled by the Observance’s emphasis on obedience. The
fourth chapter turns to the legislative material (Acts of general and provincial chapters, visitation charges) implementing the spread of the Observance among both
the friars and the sisters and shows the centrality accorded to the liturgy in the
dynamics of reform by both branches. The fifth chapter focuses on some works of
the Dominican reformer Johannes Nider (1380–1438)—his German translation of
the Conferences of John Cassian and his reworking of these as a cycle of sermons,
The Twenty—Four Golden Harps—and concludes that while Nider held that visual
piety sufficed for the devotion of lay women, the recitation of the Divine Office was
indispensable to the spirituality of cloistered nuns. The final chapter considers two
works of another Observant Dominican, Johannes Meyer (1423–1485), intended
expressly for Dominican religious women: the Book of Duties and the Book of the
Reformation. For Meyer the most important aspect of religious life is community,
and it finds its foremost expression in liturgical functions that, at the same time,
both separate and unite a religious house and civic society. Jones offers us a work
of serious scholarship that merits close reading. Yet the book might have benefited
from a more defined conclusion, bringing the narrative neatly to the eve of the Reformation—perhaps a discussion of the section on liturgy (Chapter I) in the Constitutiones monialium O.P. first edited by master general Vincenzo Bandello and
promulgated at the general chapter of Milan in 1505.
Pontifical University of St. Thomas, Rome (Emeritus)

MICHAEL TAVUZZI, O.P.

EARLY MODERN EUROPEAN
Renaissance Woman: The Life of Vittoria Colonna. By Ramie Targoff. (New York:
Farrar, Straus and Giroux. 2018. Pp. x, 342. $30.00. ISBN 978-0-37414094-6.)
The title of Ramie Targoff’s biography of Vittoria Colonna, Renaissance
Woman, alludes to Jacob Burckhardt’s celebration of the Renaissance Man. And as
Targoff reminds the reader, Burckhardt considered Colonna “the most famous
woman of Italy” (p. 8). Vittoria Colonna’s fame today rests, for the general audience of this biography, with her friendship with Michelangelo. Targoff goes
beyond that expectation and places Colonna within a Renaissance society that
identified greatness in family connections and personal accomplishments. Burckhardt would recognize the Vittoria Colonna we meet in these pages and delight in
the details of her Renaissance life. But writing the life of an early modern woman
is problematic. Like most women of her time, Vittoria’s life is known to us primarily through connections her family made for her for the family’s profit. It was the
death of her husband, Ferrante Francesco d’Avalos, in 1525 that allowed Vittoria
to engage as an individual in her own right, or at least as much “right” as a woman
could then possess.

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Targoff presents Colonna as a significant member of notable courts and ecclesiastical centers. Colonna came of age when it was more likely for a female child to
receive some level of education. One gathers from Colonna’s later accomplishments
as a poet praised by humanists Pietro Bembo and Paolo Giovio that the young Vittoria voraciously consumed biblical and classical texts and developed a critical ear
for language. Further, Colonna’s friendship and correspondence with Michelangelo suggests her eye was no less cultivated, and Targoff’s analysis of their correspondence suggests that Colonna was a demanding as well as discerning patron.
The location of Colonna’s coming of age was equally auspicious. The heart of
Christian Europe, Rome, had long been the center of Colonna family power.
Colonna was aware of the secularism of early sixteenth-century popes and was
deeply engaged with compatriots who sought Church reform. Targoff presents
Colonna as boldly writing of her Christian faith and desire for directness of communication with God. Colonna’s writings on the importance of faith combined
with good works support Targoff’s view that Colonna not only promoted the
teachings of her close friends, Bernardino Ochino and Reginald Pole, but also was
surely aware of the work of Martin Luther and Juan Valdés.
Targoff compellingly presents Colonna as more emotional and sensitive, and
hence more human, than the figure we encounter in traditional academic texts.
One example stands out. While Colonna shared her poetry with friends in manuscript form, as was customary in the sixteenth century, her sonnets were not printed
until a “pirated edition” of 1538 (p. 161). As the first published female poet,
Colonna could have responded with trepidation to her sonnets receiving public
scrutiny. According to Pietro Bembo, Colonna felt she deserved “‘the injury and
villainy . . . for worrying about vain things’” (p. 166). Targoff accepts Bembo’s
account as accurately representing Colonna’s response, writing that it was “an act
of self-flagellation” to have taken personal joy in her writing. According to Targoff,
“the printing of the poems seemed to her a just punishment for wasting her time in
the first place” on “‘vain things’” (p. 167). But Bembo wrote what his culture
expected: that Colonna felt some shame or guilt in being presented in such a public
manner. We have no record of Colonna’s response to this publication, but she did
not stop sharing her sonnets even as it became clear they would be published.
The first and still essential biography of Colonna in English is Maud F. Jerrold’s Vittoria Colonna, with some account of her friends and her times (1906), which,
like Julia Cartwright Ady’s Beatrice d’Este, Duchess of Milan, 1475–1497, a study of
the Renaissance (1899) and Isabella d’Este, Marchioness of Mantua, 1474–1539, a
study of the Renaissance (1903), raised public awareness of great women in history
for a British public embroiled in the women’s suffrage movement. Ramie Targoff’s
biography, coming more than a century later and embedded within Burckhardt’s
concept of Renaissance, is directed to an audience comfortable with female heroes.
This is an accessible biography of a great woman, a Renaissance Woman of the title,
that will inspire general readers and scholars alike.
University of Mary Washington, Fredericksburg, Virginia

MARJORIE OCH

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549

A Magnificent Faith: Art and Identity in Lutheran Germany. By Bridget Heal. (New
York: Oxford University Press. 2017. Pp. xviii, 305. $105.00. ISBN 978-019-873757-5.)
Dealing with the relation between Lutheran visual culture and confessional
identity in the Holy Roman Empire, this book aims to explain the significance of
the image in Lutheran confessional culture and to incorporate visual evidence into
the broader framework of Reformation history. Without attempting to be a history
of Lutheran Art, the book seeks to analyze images—and textual accounts of their
creation and use—to enrich current debates concerning confessional culture and
identity, which were profoundly shaped by the Empire’s fragmented political structures and remarkable regional diversity. Within a broad chronological span, ranging from the 1520s to the early eighteenth century, the book examines comparatively two case studies with very different confessional and political histories,
Electoral Saxony and Brandenburg. Demonstrating subtlety in its analysis, the
book does not ask whether there was a Lutheran confessional culture and identity
but rather “why it was expressed in particular ways, at particular times and in particular places, why it was felt and articulated more intensely by some individuals
and groups than others and how far it extended beyond the sphere of doctrine and
devotion.” In order to answer such questions, this book deploys a wide variety of
sources and approaches. As the core of the analysis demonstrates, the book uses
images and attitudes toward the visual as a lens though which to examine Lutheran
self-awareness/self-understanding and as a yardstick to measure the development
of Lutheran confessional culture. The book manages to sidestep the hegemonic
presence of the confessionalization paradigm, sometimes overwhelming in German
historiography, by refining its understanding and by not reducing it to the role
played by religious confessions in state-building. Confessionalization is thus seen
throughout this book, not simply as a religious or political policy but rather as a cultural process of identification and self-fashioning. Although aware of the possible
dangers, such as the implication that culture and identity exist as abstract concepts
outside of the individuals or groups that articulated them, bestowing a uniform
confessional consciousness upon passive recipients, the book privileges these terms
because they have the potential to bridge the conceptual gap between church history and social and cultural history. As a consequence, the book takes into account
the thoughts, feelings, and actions not only of the educated elite but also of the
‘common’ man and woman. The book moves between the elite cultures of the
princes, nobles, and educated theologians and the ‘popular’ cultures of the simple
folk, examining the fate of images within a broader Lutheran confessional identity.
Structured in three parts, dedicated to the confessional image, the devotional
image, and the magnificent image—in a manner suggesting that images truly
reflected the Zeitgeist—the book has the merit of emphasizing the complexity and
contingent nature of confessional and identity constructs. The comparison between
the two territories highlights the extent to which the development of a rich
Lutheran visual culture was not predetermined by the events and ideas of the Reformation itself, but was instead the result of long-term changes and particular local
circumstances. The book persuasively argues that Lutheran identity was heavily

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dependent upon immediate socio-political contexts, locating religious belonging
within complex patterns of allegiance and identification, developed within a broad
chronological span. The book privileges methods and approaches that are reminiscent of the French school of the Annales, the comparative method heralded by
Marc Bloch and the longue durée pioneered by Fernand Braudel. Carefully
researched, cleverly crafted, and clearly written, the book is a magnificent read to
be enjoyed by both scholarly and broader readerships.
Babeş-Bolyai University of Cluj, Romania

MARIA CRĂCIUN

Pedro de Ribadeneyra’s ‘Ecclesiastical History of the Schism of the Kingdom of England’:
A Spanish Jesuit’s History of the English Reformation. Edited and translated by
Spencer J. Weinreich. [Jesuit Studies, volume 8.] (Leiden and Boston: Brill.
2017. Pp. xxvi, 839. $253.00. ISBN 978-90-04-32395-7.)
Spencer J. Weinreich describes his translation of Ribadeneyra’s Historia ecclesiastica as a “labor of love” (p. 103), springing from a desire to commend its merits and
interest to scholars. Some have dismissed the Historia as a rhetorical monstrosity, of
little value in its own right, useful only as a source of information about Spanish attitudes to England, the run-up to the Armada of 1588, and curiosities and myths of
English reformation history. Weinreich urges us not to raid the work but to read it
as a whole. His fluent and readable translation is an admirable incentive.
Why, then, should we read the Historia? Most English-language scholarship
has treated the First Part (1588) as an adaptation of Nicholas Sander’s De schismate
Anglicano (1585; revised and expanded 1586) and an extension of William Allen
and Robert Persons’s project to raise awareness of the plight of Catholics in England and drum up support for the Armada. But, as Weinreich argues in the introduction, it is important to see it as a Spanish work in a Spanish context. It elaborates a Spanish vision of English tyranny and Catholic martyrdom, and its Second
Part (1593) reflects on the failure of the Armada, complementing Ribadeneyra’s
Tratado de la tribulacion (1589). If we read it as a continuous narrative-cum-treatise,
suspending judgment on historical accuracy and impartiality, we are able to engage
with a compelling version of how the English reformation appeared to a devout
continental observer. The perspective is largely shared with English exiles such as
Sander, Allen, and Persons, but the eulogies of Catherine of Aragon, Mary Tudor,
and Mary Queen of Scots, and the prefatory epistles to the future King Philip III,
give it a Spanish edge. The description of Mary Stuart’s sad end left Luis de
Granada in tears.
The First Part goes beyond even the English source in its anticipation of the
Armada. It dramatizes the state of England on the brink of ruin, after all the folly,
injustice, and profanation of reform. It is intended as a final snapshot before divine
retribution overwhelms the kingdom—and so it stimulates the historical imagination, to see events through partial contemporary eyes and to envisage what might
have been. The Second Part deserves more attention than it has received thus far.

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It does not offer a continuation of the narrative from 1588 to 1593, but focuses on
the royal proclamation of 1591 against seminary priests and Jesuits, defending the
seminaries, excoriating Leicester and Burghley, commiserating Hatton, and portraying Queen Elizabeth at her worst. It is largely a recension of Persons’s so-called
Philopater (1592), a work that is also badly in need of translation. But what distinguishes Ribadeneyra’s version is that the argument about the legitimacy of English
Catholic resistance is embedded in a profound and often moving meditation on the
experience of defeat.
Weinreich’s extensive introduction ranges widely from biography to textual
history and the treatment of women. The account of the 1586 edition of Sander’s
De schismate Anglicano, Ribadeneyra’s chief source, is particularly welcome, because
so much writing about Sander’s book focuses on the less influential 1585 edition.
The treatment of historical, biographical, and bibliographical context is extremely
thorough, in both the introduction and the annotations. Weinreich’s diligence reintroduces an eloquent voice into the debate about late sixteenth-century European
politics and religious history.
University of the Witwatersrand

VICTOR HOULISTON

The Society of Jesus in Ireland, Scotland, and England, 1598–1606. “Lest Our Lamp be
Entirely Extinguished.” By Thomas M. McCoog, S.J. [Catholic Christendom,
1300–1700; Bibliotheca Instituti Historici Societatis Iesu, Volume 78.]
(Leiden and Rome: Brill and Institutum Historicum Societatis Iesu. 2017. Pp.
xiv, 612. $160.00. ISBN: 978-90-04-33044-3.)
Thomas McCoog, S.J., has achieved two historical feats in his books on Elizabethan Jesuits. First, he has provided the most thoroughly researched, evenhanded account of early modern English Jesuit activities to date. Second, and just
as importantly, his work hearkens back to (unfortunately) bygone days of historywriting that was meticulous, exhaustive, and confident in its ability to describe
events as they were, or better put, as the sources suggest they were. His “trilogy” on
Elizabethan Catholicism is a testament to McCoog’s exemplary scholarship
steeped in a rich mix of secondary sources and an unmatched intimacy with Jesuit
primary sources, especially those at the Archivum Romanum Societatis Iesu. The
third installment of his magnum opus under review here only confirms that his work
should be essential reading for anyone interested in early modern (English)
Catholicism, Jesuits, and Elizabethan political culture.
Here McCoog starts where he left off in a previous volume, in 1598, when
Philip II of Spain died, and describes Jesuit activities in Ireland, England, and
Scotland through the third year of James I’s reign in 1606. Eight years are covered
in over five hundred pages of lucid prose and leisurely summary of (mostly) Jesuit
letters, memorials, and printed polemic. The book focuses on two large themes.
First, it tells of the many and varied tensions within the English Catholic community centering on arguments for and against Jesuit efforts in England. These ten-

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sions were not new to the period in question, but they reached a fever pitch during
the so-called Appellant Controversy, a moment of polemical viciousness between
secular priests and Jesuits that spread in print, manuscript, rumor, and face-to-face
quarrels throughout England, Flanders, and Rome among several different English
Catholic factions. Second, the book studies in great detail the politics of succession
leading up to James I’s accession to the English throne and the ways in which a
range of wary Catholics dealt with that reality after years of wrangling over whom
to support when Elizabeth died. A prominent thread used to tie these two themes
comes in the form of the indefatigable and perennially controversial figure of
Robert Parsons, whose various historical personae as inveterate politico and man of
solid faith inspired awe and disdain in equal measure from different quarters.
McCoog’s contribution is essential amid a historiography that until recently
has been confessionally motivated. A thorough reading of the sources has revealed
just how lacking black and white portraits (or caricatures) of the past have been. Just
as scholarship on Jesuits in general has moved away from a simplified corporate or
even military model of the Society, McCoog has shown that British members of the
order often disagreed among themselves and that their responses to British questions were varied. In describing this, the author takes issue with one of the great historians of English Catholicism: John Bossy. While Bossy ultimately emphasized the
stagnation of “Elizabethan Catholicism,” McCoog emphasizes dynamism.
Throughout, McCoog ably shows that instead, the sources on Jesuits reveals “flexibility and adaptability more than inertia” (p. 542). There is no greater example of this
than Parsons who, though knee deep in political contrivances of all sorts, was nevertheless quite malleable and far from the monochromatic schemer of legend.
Each subsequent volume in McCoog’s (mostly) Elizabethan trilogy has been
bigger than the last. What each has gained in rich description and scholarly rigor
has, however, been at the expense of other elements. McCoog, from the first
volume of this series, has admitted that there would be an English focus to his
work, as demanded by the sources and the importance of the English story for a
broader British one. Here, however, sections on Scotland and Ireland appear more
parenthetical than in previous volumes, creating a noticeable imbalance throughout. More troubling, McCoog’s emphasis on source description has increasingly
muted the author’s interpretive voice. There is still, here and there, the sharp wit
and cutting historiographical intervention that made the first volume, and to a certain extent, the second volume a joy to read. McCoog knows so much, has read so
extensively, is a scholar of such incisive thought, that I wish he hadspent a bit more
time discussing how each element of his narrative adds up to something greater
than itself in terms of both the historiography and the historical moment in question. But this might be asking too much. It is almost embarrassing to quibble with
a book—a series of books—that border on the unsurpassable.
University of Arkansas–Fayetteville

FREDDY C. DOMINGUEZ

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LATE MODERN EUROPEAN
Pie XI: Le Pape de l’Action Catholique. By Marcel Launay. (Paris: Les éditions du
Cerf. 2018. Pp. 238. €20,00 paperback. ISBN 978-2-204-126266-7.)
After Benedict XVI’s Motu proprio in 2006, which established the opening of
the Vatican Secret Archives to the documents related to Pius XI’s pontificate, several scholars from all over the world went to Rome to get access to the new records.
From then onwards, numerous books and conference proceedings were published,
pointing out historians’ strong interest for the position of the Holy See in the international arena in the decades between the two world wars.
In the Introduction of this new monograph on Pius XI, Launey avows that the
new Curial documents allowed a renewal of the research with what has been qualified as a “historical zeal” (p. 8). Unfortunately, this book has no critical apparatus;
therefore it is not possible to understand whether the author had the opportunity
to make use of his own research exploiting the Vatican Archives or he only
employed secondhand bibliography (edited sources and existing historiography) to
write this book. Besides, as he admits, he preferred to use only French-language
sources (p. 225). Considering the vast literature published in many languages on
the subject (at least in Italian, English, German, and Spanish) the choice of the
author was quite disappointing.
The subtitle of the volume, “The Pope of the Catholic Action,” finds no explanation in the biography of Pius XI sketched by Launey since he rightly touches various important aspects of Achille Ratti’s life from his birth to his years as Vicar of
Christ: his education, his career as nuncio in Poland, professor, prefect of the
Ambrosiana Library and of the Vatican Library, archbishop of Milan. His pontificate is told by taking briefly into account the political, religious, and spiritual questions Pius XI had to face during the Twenties and the Thirties. Hence, the book
does not put a special focus on Ratti’s interest for the apostolate of laypeople. In
fact, as the author demonstrates, despite the undeniable attention that the Pope
reserved to what he called “the pupil of my eyes,” his government of the Church
had many other ramifications (e.g., Ratti could be called the Pope of the concordats, the Pope of missions, the Pope of modern tools of communication, etc.).
Nonetheless, even if this biography lacks a strong historical interpretation, it
could be considered a specimen of a cultivated literature that has no pretentions of
bringing about new elements in the analysis of the pontificate, but just aims to tell
the story of a Pope and remains adherent to a critical scientific method. For this
reason, Launey’s book represents a good summary in French for anyone who
approaches Pius XI for the first time.
Catholic University of Sacred Heart, Milan

RAFFAELLA PERIN

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Pio XI nella crisi europea // Pius XI. im Kontext der europäischen Krise. Atti del Colloquio di Villa Vigoni, 4–6 maggio 2015 // Beiträge zum Villa Vigoni—Gespräch,
4–6. Mai 2015. Edited by Raffaella Perin. [Studi di storia, vol. 2.] (Venice:
Edizioni Ca’ Foscari. 2016. Pp. 297. ISBN 978-88-6969-9).
A conference at the Italo-German Center at Villa Vigoni (Lake Como)
yielded the collection of essays in this volume. Some are written in German and
some in Italian but all begin with English summaries. Raffaella Perin, who edited
the collection, begins with an introduction that asks “why another conference on
Pius XI?” One can locate, she states, much of the answer in the recent flurry of
information released with the Vatican’s opening of Pius’ archives a few years ago.
The current thinking, however, has not resolved the controversies related to Pius,
the Holy See, and antisemitism, and the first three of the volume’s contributions
reflect this: Dominik Burkard’s on the Holy See’s condemnation of Alfred Rosenberg’s racist-tinged manifesto, The Myth of the Twentieth Century, which, incidentally, contains much information on the infamous Alois Hudal, Perin’s on the
development of Pius’ thinking regarding antisemitism, and Paolo Zanini’s on the
Palestinian question. Toward the end, the collection returns to the question with
an interesting piece from Giovanni Vian that focuses on the end of Pius’ life and
his renewed emphasis on Catholicism’s incompatibility with German racism.
During that final half-year, Benito Mussolini added salt to Pius’ wound (and anger)
with his adoption of a watered down but still ugly Italian program against the Jews.
Citing Emma Fattorini’s research, Vian quotes the pontiff who, on hearing that
Italian papers would not refer to the Osservatore Romano’s criticisms of Fascist
racism, said “I’m ashamed of myself . . . ashamed of being an Italian.”
As the book’s German title reminds us, context is one of its aims, and a number
of essays go beyond the Pius/antisemitism question. Marie Levant on Pius and continuity in facing the Nazi revolution and Florian Heinritzi on the Bavarian concordat,
for instance, add to the context a bit. The discussion broadens to the Soviet Union in
essays from Sascha Hinkel and Laura Pettinaroli, who writes how Communism’s
treatment of women, children, and the family informed the Holy See’s judgment of
the regime. Paolo Valvo’s fascinating discussion of Rome and the Cristero wars in
Mexico extends the book’s coverage to the New World. Along with Perin’s introduction, the assortment boasts eighteen essays, some more complicated and demanding
than others. Finally, two pieces merit particular attention, one by Gianmaria Zamagni concerning Pius’ differences with the more aggressive Spanish bishops during
the Civil War. Just War theory is central to her study, which forms part of the University of Münster’s “D9 project” on religion and violence. Another piece, “Pius XI’s
pontificate and political violence” by Lucia Ceci, raises similar issues. One can locate,
she claims, Catholic “oscillation” regarding violence, such as a point in early Fascism,
August of 1922, when in the highly charged era before Mussolini took office as prime
minister, the Civiltà Cattolica explicitly condemned outrages committed by his blackshirts. Exactly two years later, however, in August, 1924, writing about the murder
of the Socialist Giacomo Matteotti by the Fascists, the same review spread the
blame—that the Socialists and the Regime shared the guilt because of a culture of

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violence that they both fostered. Rejection of violence, Ceci disturbingly concludes,
“did not figure among the Holy See’s non-negotiable values.”
ROY DOMENICO

The University of Scranton

AMERICAN
Anti-Catholicism in America, 1620–1860. By Maura Jane Farrelly. (New York:
Cambridge University Press. 2017. Pp. xviii, 205. $24.99 paperback. ISBN
978-1-316-61636-9.)
Professor Maura Jane Farrelly has written a short, yet significant new book on
an old topic, anti-Catholicism in antebellum America. Eighty years ago, Ray Allen
Billington and Sister Mary Augustine Ray addressed this topic, yet it has certainly
drawn real academic interest over the past two decades. Although anti-Catholicism
has dissipated over the last half-century, it has not altogether disappeared. As Farrelly observes, for much of the nation’s early history, American religious and political leaders viewed Catholicism as a threat to “national identity individual liberty,
personal salvation, and the stability of free government” (p. xi.). Certainly the
Catholic Church represented different threats to various Americans during distinct
eras. Over the course of the colonial and early national period however, one antiCatholic theme remained constant, the Church and its adherents represented a
major threat to American freedom. (p. xii).
This book is more thematic than a comprehensive retelling of the vast amount
of anti-Catholic statements in the U.S. prior to 1860. Divided into six chapter, the
opening one retells of story of Catholicism from Old to New England. Despite the
fears and outright persecution of the Church, Catholics did exist in seventeenthcentury colonial America, primarily in Maryland. Farrelly’s third chapter is her
most important in that she portrays Catholicism within the context of the American Revolution. The fourth chapter surveys the surprising lack of anti-Catholicism
as the church leadership sought to find its place in the new republic. However, a
large influx of Catholic immigrants ignited a firestorm against the Church in the
three decades prior to the Civil War.
This book is based on strong research in the primary and secondary sources.
Her thesis is really contained in chapters two and three, where she builds upon her
earlier book Papist Patriots: The Making of American Catholic Identity (New York:
Oxford University Press, 2012). Farrelly maintains that the colonial Americans
identified with Protestantism in a way that Catholics could not. Before the political
revolution erupted against British hegemony, colonial Catholics had decades earlier
already cast off any association with England. In their minds and hearts, Catholics
had already declared their independence long before their Protestant countrymen
ever attempted the effort. Simultaneously, there was another revolution taking
place in the American Catholic perspectives regarding religious freedom. Catholics
not only rejected American identity with Protestantism; they also rejected the con-

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fessional state idea that church and state should be one. While I have not emphasized it in my own book, I agree with Farrelly. In my treatment of southern
Catholicism, I quoted Charles Carroll, the only Catholic signer of the Declaration
of Independence, as stating that he supported religious toleration for all. “Based on
an earlier Maryland tradition, Carroll supported religious freedom, no religious
tests, and the separation of church and state, positions that the Second Vatican
Council would accept almost two hundred years later” (Woods, A History of the
Catholic Church in the American South, 1513–1900 [Gainesville: University Press of
Florida, 2011], p. 149).
This Americanization process then extended into the early national period
regarding the trustee controversy. Many Catholic parishes followed the example of
Protestants in having a board of trustees manage and even run the local church. This
went against a Catholic tradition of clerical control. This caused some major conflicts between the American clergy and the laity, especially in places like Norfolk,
Charleston, and even more dramatically, Philadelphia. Moreover, the early founders
of our government did not mind if the people were religious, “they also wanted the
American people’s religiosity to be a choice” (p. 112). Then Bishop, later (after 1808)
Archbishop of Baltimore, John Carroll certainly supported this situation. Carroll
believed that the reasonableness of the Faith, plus a respectful approach to their
fellow non-Catholic countrymen, would win souls for the Church.
All of this changed abruptly with the massive, mainly Irish Catholic, migration after 1830. As Professor Farrelly points out, for the last three decades of the
antebellum era, the Catholic Church sustained an incredible assault from preachers, pulpits, and many publications. This “Protestant Crusade,” as Ray Allen
Billington termed it, sometimes spilled over into violence. A convent was burned
in Massachusetts; riots took place in Philadelphia and other places. One set of disturbances Ms. Farrelly omits was the riotous reception that the Papal Nuncio
Archbishop Gaetano Bedini received during his visit to the U.S. in 1853–1854. A
mob in Washington, D.C., seized a block of marble Pope Pius IX had sent to be
placed in the George Washington monument and then pushed it into the Potomac
River on March 6, 1854. Yet most of the rioting took place above the MasonDixon Line, the area of U.S. most impacted by the invasion of Irish immigrants.
These immigrants also impacted the Church as the hierarchy became mainly
Hibernian, with a decidedly more hostile approach to American Protestants. This
shift was especially epitomized by the episcopal career of Archbishop John Hughes
of New York. By the 1850s Catholics were viewed much like the Communists a
century later. Like the Communists, Catholics were tied to a foreign leader
opposed to republican government and religious freedom.
Intolerance against different groups can move in several directions. Although the
Republican Party during this period was more sympathetic to the plight of the African
Americans, it was also profoundly anti-Catholic. President Abraham Lincoln’s cabinet
contained no Catholics or Jews, yet President Jefferson Davis’s Confederate cabinet
contained a Catholic (Stephen Mallory) and a Jew (Judah P. Benjamin). Ms. Farrelly

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is to be commended for producing this significant contribution to the history of the
American Catholic Church during the colonial and antebellum eras.
Georgia Southern University

JAMES M. WOODS

Dagger John: Archbishop John Hughes and the Making of Irish America. By John
Loughery. (Ithaca, NY: Three Hills, an imprint of Cornell University Press.
2018. Pp. x, 407. $32.95. ISBN 978-1-5017-0774-2.)
Four decades have elapsed since a serious study of New York’s fourth bishop
and first archbishop appeared (Dagger John: The Unquiet Life and Times of Archbishop
John Hughes of New York, by Richard Shaw [New York: Paulist Press, 1977]). John
Loughery, an already accomplished author, has revisited the major events comprising Archbishop Hughes’ career, and sees in those events not only the ecclesial rise
of one man, but a similar circumstance for his largely Irish flock. The political,
social, and religious controversy that always followed him, or that he himself created in his bully pulpit, made the already formidable Irish presence in America all
the more a force to be reckoned with.
Such events as the New York City School Controversy, the City’s Draft Riots
during the Civil War, the ongoing anti–Catholic antagonism of American culture,
the diplomatic mission to France, and so many others are given fresh, scholarly
light. Loughery has convincingly painted a portrait of both Catholic New York, as
well as the larger American culture of the mid-nineteenth century, while also weaving into his tapestry, the strengths and weaknesses, triumphs and failures of the
prelate who led the archdiocese for over two decades. One easily perceives the
importance of Hughes in the American Church, something his adversaries were as
quick to realize as his supporters.
Of particular interest is the author’s concentration on the Hughes–Seward
friendship, which had its origins when the comparatively new bishop made the
acquaintance of New York’s Whig governor, who, as a man truly principled and of
high integrity came to the defense of the bishop in his fight for financial aid for his
city’s and diocese’s parochial schools. As a politician who early on entered the newly
formed Republican Party, one which, as with his former affiliation, had been significantly hostile to Catholic interests, Seward contributed, at least to a degree, in
breaking the stranglehold the Democrat party had on the nation’s newly arriving
immigrants. Hughes had hoped for two decades, we are told, that his friend would
one day enter the White House, and he equally believed the peculiar institution of
slavery would die a natural death without the “melancholy strife” that ultimately
became a reality. The archbishop was extremely careful not to make political recommendations on voting to his flock, and was just as insistent that his clergy follow
suit; nonetheless, the author contends that the prelate was very cautious about the
election of Lincoln over the proven record of his New York ally. Fort Sumpter
changed all this. Hughes became an ardent patriot, strongly encouraged Catholic
men to enlist in the Union Army, flew the Stars and Stripes over Saint Patrick’s

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Old Cathedral much to the chagrin of some of his coreligionists who were of
Southern sympathy, and carried on a significant correspondence with Seward on
his thoughts—political and military—during the course of the conflict, a correspondence which Seward gladly shared with Abraham Lincoln. Though Hughes
had significant differences with his Southern hierarchical colleagues over the compact versus states’ rights theory of government, this study, as do so many others,
underscores the unity of Catholic faith, which was never for one moment broken
in the four years.
It is the freshness of approach more than the discovery of new information
that characterizes this work. Eminently fair to the subject of his study, the author
has also underscored the contributions of one ethnic group whose leader was a
County Tyrone product. Dagger John is a considerable contribution to United
States Catholic history, the role of the Irish in it, and the character of one who
never shied from controversy.
Mount Saint Mary’s Seminary
Emmitsburg, Maryland

CHARLES P. CONNOR

Catholic Borderlands: Mapping Catholicism onto American Empire, 1905–1935. By
Anne M. Martínez. (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. 2014. Pp. xviii,
293. $70.00. ISBN 978-0-8032-4877-9.)
In Catholic Borderlands: Mapping Catholicism onto American Empire, 1905–
1935, Anne M. Martínez examines the reasons why the Reverend Francis Clement
Kelley and the Catholic Church Extension Society embraced the Spanish Catholic
legacy of North America and the impact of their activities in the former Spanish
territories. Feeling alienated as anti-Catholic sentiment increased in the United
States, Kelley sought to formulate and incorporate Catholic identity into the
Protestant-dominated American historical narrative. Martínez’s work illustrates
how Kelley intended to restrict the growing Protestant influence in historically
Catholic regions by embracing the Spanish Catholic heritage. Furthermore,
Martínez demonstrates how Kelley’s work had both international and political
components reflective of religious imperialism as he sought to bring Mexico under
American religious influence as well as safeguard Catholicism in the recently
acquired Philippines and Puerto Rico.
Martínez weaves a narrative that begins with Kelley’s campaign in the American southwest and the ceded territories before transitioning to American Catholic
diplomacy in Mexico. The Catholic culture of the southwest provided Kelley with
a historical account that would justify activities in the west aimed at revitalizing
Catholicism, particularly among the Mexican/Mexican-American communities.
Through Extension Magazine, the Extension Society’s publication, Kelley called on
American Catholics to protect landmarks, such as Spanish missions, and to support
Catholic schools in the face of Protestant inroads in these communities. Martínez
examines Kelley’s actions within the premise of two conflicting national narratives:

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one of American Manifest Destiny rooted in Protestantism in which Spain’s influence was almost inconsequential, and another in which Spain’s religious mission
provided American Catholics with a claim to the religious history of the North
American continent.
For Kelley and the Extension Society, the Catholic borderlands extended
beyond the southwest. The imperialism of the period provided them with a new
vision of protecting and expanding Catholicism outside the continental mainland.
Once again faced with the Protestant threat, this time in Puerto Rico and the
Philippines, Kelley designed a mission that not only emphasized protecting the
Catholic legacy but also uplifting the conquered populations. While Catholic rhetoric and actions in Puerto Rico and the Philippines resembled those used in reference to the southwest, Martínez sets this section apart by delving deeper into racial
views. Kelley, like the vast majority who justified imperialism as a humanitarian
duty, generally considered the colonized populations inferior. Although Martínez
does discuss race issues in her coverage of the southwest, she provides a richer
exploration of racial perceptions in this section her work.
While Martínez’s exploration of American Catholic activity in the southwest,
Puerto Rico, and the Philippines is instructive, her examination of Kelley’s activities
as related to Mexico is what makes Catholic Borderlands invaluable. The turmoil of
the Mexican Revolution and the anticlericalism/anti-Catholicism that threatened
the Catholic Church in Mexico prompted action from Kelley and the Extension
Society. Kelley’s call for the American government’s intervention in Mexico thrusted
him into the political realm and in tangible ways politicized the Church and fostered
an American Catholic agenda with an international scope. As Martínez notes,
Kelley promoted discussion of U.S. involvement in Mexico and at times negotiated
American endeavors in Mexico. Embracing an imperialist stance, Kelley and the
Extension Society sought to rescue Mexico (i.e., a Catholic Mexico) from the chaos
and effects of the revolution. Utilizing the concept of political and religious imperialism, Martinez places Kelley within a transnational historical interpretation.
Catholic Borderlands is an excellent book in which each chapter further develops subjects introduced in the previous chapter. Although the work revolves primarily around Kelley, Martínez does an extraordinary job of positioning his activities
and rhetoric in broader historical themes.
The University of Texas of the Permian Basin

ANA MARTINEZ-CATSAM

Minor Setback or Major Disaster? The Rise and Demise of Minor Seminaries in the
United States, 1958–1983. By Robert L. Anello, M.S.A. (St. Louis: En Route
Books and Media. 2018. Pp. xxiv, 591. $35.00 paperback. ISBN 978-09998814-2-2.)
This great tome of almost 600 pages fills an important gap in the institutional
story of Catholicism in the United States. Reworking his doctoral dissertation,
Anello admits the difficulty of creating a coherent narrative since there is no one

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accepted definition of a minor seminary. There are four-year high schools and fouryear colleges. There are six-year programs encompassing high school and junior
college. Finally, one might include the first two years of a philosophical-theological
program. Minor seminaries were sponsored by dioceses and religious communities.
Some served seminarians exclusively and some included lay students. Many were
residential programs, while others were day programs or a combination of the two.
The lengthy bibliography and the copious footnotes testify that Anello mastered the pertinent literature. Not only does he frequently cite various articles found
in seminary and educational journals, but also the publications of the National
Catholic Welfare Conference (later the United States Conference of Catholic
Bishops), the National Catholic Educational Association, and subsidiary minor
seminary organizations. Further, he has mastered the seemingly endless data on
seminaries produced by these organizations and the Center for Applied Research
in the Apostolate. This gathering and analysis of data alone is a great service. Anello
goes even further. He addresses and astutely analyzes the mass of information and
data on vocations over a fifty-year period. In this, he offers a significant corrective.
He resurrects the concern over a drop in vocations proportionate to the growth of
the Catholic population that was heralded in the 1950s. This allows him to contextualize the vocations issue within the culture and to separate it from the effects of
the Second Vatican Council. He shows the impact of the Second Vatican Council
on the decline in vocations but allows us to reflect without any preconceived biases
on the great power of the culture on vocations.
After introducing us to the world of seminaries of the mid-twentieth century,
Anello divides his narrative into four sections, each accompanied by two case studies. In each section, the external context of the minor seminary is well documented.
The first is “‘Future Shock’: The Beginning of the Demise.” In this chapter, covering the years 1960–1966, the pedagogical and administrative issues of the period
are addressed as seminaries begin to absorb Optatam totius. The case studies are of
St. Charles College (Catonsville, Maryland) and Queen of Apostles Seminary
(Madison, Wisconsin). The influence on vocations of St. Paul VI’s encyclical Sacerdotalis Caelibatus is analyzed.
The second chapter comes as a bit of a surprise. It is still the mid-sixties but
several new minor seminaries are being established. Anello does not miss this and
gives us “Newer Minor Seminaries as ‘Short-lived Phenomena.’” The case studies
are Bishop’s Latin School (Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania) and Mount St. Paul College
(Waukesha, Wisconsin). Again, Anello does not forget Rome and explains how the
impact on clergy, especially younger clergy, of St. Paul VI’s encyclical Humanae
vitae, negatively affected vocations. The evidence leads Anello to conclude that college seminaries are in transition, while high school seminaries are in freefall.
Moving into the seventies, we come to “Minor Seminaries as ‘Endangered
Species.’” In this period, the first edition of the Program of Priestly Formation neglects minor seminaries in comparison to its attention to the theologate, a sign of

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growing ambivalence toward these institutions. The stories of Quigley North and
Quigley South Preparatory Seminaries (Chicago, Illinois), and Holy Apostles College and Seminary (Cromwell, Connecticut) provide the case studies for this
period, which Anello describes as a time of decline and disorder.
Anello’s final historical chapter, “The Survivors,” reviews the 1980s. The survivors chronicled are St. Lawrence Seminary High School (Mount Calvary, Wisconsin) and Cathedral Preparatory Seminary (Queens, New York). Anello’s review
of minor seminaries in the 1980s concludes this chapter. Throughout we are
assisted by numerous helpful graphs and charts. They sadly depict the
decreasing numbers of various institutions until their final disappearance.
There is little in the story of the minor seminaries that Anello does not address.
Throughout he is fair and balanced. Even his case studies are chosen to reflect the
variety of structures and sponsorships of these institutions. I recommend this book
to those in seminary administration, major and minor, as well as to those in
the apostolate of vocations. Almost all of the questions and issues concerning minor
seminaries that are being asked today are addressed by Anello in this fine work.
Immaculate Conception Seminary
South Orange, New Jersey

ROBERT WISTER

LATIN AMERICA
The Politics of Religion and the Rise of Social Catholicism in Peru (1884-1935): Faith,
Workers and Race before Liberation Theology. By Ricardo Daniel Cubas Ramacciotti. [Religion in the Americas Series. Vol. 18.] (Leiden and Boston: Brill.
2018. Pp. 297. ISBN 978-90-04-35567-5 hardback; ISBN 978-90-0435569-9 e-book.)
Ricardo Daniel Cubas Ramacciotti’s well-researched study insists that the
story of Catholicism in Peru cannot be understood without tracing the complex
evolution of church-state relations in this ethnically diverse country. It also argues
that the formation of its national identity is tied to this story.
Engagement with social issues that liberationists place at the center of faith
became a pivotal concern of the Peruvian church as it struggled for autonomy at the
close of the nineteenth century. This struggle was enjoined with Spanish regalism
(royal supremacy over the Church), during colonization, through late-eighteenth
century Enlightenment reform, and up to the declaration of Peruvian independence in 1821. Succeeding republican governments exercised power over the Church
through the mechanism of the patronato, offering the church establishment status
and financial support while restricting appointment of bishops to state-approved
candidates and controlling papal communications with them.
Ramacciotti recounts policy moves that entrapped church and state alike in
contradictions. In short, the Church’s attempt to assert its independence ran up

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against its reliance on government financial aid while the government needed church
legitimation in an overwhelmingly Catholic nation. In fact, a concordat with the
Vatican definitively severed the Church from the Peruvian state only in 1980.
A focal theme in this context is Peruvian church resistance to secularization
entailed in liberal politics, modernizing economics, and the sway of positivism among
the nation’s elite. Leo XIII’s encyclical Rerum Novarum (1891) and other papal social
teaching, along with writings by European Catholics such as León Bloy and Jacques
Maritain, emboldened Peru’s Catholic intellectuals to counter the influence of modernist thought as well as socialism and radical politics. A succession of Catholic
organizations—from the lay-led Unión Católica in 1886 through Acción Católica in
1935—further raised the Church’s profile in the public sphere. Episcopal letters following inauguration of the National Assembly of Bishops in 1899 effectively ratified
the “rise of social Catholicism” in Peru. Notably, apologetic defense of the “rights of
the Church” figured prominently in this development, while advancement of
Catholic social thought depended on widely distributed local Catholic newspapers.
Ramacciotti emphasizes ecclesial condemnation of slavery in mining and
rubber production and defense of industrial labor rights. Animated by papal teaching and European examples, the Church sought to imbue Peru’s emergent working
class with Catholic values through “Circle(s) of Catholic Workers” (CCW), which
sponsored night schools, mutual aid societies, and other welfare groups. Bishops
and Catholic intellectuals, especially Víctor Andrés Belaunde, criticized capitalism
but remained resolutely apolitical, favoring “true reformism,” equidistant from
“timid conservatism” and Marxism (p. 178). Thus, the Church forestalled anticlericalism but also retarded unionization and postponed formation of a Christian
democratic party in Peru until 1955.
As elsewhere in Latin America, the Church represented the nation in the
absence of the state in Peru, particularly among marginalized Quechua and Aymara
peoples in the remote Andes and Amazon. What Ramacciotti calls “ecclesiastical
indigenismo” affirmed the human dignity of indigenous Peruvians against overt
racism, theoretical (Spencer, Peruvian Darwinists) and practical (enslavement,
expropriation). Activist bishops promoted clerical reform and seminary classes in
native languages to enhance indigenous mission while insisting on integration of
native people in the “living synthesis of western and native values” advocated by
Balaunde as Peruanidad (Peruvian-ness) (p. 219). Still, with most Peruvians the
Church assumed the need for indigenous “regeneration” (p. 209), their tutelage in
“farm schools” (p. 233), and (ironically) the government’s paternalistic Patronato de
la Raza Indígena (pp. 231–36).
Despite numerous repetitions, an often-confusing labyrinth of detail, and
arguably flawed organization, this specialized monograph establishes the Church’s
indispensability to Peruvian identity as well as specific agenda items and ample bibliography for further research.
De Paul University, Mundelein Seminary

RUTH CHOJNACKI

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563

To Sin No More: Franciscans and Conversion in the Hispanic World, 1683–1830. By
David Rex Galindo. (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press; Oceanside,
CA: The Academy of American Franciscan History. 2018. Pp. xvii, 330.
$65.00. ISBN 978-1-5036-0-3264.)
During the last thirty years, historians, anthropologists, theologians, and scholars in other disciplines have greatly expanded our knowledge of Franciscan missions
in the Iberian world. Their studies analyze not only the well-known frontier missions
in the Americas and Asia but also the so-called “popular missions” that Franciscans
conducted in cities and rural areas of Europe, often in preparation for their work in
the overseas empire. In To Sin No More, David Rex Galindo draws on this new
scholarship (his introduction provides an excellent survey of the literature), on classic
studies of the Franciscan order, and, most importantly, on deep archival work on
three continents in order to analyze the theory and practice of the Franciscan missionary enterprise. He argues that this enterprise “contributed to [the] globalization
of the Catholic Church and shaped early modern Catholicism” (p. 289).
Rex Galindo focuses on the twenty-nine Franciscan Colleges for the Propagation of the Faith in Spain and America. The most famous of these institutions
was the Colegio de la Santa Cruz in Querétaro, Mexico, from which generations
of missionaries, including the recently canonized Junípero Serra, set off for missions throughout the Americas. Rex Galindo argues that the colleges “invigorated
the Franciscan evangelical ministry through missionary instruction and a renovated
commitment to pastoral work among both Catholic and non-Christian flocks in
Spain and in its American territories and peripheries” (p. 9).
The continuity between missionary work in Europe and the Americas is a
major theme of the book. The Franciscan missionary enterprise predated that of the
Society of Jesus, and the two orders were sometimes at odds. Following the expulsion of the Jesuits from the Spanish empire in 1767, the Franciscans and other
orders took over the Jesuit missions, reviving and expanding the scope of the Franciscans’ work, especially in the Americas.
Building on Francisco Morales’s pioneering prosopographical studies of Franciscans in colonial Mexico, Rex Galindo provides an overview of the qualities of the
ideal missionary. In addition to the requisite moral and physical qualities, the Franciscans, like other religious orders of the day, sought candidates who could demonstrate their purity of blood (limpieza de sangre). Whenever possible, the Franciscans
excluded men who had Muslim, Jewish, native American, or African ancestors.
Like Maria Elena Martinez, whose Genealogical Fictions (2008) studies the importation of limpieza statutes to colonial Mexico, Rex Galindo argues that peninsularborn Spaniards were associated with purity of blood and thus received preferential
treatment in admission to the Franciscan order (p. 83).
Although no collection of documents comparable to the Jesuit Indipitae (petitions to be sent to overseas missions) exists in the Franciscan archives, Rex Galindo
succeeds in reconstructing the motives that led young men to petition to be

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assigned to the missions. In general, candidates were more concerned with attaining their own salvation than with converting non-Catholics or with achieving martyrdom (p. 104).
Missionaries in America faced language barriers that were difficult to overcome, in part because of the diversity of native languages. Franciscans became
adept at recruiting native converts to preach to indigenous peoples. Yet this strategy
provoked controversy within the Franciscan community, and native collaborators
encountered strict limits on the scope of their pastoral work: “most Franciscans
were hesitant to recruit native people to the colegios or seminaries . . . and only in
special cases did visionary religious foresee the formation of a Franciscan native
clergy” (p. 162).
Rex Galindo provides a vivid account of life in the propaganda fide colleges,
which “took their study programs to new levels of proficiency and commitment. . . .
A stringent daily timetable included time for mental prayer, hours of study, classes,
dedication to community material needs, and practical preparation for the evangelical ministry” (p. 119). Members of the colleges participated in daily meetings (conferencias) on moral theology.
Rex Galindo analyzes in detail the Franciscans’ preoccupation with sin in general and with sexual sin in particular. “To sin no more,” he writes, was a guiding
precept of Franciscan instruction. Rex Galindo’s study of Franciscan attitudes
toward sin draws on the work of Jean Delumeau, Thomas N. Tentler, and Michel
Foucault, and on studies of sin and sexuality in colonial Spanish America, including
works by Francisco Cervantes and Ann Twinam.
Although Franciscans were closely aligned with the crown and with colonial
elites, they sometimes spoke out on behalf of oppressed peoples. Fray Ángel Alonso
de Prado, for example, in a sermon given to hacienda owners in early-eighteenthcentury Querétaro, preached that these men had grown rich “at the cost of the
feasts and the sweat of the poor. . . . [P]aying them with goods [rather than money,
and] tricking them with excessive prices and false promises by which you drink
their blood” (p. 213). To Sin No More contains similar examples of Franciscan
preaching in the “plain style” (in contrast to the ornate conceptista style that many
Baroque preachers adopted). Most of these examples are from archival manuscripts
that have been read but not systematically studied by a handful of earlier historians.
Rex Galindo’s analysis of the theory and practice of Franciscan preaching in Spain
and the Americas is comparable only to the studies of Lino Gómez Canedo, who
did pioneering work in the same archives in which Rex Galindo has worked.
Rex Galindo devotes sustained attention to the efforts of the post-Tridentine
Catholic church to “sacramentalize” the world. During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the Jesuits played a central role in advancing these efforts both in
Europe and in the Iberian overseas empires. Rex Galindo argues that “the eighteenth century was the turn of the Franciscan apostolic seminaries for the propa-

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565

gation of the faith” (p. 217). To Sin No More provides a compelling portrait of
Franciscan ideals and of the men who put them into practice throughout the Hispanic world.
The Catholic University of America

THOMAS M. COHEN

Volunteering for a Cause: Gender, Faith, and Charity in Mexico from the Reform to the
Revolution. By Silvia Marina Arrom. (Albuquerque: University of New
Mexico Press. 2016. Pp. xiii, 279. $29.95. ISBN 978-0-8263-4188-4.)
Catholic charity in nineteenth-century Mexico flourished (instead of shrinking) in the presence of state-sponsored anticlerical liberalism. This success came as
male and female lay members of the St. Vincent De Paul charitable organization
functioned in complimentary roles to improve the lives of poor Mexicans. So argues
historian Silvia Arrom in this readable and well-organized volume on the overlooked history of charitable programs in Mexico between Independence (1821) and
the 1910 Revolution.
Having done research in Paris and Mexico City as well as regional archives,
Arrom uses a clear, concise style in this work, which shores up weaknesses on the
topic of charity. The introduction and chapter one counter the francocentric history
of St. Vincenet De Paul in Mexico, showing how the organization adapted to local
conditions and used organizational strategies better suited to Mexico than to
France. Arrom also demonstrates that women were key to the establishment of the
charity from the start, contrary to chronicles generated by the male laity and
Catholic clergy associated with St. Vincent De Paul in Mexico.
Chapters two, three, and four continue chronologically with an eye toward
gendered variations that occurred in the organization over time. The author counters the narrative created by Mexico’s nineteenth-century liberal scholars, demonstrating that St. Vincent De Paul was not feminized in the late 1800s, but instead
developed complimentary branches of service that allowed the organization to
extend its tendrils deeper into the world of Mexico’s poor. Certainly, members of
St. Vincent De Paul supported the struggle against secularization, but their work
among people not reached by state institutions allowed the group to avoid state
persecution and thrive during a time scholars traditionally see as hostile to
Catholicism.
In chapter five, Arrom uses the case study of the state of Jalisco to confirm her
argument about Mexico as a whole. However, her look at the local archives brings
insights she would have missed using sources from Mexico City alone. The Jalisco
case study enriches existing work on the National Catholic Party and clarifies why
Catholic networks during the Cristero War (1926–29) functioned so well. She caps
off the work with a discussion in chapter six of how Catholicism served as a modernizing force in Mexico by modeling public welfare and encouraging public
health, not the backwards opponent to progress as painted by the ruling elite of

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Mexico at the time. In this regard, Arrom shores up recent research by other scholars who, over the last two decades, have deepened our understanding of the multifaceted work of the Catholic Church in Mexico, particularly its link to public policy
and modernization. It also has implications for scholarship that examines why
women felt empowered by conservative movements that otherwise restricted their
role in society.
Volunteering for a Cause is a well-researched, clearly written book that—while
not path-making—is a solid contribution to the historical understanding of nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Mexico. Scholars of religion, conservatism,
women, and liberalism in Mexico should consult this work as should graduate students with specialties in modern Mexico. While the book is situated in a larger historiographic conversation that might make it difficult to include in undergraduate
courses on Modern Mexico, courses on Latin American religion would benefit
from its inclusion, particularly in discussions on the role of Catholicism in debates
on women in society, state power, or modernization.
Central Washington University

JASON H. DORMADY

Notes and Comments
ASSOCIATION NEWS
The 99th annual meeting of the American Catholic Historical Association
(ACHA), inaugurating its centennial year, will be held with the American Historical Association in Chicago, January 3–6, 2019 at the Chicago Hilton Hotel. The
Executive Council meeting of the Association will be held Thursday, January 3 at
3:30 p.m. Dr. James T. Carroll of Iona College serves as program chair. The
ACHA program consists of twenty-one sessions with over eighty scholars participating. Registration is open until December 15 on the ACHA website:
acha@achahistory.org
In March, 2018, the Executive Council accepted the resignation of the Reverend R. Bentley Anderson, S.J., of Fordham University as executive secretarytreasurer of the Association. After the appropriate search, the Executive Council
has appointed Dr. Charles T. Strauss, assistant professor of history, Mount St.
Mary’s University, Emmitsburg, MD, as executive secretary-treasurer. During the
summer the office of the Association was relocated from Fordham University to
Mount St. Mary’s University, whose officials warmly welcomed its arrival and provided ample office space. The new address of the Association’s executive offices:
American Catholic Historical Association, Mount St. Mary’s University, 16300
Old Emmitsburg Road, Emmitsburg, MD 21227.

CAUSES OF SAINTS
At a public ordinary consistory on July 19, 2018, Pope Francis announced that
he will canonize Blessed Nunzio Sulprizio (1817–1836), a young Italian layperson,
on October 14, 2018 during the Synod of Bishops on Youth held in Rome.
Born on April 13, 1817, in Pescosansonesco, Italy, Blessed Nunzio was orphaned
early in life. He lived with a very violent uncle who beat him. Because of this violence,
the young craftsman of Naples suffered from a wound in the leg, earning him the nickname “the little saint lame.” In spite of illness, the young man assisted others especially
relieving the misery of the poor. He spent the last two year of his life at Naples’ hospital for incurables, where he died on May 5, 1836 at age nineteen.
Blessed Nunzio Sulprizio’s canonization on October 14 has been added to the
canonizations of Pope Paul VI, Archbishop Oscar Romero, Father Francesco
Spinelli, Father Vincent Romano, Mother Maria-Katherina Kasper, and Mother
Nazaria Ignacia of Santa Teresa de Jesus. Their canonizations on that date had previously been announced.

567

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On May 26, 2018, Pope Francis appointed Cardinal Giovanni Angelo Becciu
prefect of the Congregation for the Causes of Saints. He assumed the office at the
end of August. He was created a cardinal along with thirteen other prelates at a
consistory on June 29, 2018. He succeeded Cardinal Angelo Amato, who served as
prefect since 2008. Cardinal Becciu was born in Pattada, Italy, on June 2, 1948.
After graduating in Canon Law he was ordained a priest of the Diocese of Ozieri
in 1972. He joined the diplomatic service of the Holy See in 1984, and worked for
many years in various missions, including in the Central African Republic, New
Zealand, Liberia, the United Kingdom, France, and the United States.
In 2001, Pope John Paul II appointed him Apostolic Nuncio to Angola and
to São Tomé and Príncipe. On December 1, that year, he was consecrated bishop.
In 2009, Pope Benedict XVI transferred him to the Apostolic Nunciature of Cuba,
from which he was recalled to the Vatican to serve as the Substitute for General
Affairs of the Secretariat of State. New-elected pontiff, Pope Francis confirmed
him in the post in 2013. On February 2, 2017, the Pope appointed him special delegate to the Knights of Malta to resolve the crisis in the order.

JOINT EFFORT TO ADVANCE CAUSES OF BLACK SAINTHOOD
New Orleans, LA—An effort to unite the causes and respective guilds working toward the canonization of five Catholic African Americans was announced
during a special event held at the St. Katharine Drexel Chapel on the campus of
Xavier University of Louisiana.
Xavier and its Institute for Black Catholic Studies (IBCS) served as the host
and administrator for the event, which set as its goal the goal the gathering of
scholarly work and relevant academic studies for the purpose of elevating the
respective causes for each of the candidates for Sainthood: the Venerable Pierre
Toussaint, Venerable Henriette Delille S.S.F., Mother Mary Elizabeth Lange,
O.S.P., Father Augustus Tolton, and Julia Greeley.
Attendees at the event included members of the Joint Conference of Black
Catholic Clergy, Black Sisters, Black Catholic Seminarians, and Black Catholic
Deacons.
“It is both appropriate and significant that this joint effort to promote the
cause of Sainthood for these five extraordinary individuals should originate here at
Xavier University of Louisiana, the only historically Black and Catholic University
in this nation and the home of the Institute for Black Catholic Studies,” said Xavier
President Dr. Reynold Verret.
Also announced was a plan to establish a resource center at Xavier which will
house relevant and educational scholarly work focusing on the lives of the five candidates for Sainthood, as well as that of Xavier University of Louisiana foundress
St. Katharine Drexel and St. Kateri Tekakwitha.
The Causes are as follows:

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569

Venerable Pierre Toussaint (1766–1853), a New York City hairdresser who
was also a former slave. He purchased his freedom with the earnings he made from
his trade.
Venerable Henriette Delille (1813–1862), the daughter of a white man and
mixed-race woman who lived in a common-law relationship, since blacks and
whites could not legally marry at the time. Her parents encouraged her to pursue
the same path. Instead, she founded the Sisters of the Holy Family in New
Orleans, and these women attended to the needs of slaves and poor free blacks. As
she prayed, “I believe in God; I hope in God; I love. I want to live and die for God.”
Servant of God Mother Mary Elizabeth Lange (ca. 1794–1882), another
former slave, founded and served as the first superior general of the Oblate Sisters
of Providence in Baltimore. She founded the order so that black women would
have a means by which to enter religious life. Its other purpose was to educate
African-American children.
Servant of God Father Augustus Tolton (1854–1897) was America’s first black
priest. He had to travel to Rome to conduct his priestly training because no U.S.
seminary would take him. Back home, his ministry at his church in Quincy, Illinois,
was so successful that he drew congregants from the nearby white parish. He later
moved to Chicago, where he founded St. Monica’s, the city’s first black parish.
Servant of God Julia Greeley, Denver’s Angel of Charity, was born into slavery at Hannibal, Missouri, sometime between 1833 and 1848. While she was still
a young child, a cruel slavemaster, while beating her mother, caught Julia’s right eye
with his whip and destroyed it. Freed by Missouri’s Emancipation Act in 1865,
Julia subsequently earned a living serving white families in Missouri, Colorado,
Wyoming and New Mexico—though mostly in the Denver area. Whatever she did
not need for herself, Julia spent assisting poor families in her neighborhood. She
entered the Catholic Church at Sacred Heart Parish in Denver in 1880 and actively
supported parish activities. She joined the Secular Franciscan Order in 1901 and
was active in it till her death in 1918.

CONFERENCES
The Tibesar Lecture and Colloquium on Culture and Religion in La Florida
takes place October 26–28, 2018, at Flagler College, St. Augustine, FL. The conference is part of the Flagler College Ideas & Images series offering lectures and
readings from a variety of renowned scholars, artists, and authors in the fields of
history, archaeology, anthropology, and religion. Lectures are free and open to the
public. John Worth, University of West Florida, gave the annual Tibesar Lecture
(October 26): “Exploring the Franciscan Legacy in Spanish Florida: Historical and
Archaeological Evidence.”
At the Colloquium on Culture and Religion in La Florida: October 27–28, the
following lectures were presented: “Are They Christians? Timucuans, Theology, and

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NOTES AND COMMENTS

the Necessity of the Sacraments,” Timothy J. Johnson, Flagler College, Religion;
“Additions, Corrections, and Deletions: A Comparison of the 1612 and 1627
Spanish-Timucuan Catechisms,” Lisa Noetzel, College of Coastal Georgia, Spanish; “Timucua Christian Texts on Idolatry,” George Aaron Broadwell, University of
Florida, Anthropology; “Manufacturing Sin: The Inquisition in Cuba and Florida
between 1604 and 1614,” Leonardo Falcon, Florida International University, History; “Asymmetries of Power: Timucua-Apalachee Relations in the early 18th Century,” Alejandra Dubcovsky, University of California-Riverside, History; “Yamasee
Missions in Saint Augustine,” Denise Bossy, University of North Florida, History;
“Geronimo de Oré’s Relación de la Florida,” Noble David Cook, Florida International University, History; “Florida through European Eyes: Theodor de Bry and the
Tradition of Grand Voyages,” Helmut Flachenecker, University of Würzburg, History; “Before the Churches: Pre-Contact Mocama/Timucua Culture and Religion,”
Keith Ashley, University of North Florida, Archeology, and Robert Thunen, University of North Florida, Anthropology; “America’s First Parish Church: Nuestra
Señora de los Remedios Yesterday and Today,” Kathleen Deagan, University of
Florida, Archeology, and Carl Halbirt, HSARI Associate, Archaeology; “America’s
First Mission Church? Mission Santa Catalina de Guale Yesterday and Today,”
David Hurst Thomas, American Museum of Natural History, Anthropology.
The faculty of theology of the Pontifical University of the Holy Cross (Rome),
Römisches Institut der Görres-Gesellschaft, and la Società per la Ricerca della Storia
dei Concili are convening an international symposium, “Councils and the Minority,”
which takes place in Rome October 10–14, 2018. International scholars representing
a wide range of universities and nations from Europe and North America addressed
aspects of the Church’s Conciliar tradition and the role of minorities in them.
Johannes Grohe, Pontificia Università della Santa Croce, Roma, and Thomas
Prügl, Universität Wien, introduce the conference with “Minorities at Church
Councils. Historical reality and ecclesiological impact.” Other presentations:
Klaus M. Girardet, Universität des Saarlandes, Saarbrücken, “Das Schicksal
Priszillians und seiner Anhänger 380 in Saragossa, 384 in Bordeaux und 385 in
Trier”; Sandra Leuenberger-Wenger, Universität Zürich, “Wechselnde Mehrheitsverhältnisse auf dem Konzil von Chalcedon 451 und ihre Bedeutung für die
Rezeption seiner Beschlüsse”; Giulio Maspero, Pontificia Università della Santa
Croce, Roma, “Origene e i suoi sostenitori nei Concili: un ammonimento per la
Dogmengeschichte”; Heinz Ohme, Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin, “Mehrheit
und Minderheit in den Anfängen des monenergetisch-monotheletischen Streites.”
October 11: Richard Price, University of London, “Minorities as Majorities at the
Councils of Constantinople III (680/681) and Constantinople IV (869/870);
Evangelos Chrysos, National and Kapodistrian University of Athens, “Synodal
Majorities and Minorities during the so-called Photian Schism”; Josef Rist, RuhrUniversität Bochum, “Universi dixerunt?—Papst Vigilius, Kaiser Justinian und die
Suche nach dem Konsens auf dem Konzil von Konstantinopel 553”; Hans-Jürgen
Becker, Universität Regensburg, “Das Mehrheitsprinzip bei kirchlichen Wahlen”;

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571

Johannes Helmrath, Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin, “Das Problem der sanior
pars auf Konzilien”; Johannes Grohe, Pontificia Università della Santa Croce,
Roma, “Ebrei e cristiani nei concili della Penisola Iberica del Tardo Medioevo”;
Luise Marion Frenkel, Universidade de São Paulo / Universität Erfurt, “The reception of the Council of Nicaea by ethnic minorities in the eastern Roman Empire”;
Thomas Graumann, Homerton College, University of Cambridge, “The ‘Minority’
at the Council of Ephesus (431)”; Alberto Ferreiro, Seattle Pacific University, “De
cura populorum et pauperum: attending to the needs of the Poor in the Gallic and
Hispano—Roman/Suevic—Visigothic Councils”; Luca Demontis, Istituto Teologico Don Orione, Roma, “La minoranza assente. I vescovi lombardi al concilio
provinciale di Aquileia del 1282”; Christina Traxler, Universität Wien, “The
Bohemian Delegation at the Council of Constance (1414–1418) and its struggle
for truth and recognition”; Thomas Woelki, Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin,
“‘Papa più uno’: Una dottrina canonistica sull’autorità rappresentativa della minoranza pro-papale al concilio di Basilea”; Zsófia Bárány, Accademia d’Ungheria in
Roma, and Tibor Klestenitz, Hungarian Academy of Sciences, Institute of History,
Budapest, “The possibilities of inter- and trans-confessionalism in the 19th century
in Hungary using the example of the Council of 1822 and the Catholic Assemblies
of the 1890s”; Claudio Anselmo, Torino, “Il comunismo al Vaticano II. Una
battaglia della minoranza conciliare.” October 12: Ansgar Frenken, Ulm, “Reform
oder Papstwahl—Das Konstanzer Konzil (1414–1418) in der Zerreißprobe”;
Sebastián Provvidente, Consejo Nacional de Investigaciones Científicas y Técnicas,
Buenos Aires, “Jean Gerson e la sua partecipazione nella causa Jean Petit durante il
Concilio di Costanza (1414–1418)”; Alberto Cadili, Westfälische Wilhelms-Universität, Münster, “Gli hussiti come (mancata) minoranza conciliare al Concilio di
Basilea (1431–1438)”; Nelson H. Minnich, The Catholic University of America,
Washington D.C., “The Minorities at Lateran V (1512–1517)”; Matteo Al Kalak,
Università degli Studi di Modena e Reggio Emilia, “Minoranza o maggioranza? I
dibattiti sulla residenza de iure divino dei vescovi al Concilio di Trento (1545–
1563)”; Klaus Schatz S.J., Philosophisch-Theologische Hochschule, Frankfurt/
St.Georgen, “Non placet oder Placet iuxta modum?—Hintergründe, Intention und
Folgen der Abstimmung der Minorität auf dem I. Vatikanischen Konzil am
13.7.1870”; Petar Vrankić, Universität Augsburg, “Il vescovo Josip Juraj Strossmayer nella minoranza conciliare al Vaticano I (1869/1870)”; Carlo Pioppi, Pontificia Università della Santa Croce, Roma, “La minoranza antinfallibilista del Concilio Vaticano I nella storiografia specializzata”; Cardinal Walter Brandmüller,
Vatican City, “Was heißt und zu welchem Ende studiert man . . . Konziliengeschichte?” October 13: Alexandra von Teuffenbach, Roma, “La voce della
minoranza nei regolamenti dei Concili Vaticani”; Agostino Marchetto, Roma, “La
minoranza al Vaticano II (1962–1965) secondo il ‘Diario’ del suo Segretario Generale, Pericle Felici”; and Gabriel Adriányi, Rheinische Friedrich-Wilhelms-Universität Bonn / Eötvös-Loránd-University, Budapest, “Die letzten zehn Diözesansynoden Ungarns (1993–1999) und die Minderheitenpastoral.”
The Pontificio Comitato di Scienze Storiche/ Pontifical Committee for Historical Science in collaboration with the Pontificia Università Lateranense/ Pontifi-

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cal Lateran University and the Academy of Hungary in Rome is sponsoring a conference on the Holy See and Catholics in the Postwar World (1918–1922) “Santa
Sede e Cattolici nel Mondo Postbellico (1918–1922),” on the occasion of the centenary of the conclusion of World War I at the University and the Academy in
Rome. November 14–16, 2018.
Introductory Session: Cardinal Pietro Parolin, Secretary of State, “Le sfide della
diplomazia vaticana dopo la Prima guerra mondiale”; Nathalie Renoton-Beine,
Université Paris-Sorbonne (Paris IV), “Benedetto XV, il Papa della pace”; Emilia
Hrabovec, Università «Comenius» Bratislava—Pontificio Comitato di Scienze
Storiche, “La Santa Sede e la nuova Cecoslovacchia: problemi e sfide nel contesto
transnazionale”; Second Session: Il papato e la Santa Sede. Antón M. Pazos, Consejo
Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, Instituto de Estudios Gallegos «Padre
Sarmiento»—Pontificio Comitato di Scienze Storiche, “La campagna dei vescovi
spagnoli in favore della partecipazione di Benedetto XV alla Conferenza di Pace.”
Philippe Chenaux, Pontificia Università Lateranense—Pontificio Comitato di
Scienze Storiche, “La Santa Sede e la Conferenza di Pace”; Roberto Regoli, Pontificia Università Gregoriana, “La Congregazione per gli Affari Ecclesiastici Straordinari e la ricostruzione postbellica”; Evgenia Tokareva, Istituto di Storia Universale—Accademia Russa delle Scienze, Corrispondente Pontificio Comitato di
Scienze Storiche/Alexey Komarov (Istituto di Storia Universale—Accademia
Russa delle Scienze), “La Santa Sede e gli Stati Baltici non cattolici: Lettonia ed
Estonia. Problemi delle relazioni bilaterali e di identità nazionale”; Giorgio Del
Zanna, Università Cattolica del Sacro Cuore, Milano, “Santa Sede, Chiesa cattolica e identità nazionali nel Vicino Oriente dopo la caduta dell’Impero
Ottomano”; Claude Prudhomme, Université Lumière Lyon 2—Pontificio Comitato di Scienze Storiche, “La «questione» delle Missioni: Benedetto XV e il ripensamento della strategia missionaria”; Mirosław Lenart, Università di Opole, “Monsignor Achille Ratti, Nunzio in Polonia e Visitatore apostolico in Russia”; Carlos
Salinas Araneda, Pontificia Università di Valparaiso—Pontificio Comitato di
Scienze Storiche, “La Santa Sede e l’America Latina dopo la Grande Guerra.”
Third Session: Il contesto politico. Johan Ickx, Archivio Storico della Segreteria
di Stato—Sezione Rapporti con gli Stati, “Monsignor Eugenio Pacelli dopo la
Prima guerra mondiale”; Adriano Dell’Asta, Università Cattolica del Sacro Cuore,
Milano, “La nascita dell’Impero sovietico”; Massimo de Leonardis, Università Cattolica del Sacro Cuore, Milano, “Società delle Nazioni e Chiesa cattolica”;
Emmanuel Tawil, Université Paris II Panthéon Assas—Corrispondente Pontificio
Comitato di Scienze Storiche, “Dallo spirito di rivincita all’emergere di un progetto
politico europeo”; Rocco Buttiglione, Pontificia Accademia delle Scienze Sociali,
“La nascita del Popolarismo cattolico in Europa.”
Fourth Session: Il contesto religioso e sociale. Andrea Ciampani, Università
LUMSA, Roma, “Santa Sede, Chiesa cattolica e questione sociale”; Gianpaolo
Romanato, Università degli Studi di Padova—Pontificio Comitato di Scienze
Storiche, “La Santa Sede e la Questione Romana”; Christian Sorrel, Université

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573

Lyon 2—Corrispondente Pontificio Comitato di Scienze Storiche, “La riconciliazione della Francia con i Cattolici”; Jan De Maeyer–Jan De Volder, Katholieke
Universiteit te Leuven, “La Chiesa in Belgio dopo la Prima guerra mondiale (19181926): tra gli ideali del Cardinale Mercier e la dura realtà”; Pierantonio Piatti, Pontificio Comitato di Scienze Storiche, “Nuovi santi per un nuovo tempo: le canonizzazioni”; Emma Fattorini, «Sapienza» Università di Roma, “Devozione,
pellegrinaggi e luoghi di memoria della Grande Guerra in Europa.”
Fifth Session: Il contesto culturale e intellettuale. Aldo Mola, Università Libera
di Bruxelles, “La Massoneria e il nuovo ordine del Mondo”; Damiano Palano, Università Cattolica del Sacro Cuore, Milano, “Il nuovo clima intellettuale cattolico”;
Michel Fourcade, Université Paul Valéry-Montpellier III, “I «grandi convertiti»”;
Riccardo Burigana, Istituto di Studi Ecumenici, Venezia, “Costruire la pace insieme.
Il movimento ecumenico, la Prima guerra mondiale e il mondo post-bellico.”
Conclusion: András Fejérdy, Centro per le Ricerche Umanistiche dell’Accademia Ungherese delle Scienze, Istituto di Storia—Universitá Cattolica Péter
Pázmány, Budapest.
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
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.

EXHIBITION
“Love is the Measure: Photos of Dorothy Day and Catholic Worker Movement” by Vivian Cherry, an exhibition taking place under the sponsorship of the
University of San Diego’s Frances G. Harpst Center for Catholic Thought and
Culture and the University Galleries from October 11–December 14, 2018. The
exhibition is held on campus at the Joan B. Kroc Institute for Peace and Justice,
Fine Art Galleries, 5998 Alcala Park San Diego, CA 92110.
Events related to the Exhibition include the appearance at its opening on
October 11 of Dorothy Day’s granddaughters, Kate and Martha Hennessy, to discuss their famous grandmother in the Mother Rosalie Hill Reading Room, Copley
Library. At the same location, the following persons will share their views on Day
and the Catholic Worker Movement: November 6, 2018, Jeff Dietrich, Los Angeles
Catholic Worker; December 5, 2018: Patrick Jordan, former managing editor of the

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Catholic Worker and former managing editor of Commonweal; and a date to be determined, Susan Dietrich and Patty Burns-Lynch, Philadelphia Catholic Worker.

FELLOWSHIPS
The Newberry’s long-standing fellowship program provides outstanding
scholars with the time, space, and community required to pursue innovative and
ground-breaking scholarship. Fellows have access to the Newberry’s wide-ranging
and rare archival materials as well as to a lively, interdisciplinary community of
researchers, curators, and librarians. Recipients are expected to advance scholarship in various fields, develop new interpretations, and expand understandings of
the past.
Detailed information on available fellowships may be found by following the
links below. For more information about the application process, visit How to Apply.
Long-Term Fellowships: Fellowships are available for four to nine months;
applications must be submitted by 11:59 PM CST on November 1. These fellowships are generally available without regard to an applicant’s place of residence and
are intended to support significant works of scholarship that draw on the strengths
of the Newberry’s collection. Long-term fellowship residencies must take place primarily during the academic year (September through May).
Short-Term Fellowships: Fellowships are available for one to two months; applications must be submitted by 11:59 PM CST on December 15. These fellowships are
intended to assist researchers who need to examine specific items in the Newberry’s
collection in order to advance a significant scholarly project. These fellowships are
mainly restricted to individuals who live outside of the Chicago metropolitan area; for
exceptions to these restrictions, please read the individual fellowship descriptions.
Publication Subvention: The Weiss-Brown Publication Subvention Award
offers support to offset the publication costs of scholarly books on European civilization before 1700; applications must be submitted by 11:59 PM CST on
December 15.

PERSONAL
On October 2, 2018, ACHA member Paul F. Grendler, University of
Toronto emeritus, received the George E. Ganss, S.J. Award “recognizing exellence in scholarly contributions to the field of Jesuit Studies” from the Institute for
Advanced Jesuit Studies of Boston College. He also delivered the Feore Family
Lecture on Jesuit Studies.

PUBLICATIONS
An investigation of the end of pagan cults in Greco-Roman Antiquity is presented in the Revue de l’histoire des religions for April–June, 2018 (Volume 235),

NOTES AND COMMENTS

575

under the title “Un dieu peut-il mourir?” After an “Avant-propos” by Karin Mackowiak and Christian Stein (pp. 203–08) we find “Les discours chrétiens sur la «fin
des cultes» publiées au Levant: l’argument des sanctuaires,” by Nicole Belayche (pp.
209–32); “Fin des temples et fin des cultes à Ostie: une histoire complexe,” by
Françoise Van Haeperen (pp. 233–53); “Quelques réflexions méthodologiques sur
les abandons de sanctuaires en Grèce antique,” by Alaya Palamidis (pp. 255–73);
“Raisons de l’abandon et du maintien de sanctuaires ruraux en Attique: quelques
cas d’étude,” by Lorenz Baumer (pp. 275–89); “Disparition de la dynastie, extinction du culte? Le cas des Lagides,” by Perrine Kossmann (pp. 291–310); “Hagnon
et Bresidas à Amphipolis: chronique d’une «fin de culte» annoncée?” by Karin
Mackowiak (pp. 311–28); “La fin des cultes et des sanctuaires païens urbains en
Belgique et en Lyonnaise (IIIe s.—début du Ve s. apr. J.-C.),” by Blaise Pichon (pp.
329–51); and “La «barbarisation» de Poséidonia et la fin des cultes grecs à Paestum,” by Michel Humm (pp. 353–72).
The Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum/Journal of Ancient Christianity has
devoted its issue for May, 2018 (Volume 22, Number 1) to the theme “Unfreundlichkeit und Polemik im Briefkorpus Augustins.” The guest editors, Christof
Müller and Christian Tornau, have provided an introduction (pp. 1–4), and
Tornau has contributed the first article, “Formen und Funktionen in den Briefen
Augustins: Versuch einer Klassifikation” (pp. 5–49). Five other articles follow:
Danuta R. Shanzer, “Backwards in high heels: Detecting Epistolary Unfriendliness
across the Abyss of Time” (pp. 50–70); Christopher Alexander Nunn, “Grußformeln als Medium der Polemik in Augustins Briefen” (pp. 71–90); Rafal Toczko,
“The Ways of Ridiculing the Opponents in Augustine’s Letters: The case of the
Donatists” (pp. 91–109); Stanislaw Adamiak, “Unfriendly and polemical elements
in Augustine’s correspondence with other clerics” (pp. 110–24); and Ingo Schaaf,
“Polemik, Unfreundlichkeit und Invektivität in den Briefen des Hieronymus am
Beispiel der jovinianischen Kontroverse” (pp. 125–50).
“The papacy and communication in the central Middle Ages” is the theme of
the articles published in the third number for 2018 (Volume 44) of the Journal of
Medieval History, for which the guest editors are Iben Fonnesberg-Schmidt,
William Kynan-Wilson, Gesine Oppitz-Trotman, and Emil Lauge Christensen.
The introduction, “Framing papal communication in the central Middle Ages,” is
provided by Gerd Althoff, Fonnesberg-Schmidt, and Kynan-Wilson (pp. 251–60).
The articles are: “Innocent III and the world of symbols of the papacy,” by Agostino
Paravicini Bagliani (pp. 261–79); “Clothing as communication? Vestments and
views of the papacy c. 1300,” by Maureen C. Miller (pp. 280–93); “Visitor experiences: art, architecture and space at the papal curia c. 1200,” by FonnesbergSchmidt (pp. 294–310); “Communication in a visual mode: papal apse mosaics,” by
Dale Kinney (pp. 311–32); “Ritual, what else? Papal letters, sermons and the
making of crusaders,” by Christophe T. Maier (pp. 333–46); “Subverting the message: Master Gregory’s reception of and response to the Mirabilia Urbis Romae,” by
Kynan-Wilson (pp. 347–64); and “Roman soil and Roman sound in Irish hagiography,” by Lucy Donkin (pp. 365–79).

576

NOTES AND COMMENTS

Estudios Eclesiásticos in its issue for April, 2018 (Volume 93, Number 365) is
the latest periodical to commemorate the 500th anniversary of the beginning of the
Reformation. Following a “Presentación” by the editor, Gabino Uríbarri Bilbao
(pp. 275–77), are six articles: Rafael Lazcano, “La figura de Lutero en su contexto
histórico” (pp. 279–333); Santiago Madrigal, S.J., “Variaciones históricas en la
imagen católica y evangélica de Martín Lutero” (pp. 335–73); Adolfo González
Montes, “¿Hacia una visión común de la Iglesia? La Iglesia en el diálogo católicoluterano” (pp. 375–98); Angelo Maffeis, “La declaración conjunta católica y luterana sobre la doctrina de la justificación” (pp. 399–416); Pablo Blanco Sarto, “La
cena del Señor a la luz de los diálogos luterano-católicos” (pp. 417–453); and Pedro
Zamora García, “La actualidad de la Reforma” (pp.455–80).
Five articles on the history of prayer, sacraments, and sacramentals are presented in the issue of U.S. Catholic Historian for winter, 2018 (Volume 36): “Glowing with the Radiance of Heaven: Roman Martyrs, American Saints, and the Devotional World of Nineteenth-Century American Catholicism,” by Michael S. Carter
(pp. 1–26); “Sick Call Sets: Material Culture and the Sacraments of the Sick and
Dying,” by Sarah K. Nytroe (pp. 27–51); “’Feasts reach them all’: The Role of the
Liturgical Year in Advancing the United States Liturgical Movement, 1926–1959,”
by Katharine E. Harmon (pp. 53–77); “From Praiseworthy to Blameworthy: The
Sacrament of Confession in Mid-Twentieth-Century America,” by Maria C.
Morrow (pp. 79–102); and “Adoration: Holy Hour Devotions and Millennial
Twenty-first-Century Identity,” by Katherine Dugan (pp. 103-27). The next issue
(spring, 2018) is devoted to the history of the role of Catholics in athletics in various
contexts: “Catholics and Sports in the United States: An Alternative Tradition,” by
Patrick S. J. Kelly (pp. 11–32); “Sport and the Assimilation of American Catholics,”
by Gerald R. Gems (pp. 33–54); “Professional Baseball’s Emerald Era: Irish
Catholics and Early Major League Baseball, 1880-1910,” by David M. Campmier
(pp. 55–73); “Becoming More Fully American: Georgetown, Notre Dame, and the
Rise of Intercollegiate Athletics in Catholic Higher Education,” by Richard Crepeau (pp. 75–100); and “Basketball, Nuns, and Civil Rights: Loyola University
Chicago Confronts Race in 1963,” by Robert Emmett Curran (pp. 141–68).
In its volume (84) for 2018 Historical Studies, “The Journal published by the
Canadian Catholic Association,” contains the following four articles: Mark G.
McGowan, “Uncomfortable Pews: The Catholic Bishops and the Making of Confederation, A Reappraisal” (pp. 7–25); Kimberly Main, “Between Charity and
Providence: Valued Virtues and Authorial Choices in Rewriting the Annals of the
Ursulines of Quebec City, 1689” (pp. 26–47); Laura J. Smith, “’A parcel of bullies
and a band of assassins’: the lay occupation of York’s St. Paul’s and Irish Catholic
participation in Upper Canadian popular political culture, 1832–3” (pp. 48–71);
and Luca Codignola, “Rome and Ea Nrlyorth America: A Transatlantic Relationship of Love and Hate, 1783–1830” (pp. 72–86). There is also a “Research Note”:
Meredith Bacola, “’Through the intercession of the Apostle of their nation’: the
context of St Boniface’s church dedication in the formation of the Archdioceses of
St. Boniface and Winnipeg” (pp. 87–100). Bound together with the English sec-

NOTES AND COMMENTS

577

tion is É tudes d’histoire religieuse for 2018 (also Volume 84), “Revue publiée par la
Société canadienne d’histoire de l’Église catholique,” which contains the following
five articles: Dominique Marquis, “Amitiés et communautés d’opinion: Le reseau
de Jules-Paul Tardivel au service de La Verité” (pp. 5–24); Charles Mercier, “Les
travaux consacrés au destin de la sociologie catholique du catholicisme en France:
considérations introductives” (pp. 25–40); Dominique Laperle, “La réception de
Vatican II à travers les lettres circulaires des supérieures générales de la Congrégation de Notre-Dame de Montréal: 1959–1970” (pp. 41–60); Mireille Estivalèzes,
“Les figures religieuses fondatrices du Québec dans les manuels scolaires de culture
religieuse: entre mémoire et perte de sens” (pp. 61–74); and Marie-Pier Beauséjour,
“Mort apprivoisée et mort inverse: l’exposition du corps au Québec à travers les
chroniques nécrologiques (1975–2015)” (pp. 75–86).

Periodical Literature
GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS
Matrimonio e famiglia nel Magistro dei pontifici del ’900. Cecilia Dau Novelli.
Rivista di Storia della Chiesa in Italia, (1, 2017), 131–45.
Orthodox Observers at the Second Vatican Council and Intra-Orthodox Dynamics. Radu Bordeianu. Theological Studies, 79 (Mar., 2018), 86–106.
The Global “Bookkeeping” of Souls: Quantification and Nineteenth-Century
Evangelical Missions. Martin Petzke. Social Science History, 42 (Summer,
2018), 183–211.

ANCIENT
Subversive Pilgrimages: Barsauma in Jerusalem. Hagith Sivan. Journal of Early
Christian Studies, 26 (Spring, 2018), 53–74.
Isaac of Antioch’s Organ and the Media of Musical Subjects. Glenn Peers. Journal
of Early Christian Studies, 26 (Spring, 2018), 75–109.
Holy Images and Holy Matter: Images in the Performance of Miracles in the Age
before Iconoclasm. Christopher R. Sweeney. Journal of Early Christian Studies,
26 (Spring, 2018), 111–38.
Between Dissent and Praise, between Sacred and Secular. Corippus against the
African background of the Three Chapters controversy. Chiara O. Tommasi
Moreschini. Rivista di Storia e Letteratura Religiosa, LIII (2, 2017), 201–30.
The Sin of Sodom in Late Antiquity. Eoghan Ahern. Journal of the History of Sexuality, 27 (May, 2018), 209–33.

MEDIEVAL
On the Road to Heaven: Taxation, Conversions, and the Coptic-Muslim Socioeconomic Gap in Medieval Egypt. Mohamed Saleh. Journal of Economic History, 78 (June, 2018), 394–434.
Irish chronicles as sources for the history of northern Britain, A.D. 660–800.
Nicholas Evans. Innes Review, 69 (May, 2018), 1–48.
La falsa donazione di Anselmo, vescovo di Aosta (923): scelte grafiche e modelli
testuali. Paolo Buffo. Rivista di Storia della Chiesa in Italia, (1, 2017), 43–54.
Fighting for Sacred Space: Relic Mobility and Conflict in Tenth-Eleventh-Century France. Kate M. Craig. Viator, 48 (1, 2017), 17–38.
578

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

579

Pope Gregory VII and Eblous II of Roucy’s Proto-Crusade in Iberia c. 1073. Lucas
Villegas-Aristizábal. Medieval History Journal, 21 (Apr., 2018), 117–40.
“Your Words Are the Truth”: Rabbi Qalonymous and Archbishop Ruthard of
Mainz. Susan L. Einbinder. Speculum, 93 (Jan., 2018), 91–100.
“He Doubted That These Things Actually Happened”: Knowing the Otherworld in
the Tractatus de Purgatorio Sancti Patricii. Michael David Barbezat. History of
Religions, 57 (May, 2018), 321–47.
I suddiaconi papali nella provincia ecclesiastica di Milano (1159–1216): appunti per
una ricerca. Caterina Cappuccio. Rivista di Storia della Chiesa in Italia, (1,
2017), 55–74.
La Commenda perpetua di Asola. il successo del falso seicentesco di un diploma
dell’Imperatore Enrico VI e i falsi di diplomi imperiali nell’opera dello storico
barocco Lodovico Mangini. Bettina Pferschy-Maleczek. Rivista di Storia della
Chiesa in Italia, (1, 2017), 177–205.
Innocenzo III e la Norvegia (1198–1216). Francesco D’Angelo. Rivista di Storia
della Chiesa in Italia, (1, 2017), 75–90.
Suffering another’s sin: proxy penance in the thirteenth century. Gavin Fort. Journal of Medieval History, 44 (2, 2018), 202–30.
La Chiesa di San Bartolomeo apostolo a Campobasso. Riflessioni sulla circolazione
di maestranze e di codici iconografici all’alba del Duecento in Molise. Maria
Cristina Rossi. Rivista di Storia della Chiesa in Italia, (1, 2017), 105–18.
Un originale della littera di canonizzazione di Chiara d’Assisi ed altri documenti
pontifici inediti dall’Archivio di Stato di Ascoli Piceno. Etienne Doublier.
Rivista di Storia della Chiesa in Italia, (1, 2017), 147–76.
The Women and the Inquisition: Peacemaking in Bologna, 1299. Melissa Vise.
Speculum, 93 (Apr., 2018), 357–86.
Transforming the landscape: Cistercian nuns and the environment in the medieval
Low Countries. Erin L. Jordan. Journal of Medieval History, 44 (2, 2018),
187–201.
Double Conversions in the Fourteenth-Century Romanian Principality of Wallachia.
Ioan Albu. Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies, 48 (May, 2018),
201–26.
The Thinking Heart of Female Spirituality and the Apostles’ Creed in A Christian
Mannes Bileeve. Nicole D. Smith. Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies, 48 (May, 2018), 227–60.
Late medieval philosophical and theological discussions of mental disorders:
Witelo, Oresme, Gerson. Vesa Hirvonen. History of Psychiatry, 29 (June,
2018), 165–86.

580

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

Perspectives (Old and New) on Late Medieval Church Art in Norway: Questioning the Hegemony of Lübeck Workshops. Noëlle L. W. Streeton. Scandinavian Studies, 90 (Spring, 2018), 50–77.
Exorcism and Religious Politics in Fifteenth-Century Florence. Justine Walden.
Renaissance Quarterly, 71 (Summer, 2018), 437–77.
Musical Heaven and Heavenly Music: At the Crossroads of Liturgical Music and
Mystical Texts. Racha Kirakosian. Viator, 48 (1, 2017), 121–44.
At the Limits of (Trans) Gender: Jesus, Mary, and the Angels in the Visionary Sermons of Juana de la Cruz (1481–1534). Jessica A. Boone. Journal of Medieval
and Early Modern Studies, 48 (May, 2018), 261–300.

SIXTEENTH CENTURY
A Grammar of Conquest: The Spanish and Arabic Reorganization of Granada
after 1492. Claire Gilbert. Past & Present, No. 239 (May, 2018), 3–40.
Raymond Peraudi in Zerbst: Corpus Christi Theater, Material Devotion, and the
Indulgence Microeconomy on the Eve of the Reformation. Glenn Ehrstine.
Speculum, 93 (Apr., 2018), 319–56.
Frederick III’s Holy Land Installation in Wittenberg during the Cultural Transition of the Reformation. Pnina Arad. Viator, 48 (1, 2017), 219–52.
Luke of Prague: Theologian of the Unity. C. Daniel Crews. Journal of Moravian
History, 18 (1, 2018), 1–46.
Rapt in the Spirit: The Ritualizing of Divine Revelation in Early Modern England.
David J. Davis. Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies, 48 (May, 2018),
341–64.
Counties without borders? Religious politics, kinship networks and the formation
of Catholic communities. James E. Kelly. Historical Research, 91 (Feb., 2018),
22–38.
L’eredità religiosa di Fanino Fanini: Integrazioni e nuovi argomenti su eresia e
Inquisizione a Faenza (1550–1570). Marco Albertoni. Rivista di Storia e Letteratura Religiosa, LIII (2, 2017), 231–56.
Matteo Ricci’s Occidental Method of Memory (Xiguo Jifa) (1596): Untranslatable
Images of a Classical Art of Memory in Ming China. Carolina Hosne. Journal
of Early Modern History, 22 (2, 2018), 137–54.
Floral Arrangements: Compilations of Saints’ Lives in Early Modern Europe.
Jonathan E. Greenwood. Journal of Early Modern History, 22 (2, 2018), 181–
203.
La chiesa e morti intestati: Il caso del regno di Napoli tra il XVI e il XVIII secolo.
Francesco Gaudioso. Rivista di Storia della Chiesa in Italia, (1, 2017), 119–29.

PERIODICAL L ITERATURE

581

SEVENTEENTH AND EIGHTEENTH CENTURIES
I pericoli e le risorse del mare. Il Mediterraneo nelle missioni gesuitiche (Napoli,
secoli XVII–XVIII). Pasquale Palmieri. Rivista di Storia e Letteratura Religiosa, LIII (2, 2017), 257–86.
The Pure Land Is No Heaven: Habian’s Myōtei Dialogues, Valignano’s Japanese
Catechism, and Discourse on the Afterlife during Japan’s Christian Century.
James Matthew Baskind. History of Religions,57 (Feb., 2018), 229–69.
Predestination and Toleration: The Dutch Republic’s Single Judicial Persecution of
Jews in Theological Context. Alexander van der Haven. Renaissance Quarterly,
71 (Spring, 2018), 165–205.
“Sub pallio . . . latens” [Hiding under the cover]: Technologies of Dissimulation in
Early-Modern Poland-Lithuania. Maria Ivanova. Polish Review, 63 (2, 2018),
26–46.
“The churchwardens have not used to meddle with anie seate”: seating plans and
parochial resistance to Laudianism in 1630s Somerset. John Reeks. Seventeenth Century, 33 (Apr., 2018), 161–81.
Areopagitica, freedom of the press, and heterodox religion in the Holy Roman
Empire. Leigh T. Penman. Seventeenth Century, 33 (Feb., 2018), 45–61.
Mediating Cultural Memory: Ireland and the “Glorious Revolution.” Leith Davis.
Studies in Eighteenth-Century Culture, 47 (2018), 185–205.
Voluntarist theology and early-modern science: The matter of divine power,
absolute and ordained. Francis Oakley. History of Science, 56 (Mar., 2018), 72–
96.
Pierre Bayle and the Secularization of Conscience. Michael W. Hickson. Journal of
the History of Ideas, 79 (Apr., 2018), 199–220.

NINETEENTH AND TWENTIETH CENTURIES
Politics, state and Church: forming the National Society, 1805–c. 1818. Akira
Iwashita. History of Education, 47 (Jan., 2018), 1–17.
The Inquisition and the Repression of Erotic and Pornographic Imagery in Early
Nineteenth-Century Madrid. François Soyer. History, 103 (Jan., 2018), 60–
81.
Select Document: W. E. Gladstone, ‘Parliamentary Doings with the Irish Church.’
Douglas Kenter and John Powell. Irish Historical Studies, 42 (May, 2018),
115–42.
Organización, elementos y estado del espacio cercado del monasterio de San Julián
de Samos a través de una escritura de toma de razón de 1836. Estefanía López
Salas. Studia Monastica, 59 (1, 2017), 163–87.

582

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

Maynooth, the ‘Godless colleges’ and liberal imperial thought in the 1840s. Justin
Biel. Irish Historical Studies, 42 (May, 2018), 26–49.
For the greater credibility: Jesuit science and education in modern Portugal (1858–
1910). Francisco Malta Romeiras. History of Science, 56 (Mar., 2018), 97–119.
The Rise of the Science of Religion and the Separation from Traditional Protestant
Theology in Hungary: The Impact of Scholten, Tiele, Pfleiderer on the Scholarly Work of Ödön Kovács. Abraham Kovács. Numen, 65 (2–3, 2018), 232–
55.
The Irish Church Disestablishment Act (1869) and the general synod of the
Church of Ireland (1871): the art and structure of education reform. Christopher F. McCormack. History of Education, 47 (May, 2018), 303–20.
The Mahatma and the Missionary: Gandhi’s conflicting accounts of his first
encounter with Christianity. Leah Renold. Journal of Colonialism and Colonial
History, 19 (Spring, 2018).
‘For good, God, and the Empire’: French Franciscan Sisters in Ethiopia, 18961937. Pierre Guidi. History of Education, 47 (May, 2018), 384–98.
Congrégations féminines et “éducation populaire”: l’exemple des sœurs de SaintVincent-de-Paul avant les lois Ferry. Matthieu Brejon de Lavergnée. Revue
d’histoire du XIX e siècle, 55 (2, 2017), 93–107.
The 1910 Edinburgh World Missionary Conference and comparative colonial education. Felicity Jensz. History of Education 47 (May, 2018), 399–414.
The Moscow Council of 1917-1918. Christophe D’Aloisio. International Journal
for the Study of the Christian Church, 18 (1, 2018), 31–47.
Baptisten und 1918/19. Zum Verhältnis von Freikirche and Staat in der Gründungsphase der Weimarer Republik. Imanuel Baumann. Historische Zeitschrift,
301 (1, 2018), 354–95.
Dom Samuel Gregory Ould OSB (1864–1939), liturgist and musician. Michael T.
R. B. Turnbull. Innes Review, 69 (May, 2018), 70–89.
Classical and Catholic Political Economy: A Re-examination of Matteo Liboratore’s Principii de Economia Politica. Giacomo Costa. History of Political Economy, 50 (1, 2018), 191–217.
Christianisation, Frenchification and Malgachisation: mission education during
war and rebellion in French Madagascar in the 1940s. Ellen Vea Rosnes. History of Education, 46 (Nov., 2017), 747–67.
Protestants, Peace and the Apocalypse: The USSR’s Religious Cold War, 1947–62.
Miriam Dobson. Journal of Contemporary History, 53 (Apr., 2018), 361–90.
American Evangelicals and African Politics: The Archives of the Fellowship Foundation, 1960s–1987. Nancy J. Jacobs. History in Africa, 45 (2018), 473–82.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

583

The Fight for Family Planning in Spain during Late Francoism and the Transition
to Democracy, 1965–79. Teresa Ortiz-Gómez. Journal of Women’s History, 30
(Summer, 2018), 38–62.
Religion and politics in post-1991 Ethiopia. Serawit Bekele Debele. Religion, State
and Society, 46 (1, 2018), 26–42.
Volunteering, social ministry and ethical-behavioural attitudes in post-Soviet Russian Orthodox Christianity. Boris Knorre. Religion, State and Society, 46 (1,
2018), 43–63

AMERICAN
Protest and Participation: Reconsidering the Quaker Slave Trade in Early Eighteenth-Century Philadelphia. Jason Daniels. Pennsylvania History, 85 (Spring,
2018), 239–65.
The Roots of the Contemporary Moravian Church in North America. David A.
Schattschneider. Journal of Moravian History, 18 (1, 2018), 47–76.
The Textual History of the 1742 Bethlehem Diary. Paul Peucker. Journal of Moravian History, 18 (1, 2018), 102–12.
The Life and Times of Philipp Anton Segesser, S.J. Heiko Schmuck. Journal of the
Southwest, 60 (Spring, 2018), 115–252.
“Where the Scriptures Speak, We Speak”: The Pennsylvania Frontier and the Origins of the Disciples of Christ. Todd M. Brenneman. Pennsylvania History, 85
(Spring, 2018), 145–66.
The Forgotten Wife: Roxana Not and Missionary Marriage in Bombay. Emily
Conroy-Krutz. Early American Studies, 16 (Winter, 2018), 64–90.
Free Blacks, Quakers, and the Underground Railroad in Piedmont, North Carolina. Adrienne M. Israel. North Carolina Historical Review, 95 (Jan., 2018),
1–28.
“Business sense if not souls”: Boosters and Religion in Colorado Springs, 18711909. GregoryAtkins. Journal of the Gilded Age and Progressive Era, 17 (Jan.,
2018), 77–97.
The Blessed Channel of Work: Gender, Power and the Union of the Women’s
Foreign Missionary Societies in the Religious Society of Friends. Isaac Barnes
May. Quaker History, 107 (Spring, 2018), 27–53.
Polish Souls in North America for Christ: Polish Baptist Churches in Rochester,
New York, and Wilmington, Delaware. Kathleen Urbanic and Thomas
Duszak. Polish American Studies, 75 (Spring, 2018), 68–95.
Commercializing the Sacred Office: Sexual Revolution and the Scandal of the
Modern Marrying Parson, 1895–1930. Paul Emory Putz. Journal of the Gilded
Age and Progressive Era, 17 (Jan., 2018), 56–76.

584

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

Contesting Civil Religion: Religious Responses to American Patriotic Nationalism, 1919–1929. Michael Lienesch. Religion and American Culture, 28
(Winter, 2018), 92–134.
The 1939 Dickinson-Belskie Birth Series Sculptures: The Rise of Modern Visions
of Pregnancy, the Roots of Modern Pro-Life Imagery, and Dr. Dickinson’s
Religious Case for Abortion. Rose Holz. Journal of Social History, 51
(Summer, 2018), 980–1022.
Globalising the U.S. Christian Right: Transnational Interchange During the Cold
War. Markku Ruotsila. International History Review, 40 (1, 2018), 133–54.
Centers and Margins: Exploring Falwell’s and King’s Constructions of God as a
Way to Understand Religious Tensions in a Predominantly White, Evangelical History Classroom. Esther June Kim. History Teacher, 51 (May, 2018),
427–44.
Bureau Clergyman: How the FBI Colluded with an African-American Televangelist to Destroy Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Lerone Martin. Religion and
American Culture, 28 (Winter, 2018), 1–51.
The Evolution of American Airport Chapels: Local Negotiations in Religiously
Pluralistic Contexts. Wendy Cadge. Religion and American Culture, 28
(Winter, 2018), 135–65.

LATIN AMERICAN
Our Lady of Guadalupe: model of inculturation. Ambrose Mong. International
Journal for the Study of the Christian Church, 18 (1, 2018), 67–83.

Other Books Received
Augustine, Saint. The City of God (De civitate dei): Abridged Study Edition. Trans.
William Babcock. (Hyde Park, NY: New City Press. 2018. Pp. lx, 555. $34.95
paperback.)
Cashore, Matt, and Kerry Temple. This Place Called Notre Dame. (Notre Dame, IN:
University of Notre Dame Press. 2018. Pp. x, 182. $45.00 cloth.)
Lewis, Ralph, M.D. Finding Purpose in a Godless World: Why We Care Even if the
Universe Doesn’t. (Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books. 2018. Pp. 352. $26.00
cloth.)

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