Hugh McLeod THE CATHOLIC HISTORICAL REVIEW VOL. 108 SUMMER 2022 NO. 3 Journeys in Church History Chalk and Cheese: Moving between Historical Cultures HUGH MCLEOD* I was born in 1944. My parents came from Leeds, but my mother, who had been an English teacher, stopped when she had children, and was living in High Wycombe, and my father was with the Royal Marines in Belgium. His first job after the war was in London and we lived there until 1952, when he got a job in a research laboratory of the Plessey electronics company. This was in Cobham, and we moved to a Surrey village, where my parents continued to live until after I had left home. From there I would travel into Guildford, where from 1955 to 1962 I attended the Royal Grammar School. I was fortunate to grow up in a home with lots of books. My mother had the classics of English literature, as well as modern novels. My father had books on politics, religion and history. I think there were four formative moments in my childhood. The first was the discovery of history. From as early as when I was seven years old, there is a photograph of me reading A Child’s History of England. This history focused heavily on the medieval period and the author liked a good story. The book was arranged so that the story was on one side and an illustration on the other; I can still remember the pictures of the White Ship sailing to its doom and Ranulf Flambard escaping from the Tower of London. A second important moment concerns my father’s enthusiasm for sports and games of all kinds, especially cricket and chess. By the age of nine I was a cricket fanatic, and * Hugh McLeod is emeritus professor of church history in the Department of History of the University of Birmingham. His email address is: D.H.MCLEOD@bham.ac.uk. 445 446 JOURNEYS IN CHURCH HISTORY though it took longer to become equally keen on chess, the passion lasted longer because I was a better chess player than cricketer. The third was my interest in politics, which I can date to a specific event, namely Suez. I became a supporter of the Labour Party, which I have remained. The fourth, which developed more gradually, was my growing interest in Christianity from about the age of fifteen. My parents were regular churchgoers, and at various times we went to Congregationalist, Presbyterian, and Anglican churches, though they eventually settled on the Church of England, partly because of the inspiring preaching of the rector of the village church. One thing that strengthened my own interest was studying the Reformation at school and wanting to learn more about the specific teachings of the various churches and the differences among them. Another was the teaching of Mr. Malleson, the senior English teacher, who also taught Religious Education, and who awakened my interest in the Bible, as well as pointing me to such books as William James’s Varieties of Religious Experience. As a student at Cambridge, I attended the college chapel, as well as sometimes going to the evening services at Great St Mary’s, where there were often visiting celebrity preachers. I can remember queuing for a service where John Robinson was due to preach, only to be turned away because the church was already full. In the 1970s I started attending Quaker meetings and I became a member of the Society of Friends in 1978. I have remained active in local meetings, first in Birmingham and more recently in Derby. At school, History was always my favourite subject and I never doubted that I wanted to study it at university. I was encouraged by the senior History teacher, the sardonic Douglas Mark Sturley, and his enthusiastic assistant, Dr. B. Gordon Blackwood. Sturley had a mission to suppress any signs of naïve idealism in his pupils. I remember an essay on the Enlightened Despots where he had crossed out the word “ruthless,” replacing it with “realistic,” and had changed “he had no scruples” to “he had no illusions.” Before I went to Trinity Hall, Cambridge, in 1963, I spent several months in France and Switzerland. My parents paid for me to do a language course in Paris, for which I shall always be grateful, as French historians have had a big influence on my work. In Switzerland I worked on a small farm, together with two generations of the farming family and a Spanish worker, Luis. This did little for my Swiss German, as we were working too hard to do much chatting, but it was an interesting insight into an older way of life. There was little mechanization and hours of work were long, though with frequent breaks for meals or snacks. During breakfast the patriarch read a passage from the Bible. HUGH MCLEOD 447 Trinity Hall was best known as a nursery of lawyers, but there was a strong group of History students, including John Pollard, the historian of the papacy. Two of the tutors, Nick Richardson and John Nurser, had a significant influence on me. Both were individualists who would not have been at home in the contemporary world of regular “assessments” of teaching, “reviews” of research and counting of publications. I found Nick, an historian of modern French politics, an inspiring teacher. He made me want to be a professional historian and he was the first person to suggest that I could be one. John, who was also an Anglican priest and whose major book was on the religious background to the Universal Declaration of Human Rights,1 probably had more influence than anyone else on the direction my research would take. He recommended books more because they were interesting than because they would help us to pass the exams, and one in particular was important for me, Churches and the Working Classes by Inglis.2 Inglis had valuable things to say about “the churches,” but much less about “the working classes.” John was also interested in the emerging sub-discipline of the sociology of religion. He invited me to seminars in which some of the leading figures in the field took part, and he also recommended the work of Gabriel Le Bras and other pioneers of French sociologie religieuse. After graduating in 1966 I was determined to register for a PhD if I could find a supervisor. I wanted to work on some aspect of English religion in the eighteenth or nineteenth century. I spoke to several possible supervisors before being accepted by George Kitson Clark who was then close to retirement but had long been the leading historian of Victorian England at Cambridge. He lived in a suite of rooms above the Great Gate at Trinity College, in one of which his research seminar was held every Wednesday evening. Many of his students had worked on aspects of Victorian religion and Cambridge was probably the leading centre for this growing field of research. My contemporaries were Sheridan Gilley and Stuart Mews, and a little before me had been David Thompson, Ted Royle, Edward Norman and Clyde Binfield. So I was fortunate to be part of a large group of students working in related areas, as well as having access through the seminar to work on many aspects of nineteenth and early twentieth century Britain and Ireland. There was then no formal training of historians at Cambridge and no requirement to take a Master’s 1. John Nurser, For All People and All Nations: Christian Churches and Human Rights (Geneva, 2005). 2. Kenneth Stanley Inglis, Churches and the Working Classes in Victorian England (London, 1963). 448 JOURNEYS IN CHURCH HISTORY before going on to a doctorate. The training came through one-to-one meetings with the supervisor and through participation in the weekly seminar, where, as well as papers by research students, there were frequent visiting speakers, most often from the USA. Kitson Clark had a “sink or swim” approach to supervision. His job was to show students when they were on the wrong path, but it was the student’s job to find the right path. In my own case I almost despaired of receiving the green light from him. When it finally came, I think it was because he recognized that I had found my own voice. My doctoral thesis was entitled “Membership and Influence of the Churches in Metropolitan London 1885–1914.” I had two key sources: the Religious Census of London in 1903-4 which attempted to count attendance by men, women and children at every church or synagogue in the metropolis,3 and the notebooks compiled by Charles Booth and his assistants while preparing his monumental Life and Labour of the People in London.4 I also used every autobiography I could find by those living in London at the time. The main theme was the influence of class on the very different patterns of religious practice found in the various districts of the city. My studies started with difficulty, as I failed to win a scholarship in my first year. I had to piece together income from a variety of sources, mainly various kinds of teaching, which inevitably impinged on the time available for research. I must nonetheless have received a favourable report from my supervisor, as I gained funding at the start of my second year. Kitson came from a dynasty of Leeds industrialists. Like many such, they had been Unitarians and Liberals in the nineteenth century and moved to being Anglican and Conservative in the twentieth. Kitson was staunchly Anglican and one of his major books was focused on the involvement of Victorian clergy in social reforming movements.5 He gave short shrift to the sniping at the clergy which was commonly practised by graduate students, and even by some distinguished historians, at the time. He once accused me, probably rightly, of Nonconformist bias. The agenda for my thesis came from Inglis’s book and the aim of showing not only what the churches were doing, but what the working classes were doing and how 3. Richard Mudie-Smith, ed., The Religious Life of London (London, 1904). 4. Charles Booth, Life and Labour of the People in London, 17 vols. [Ser. III: “Religious Influences”] (London, 1902–3). 5. George Kitson Clark, Churchmen and the Condition of England, 1832–1885 (London, 1973). HUGH MCLEOD 449 this compared with what those in other classes were doing. History from the bottom up was the contemporary fashion, and it was one which I aspired to follow. There were various influences on the ways in which I approached this task. From Kitson Clark there was a broadly sympathetic understanding of the clergy of all denominations—which did not preclude criticism of the class perspective of many Anglicans. I attended the Past & Present conference on “Popular Religion” held in July 1966, just as I was thinking about my field of research. There I saw in action many of the key figures in the social history of religion and in social history more generally, and I was particularly inspired by John Kent’s paper on revivalism.6 I was also fascinated by the geographical patterns of religious practice revealed by students of Britain’s 1851 Religious Census. And, like most historians of religion in the later ‘60s, I was interested in the causes of secularization and the debates between British sociologists of religion, notably Bryan Wilson, arch-exponent of the Secularization Thesis, and David Martin, who at that time was pleading for the “elimination” of the concept of secularization.7 David was to be the external examiner for my thesis and remained both a friend and my initial contact with the world of sociology. My career as a university historian was made possible by three strokes of good fortune. The first was an appointment as an Arts Faculty Research Fellow (what would now be called a Post-Doc) in the University of Birmingham. It was based in the Department of Modern History, and in January 1970 I came to meet my new head of department, a diplomatic historian. He asked about my research, and I explained that I was working on the relationship between religion and social class in Victorian cities. He listened patiently, and then said that this was very interesting, but he could not see its historical significance. If he had waited a few years, he would have discovered that this apparently recherché theme had become almost fashionable. Between 1974 and 1976 there was a flood of publications on this and related themes.8 The second stroke of good fortune was the acceptance of a revised version of my thesis for publication, with the title Class and Religion in the late Victorian City.9 It came from a relatively new 6. Which later fed into John Kent, Holding the Fort: Studies in Victorian Revivalism (London, 1978). 7. Bryan R. Wilson, Religion in Secular Society (London 1966); David Martin, “Towards Eliminating the Concept of Secularisation,” in: Julius Gould, ed., Penguin Survey of the Social Sciences (Harmondsworth, 1965), 169–82. 8. Among the most notable being Robert Moore, Pit-men, Preachers and Politics (Cambridge, 1974); James Obelkevich, Religion and Rural Society: South Lindsey, 1825–75 (Oxford 1976); Stephen Yeo, Religion and Voluntary Organisations in Crisis (London, 1976). 9. (London, 1974). 450 JOURNEYS IN CHURCH HISTORY publisher, Croom Helm, and was one of the earliest books in their social history series. The title was suggested by the publisher, who said that “Every word in that title will sell.” At the time, anything to do with Victorian Britain was likely to be popular—though the vogue was for books which included some scandal, aimed at challenging the upright and uptight Victorian stereotype. But all aspects of social history were thriving, and urban and religious history were among the most flourishing branches. For me the most important aspect of Birmingham was the Social History Seminar, started by Dorothy Thompson, the historian of Chartism, and Richard Johnson, then best known for his work on the history of education. When Richard’s interests moved elsewhere, I became the co-convenor. Dorothy had a talented school of graduate students, many of them working on Birmingham history. The seminar offered a lively programme both of home-grown and visiting speakers and many of my own papers started there. In view of Dorothy’s combative temperament, it was a venue which some speakers wished they had avoided. The orthodoxy of the time tended to be that religion was all about “social control,” so I had to get used to responding to that line of argument. When I think of the schools of historical writing which influenced my first book, I would mention the drive, very influential in Britain at the time, to count anything that can possibly be counted, including church membership and attendance, and their correlates. I have never in later books included so many statistical tables. Three very different historians also influenced my work. First, there was John Foster, whose work was hotly debated in Birmingham’s Social History Seminar.10 I was fascinated by his account of working-class radicalism in early nineteenth-century Oldham, but what influenced me more directly was his use of marriage registers as a historical source. Foster’s interest was in how far the choice of partner reflected the emergence of a clearly defined working class; mine was in the geographical distance between those marrying. I argued that this reflected three kinds of community in London, one “neighborhood-based,” one “district-based” and one “national and international,” with each being related to different patterns of religious practice. Second, there was Clyde Binfield, whose doctoral thesis was the most entertaining I had ever read. I was particularly struck by a series of articles he published in the later ’60s on the internal life of Nonconformist chapels in the later nineteenth cen10. John Foster, “Capitalism and Class Consciousness in Earlier Nineteenth-Century Oldham” (PhD thesis, University of Cambridge, 1967); id., Class Struggle in the Industrial Revolution (London, 1974). HUGH MCLEOD 451 tury, and especially the tensions arising from the liberalizing of theology. These had an important influence on my account of the Victorian “crisis of faith.”11 Third was the French historian Christiane Marcilhacy and her books on the diocese of Orléans in the mid-nineteenth century, in which she tried to construct a “collective mentality” of the various sections of the population.12 I tried to do the same for London. I can see in retrospect that this “mentality” is too rigidly defined and pays insufficient attention to the diversity of thinking and behaving within a particular milieu, in spite of much that is shared. Around 1900, most London Catholics were working class and most were Irish-born or (more often) of Irish descent. My main discussion of Catholics was in a chapter on “Working-Class London.” Catholics were more concentrated than members of any other denomination, except for the Jews, the major parishes being in areas close to the river Thames and the docks. My main claim was that Catholicism “was the only form of religion that integrated its adherents into a working-class environment, instead of making them stand out from it.” I can see now that this claim was too blunt, but it makes the point that although attendance at Mass was much lower than in Ireland, and lower too than in New York or, probably, Liverpool, it was higher than the rate of church-going among working class Protestants and, in particular, many non-practising Catholics retained a strong Catholic identity and a strong respect for the clergy. So a large part of this (relatively brief) discussion focused on the relationship between priests and people. Reflecting the publisher’s view that the book would chime with contemporary concerns, it was more widely reviewed than any book I have written since, and the tenor of the reviews also varied more widely. I appreciated the positive reviews by expert critics, such as that by Peter Marsh in the American Historical Review, but there were also more negative evaluations, such as that by Robert Currie in the English Historical Review. I enjoyed recently rereading the book, though there are parts which I would write differently if I were doing it now. My style of writing has evolved in the years following—partly in response to the critics, especially those who 11. Clyde Binfield, “Nonconformity in the Eastern Counties, 1840–1885” (PhD thesis, University of Cambridge PhD, 1965); id., “The Thread of Disruption,” Transactions of the Congregational Historical Society, 20, no. 5 (1967), 156–66; id., “Chapels in Crisis,” Transactions of the Congregational Historical Society, 20, no. 9 (1968), 237–54. 12. Christiane Marcilhacy, Le diocèse d’Orléans sous l’épiscopat de Mgr Dupanloup (Paris, 1963); id., Le diocèse d’Orléans au milieu du XIXe siècle (Paris, 1964). 452 JOURNEYS IN CHURCH HISTORY were friendly critics. My later books have been more disciplined and sharply focused—though possibly less fun. I cut out most of the jokes, as well as the long footnotes. I was attentive to Clyde Binfield’s comment that I had stereotyped the Baptists, and I recognized a tendency to stereotype Evangelicals more generally. In subsequent work, I have seen it as part of my job as an historian to present all religious groups—and indeed political groups—in terms which they themselves could have recognized and to avoid loaded language. After a year in which I had a Temporary Lectureship in the Department of History at Warwick University, a third stroke of good fortune came in 1973. I was appointed to a Lectureship in Church History in Birmingham’s Department of Theology. The competition was strong and the appointing committee was divided, but I had the support of John Gordon Davies, the formidable head of department. He was good at getting his way. This was a turning-point for me in three ways. It meant that I had secure employment. It also meant that I would continue in religious history, whereas if I had stayed in the History Department it is possible that my research might have taken new directions. And it also meant that my historical interests broadened chronologically and geographically. I taught a course on the Reformation, and also lectured and gave seminars on a wide range of nineteenth and twentieth century themes, including slavery, apartheid and religious persecution in the USSR. It also broadened my knowledge of contemporary religion. Students taking a degree in Theology or taking Theology courses came from a wide variety of religious backgrounds, including not only all the familiar forms of religion and irreligion, but others which I had not encountered before, notably Pentecostalists and, in later years, many Muslims, as well as at least one Pagan and one Satanist. My first article was strongly influenced by French sociologie religieuse13 and arose from my fascination with geographical patterns of religious observance.14 Basing myself partly on the British Religious Census of 1851 and partly on various local censuses of attendance conducted by newspapers in 1880s and ’90s, I showed that urban church-going reflected patterns of church-going in the surrounding countryside—not perhaps sur13. Especially Fernand Boulard and Jean Rémy, Pratique religieuse urbaine et régions culturelles (Paris, 1968). 14. Hugh McLeod, “Class, Community and Region: The Religious Geography of Nineteenth-Century England,” in: Michael Hill, ed., Sociological Yearbook of Religion in Britain, 6 (London, 1973), 29–72. HUGH MCLEOD 453 prising, but it ran contrary to the then current assumption that churchgoing was low in larger towns and high in smaller towns. I also broke down larger towns into smaller areas, showing the expected class differences, but also that some denominations, such as the Primitive Methodists, which had a relatively small national membership, nevertheless had a significant presence in working class districts of some cities. I showed a draft to my colleague, Dorothy Thompson, who said that the paper was “convincing but not very interesting.” But her husband, Edward Thompson, was more encouraging. He was interested in my findings on working class districts of cities, and said the paper was “promising.” The most helpful suggestion by reviewers of Class and Religion was that oral history might offer the best way of approaching some of the questions I had tried to answer in the book. Several of my subsequent publications have drawn on oral history, the first being my contribution to a volume on the lower middle class of Victorian and Edwardian Britain.15 I made considerable use here of the transcripts of interviews conducted in two major oral history projects, one led by Elizabeth Roberts and focusing on the working class in North Lancashire between 1890 and 1930, and the other a more ambitious project being conducted by a large team, led by Paul Thompson and Thea Vigne. It focused on the Edwardian period and it covered all social classes and most regions of Britain. The former project benefited from Roberts’s in-depth knowledge of the region and her ability to empathise with interviewees; the quality of interviewing in the latter project was more uneven, but its strength lay in its broader scope and the possibilities for comparison between regions. Later, in preparing a short book for the Economic History Society,16 I read transcripts of all of the interviews with those who had grown up in working-class families in the cities and industrial regions of Britain. Doing this persuaded me that the church-going minority in the Victorian and Edwardian working class was larger than I (or indeed most historians—Elizabeth Roberts17 being a notable exception) had realized, and that there were also considerable regional differences. For example, church-going was considerably higher in the textile towns of Lancashire and West Yorkshire (as well of course in South Wales) than in, for instance, London or the North-East of England. 15. Hugh McLeod, “White-Collar Values and the Role of Religion,” in: Geoffrey Crossick, ed., The Lower Middle Class in Britain (London, 1977), 61–84. 16. Hugh McLeod, Religion and the Working Class in Nineteenth-Century Britain (Basingstoke, 1984). 17. Elizabeth Roberts, Working Class Barrow and Lancaster, 1890–1930 (Lancaster, 1976). 454 JOURNEYS IN CHURCH HISTORY The interviews also permitted a more nuanced view of the varieties of belief and unbelief among non-church-goers and differences between men and women. I explained these findings in a paper at a History Workshop in 1982, which was later published.18 In the ’80s and ’90s, other historians took these lines of argument considerably further than I had done.19 My teaching at Birmingham provided the basis for my second book, Religion and the People of Western Europe 1789–1970,20 Which was commissioned by Oxford University Press as a follow-up to John Bossy’s Christianity in the West 1400–1700. Beginning with the French Revolution and ending with the 1960s, I looked at the countryside, the urban middle class and the working class. So class was still central, though I also looked at the popularity in the nineteenth century of Evangelicalism and Ultramontanism, the emergence of Religions of Humanity, and differences between the religion of women and men, which was a relatively new theme at the time. The book was important for me in making my work known in other parts of Europe. In 1997 I published a revised version, which took the story up to 1989.21 Whereas in my first book the section on Catholics was relatively brief, here they took centre-stage. I began with the conflict between the French Revolution and the Catholic Church, and the grass-roots revival in the later 1790s. I argued that in the early decades of the nineteenth century there was a resurgence of ‘enthusiastic’ forms of religion among both Catholics and Protestants. But while this led to the splintering of Protestantism and a multiplication of ’sects’ outside the State Churches, the spread of Ultramontane forms of piety greatly strengthened the Catholic Church, especially in the countryside and to a lesser extent in cities too. Older pilgrimages revived and in the middle and later years of the century many new pilgrimages began, initially in the face of some scepticism on the part of many bishops, but eventually with their active support. The later years of the century also saw the emergence of what came to be called the ‘Catholic ghetto.’ I argued that this was only the most striking example of a wider phenomenon in later nineteenth-century Europe, as religious and 18. Hugh McLeod, “New Perspectives on Victorian Working-Class Religion,” Oral History Journal, 14 (1986), 31–49. 19. See, for example, Mark Smith, Religion in Industrial Society: Oldham and Saddleworth, 1740–1865 (Oxford, 1995); Sarah C. Williams, Religious Belief and Popular Culture in Southwark, 1880–1939 (Oxford 1999). 20. (Oxford, 1981). 21. Hugh McLeod, Religion and the People of Western Europe, 1789–1989 (Oxford, 1997). HUGH MCLEOD 455 political (notably Socialist) sub-cultures formed with the purpose of strengthening a religious or political identity and insulating the faithful from hostile influences—most often that of the Liberal bourgeoisie.22 Across several generations, from about the 1870s to the 1960s, the Church succeeded in many countries in building a Catholic world, underpinned by numerous organisations, sometimes including political parties. Meanwhile I was working on my biggest project, which, after many years of research and of publishing delays appeared with the title Piety and Poverty: Working Class Religion in Berlin, London and New York 1870– 1914.23 If, as I have said, I moved between my first and my second book towards a more focused and disciplined style of writing, between my second and third major publications, I came increasingly to highlight complexity and nuance, rather than the crispness and clarity I aimed for in Religion and the People. Piety and Poverty is a favourite of mine, partly because of the memories it brings back and the amount of work that went into it, but it has had less impact than some of my other books. This may be because it was conceived in the ’70s and published in the ’90s, by which time the themes handled in the book were no longer fashionable. For example, I put a lot of effort into obtaining data on the social class of church-goers, which had been a hot topic in the ’70s, but no longer aroused so much interest. Nonetheless I think the book successfully combined answers to broad questions about urban and working-class religion—questioning, for example some influential views of the relationship between religion and the experience of poverty, including Marx’s claim that religion acted as “the opium of the people”; local detail about the three cities; and, in the chapters headed “Male and Female” and “Religion in a Half-Secular Society,” examination of the religious lives of individuals. In comparing the three cities, I was struck by the wide differences between them, most clearly reflected in the church-going statistics. According to my estimates, 38% of non-Jewish adults attended a church in Manhattan borough on the day of a census in 1902, as against 22% in London and about 6% in Berlin at around the same time. The interesting point is that Protestant church-going was only slightly higher in New York than in London: the difference is explained by the fact that Catholics were both more numerous and more observant in New York. According to my 22. See also Hugh McLeod, “Building the ‘Catholic Ghetto’: Catholic Organisations, c. 1870–1914,” in: William J. Sheils and Diana Wood, eds., Voluntary Religion (Oxford 1986), 411–44. 23. (New York, 1996). 456 JOURNEYS IN CHURCH HISTORY estimates, 50% of adult Catholics were counted at a service and the figure for the Irish may have been even higher, since there is evidence to suggest that Catholics from the other major ethnic groups in the city, notably the Italians, were less regular in attendance. As in Britain, Irish Catholic identity was strengthened by memories of Ireland, by support for the Nationalist cause, and by the experience of or memory of discrimination in their new home, embodied in the notorious message that “No Irish need apply.” The difference between America and Europe was that by 1900 the Irish in New York, as in other American cities, though still predominantly working class, enjoyed considerable power through their leading role in the city’s Democratic Party as well as in the Archdiocese, reinforced by the frequent links between clergy and politicians. In districts like the Middle West Side of Manhattan with dense communities of immigrants from Ireland and descendants of immigrants, the clergy enjoyed immense status and influence, supported by parish organisations of every kind and a public opinion which was loyal to the Church. Women tended to be more devout than men, and took a more active role in maintaining a Catholic atmosphere in the home, but there was also a male piety sustained by the Holy Name societies, as well as the numerous Catholic sporting organisations. I remained at Birmingham until my retirement in 2010, after which I continued to supervise my doctoral students until the successful completion of their theses. In 2004, following some internal reorganization within the School of Historical Studies, of which Theology and Religion (as it had become) was then a part, I moved back to where I had started: the Department of Modern History. I was twice short-listed for posts elsewhere, at Edinburgh, where Jay Brown was appointed, and at Harvard, where Bob Scribner was appointed. But I am happy to have spent so long at Birmingham—not least because of the History of Religion Seminar, which began in the early ‘90s in the Prince of Wales pub in Moseley, where I met with John Edwards, a historian of late medieval Spain and of the Reformation era, and Mike Snape, now best known for his work on religion and war. Our original idea was that the seminar would cover all aspects and periods of religious history. Birmingham at the time did have great strength in the history of Christianity and was increasingly strong in the History of Islam too, and we heard papers from colleagues on pre-historic and Roman religion, as well as medieval Islam. But although we had a hard core of regulars, including, as well as ourselves, Graeme Murdock and Werner Ustorf, we found that many people would only come to papers which were directly relevant to their own research, so the original idea tended to get lost. We met in the evenings in one another’s homes and a glass of wine or juice was served before we started. The seminar was notable for the friendly spirit HUGH MCLEOD 457 that is often lacking in more formal seminars, and it continued until Mike left to take up a chair of Anglican Studies at Durham in 2015. In the later 1990s I was working on two works of synthesis, both commissioned by editors of series. The first was Religion and Society in England 1850–1914.24 Among other things, it gave me an opportunity to return to the ‘crisis of faith’ in the later Victorian years. I had given this extended, but perhaps one-sided treatment in Class and Religion, focusing on how the ‘crisis’ was experienced, rather than on the broader social processes at work. Here I tried to redress the balance. It also marked the beginning of my interest in the relationship between religion and sport to which I shall return later. The second was Secularisation in Western Europe, 1848–1914,25 commissioned by my colleague John Breuilly for a series which he edited. John rightly suggested that starting in 1848 made more sense than starting in 1870, as I had intended. The revolutions of 1848 were clearly crucially important in Germany and France, though less so in England, the third country to be discussed in the book. My aim was to produce a socialhistorical counterpart to the history of ideas offered by Owen Chadwick in his well-known book on secularization in Europe.26 I think I succeeded in this, but the book was not widely reviewed, and probably remains less read than Chadwick’s book—though a translation into Czech suggests that the readership is not confined to the UK. My main point was that, whereas historians and especially sociologists often think of a unified secularizing process, the extent of secularization at any time has varied not only between neighbouring countries but between different areas of life. In the second half of the nineteenth century, the secularization of individual belief and practice had already made considerable progress, especially in France, but the role of religion in politics remained considerable; religion was an important component not only of national identities, but also of the individual identities of many people who were far from devout, and religion was deeply embedded in popular culture, especially in traditionally Catholic countries. Until the 1960s there was a balance between the secularizing tendencies and the continuing strength of religion in many areas of society and of individual lives. 24. [Social History in Perspective] (Basingstoke, 1996). 25. [European Studies Series] [(Basingstoke, 2000). 26. Owen Chadwick, The Secularization of the European Mind in the Nineteenth Century (Cambridge 1975). 458 JOURNEYS IN CHURCH HISTORY Conferences have played a large part in my academic life, both because many of my publications began as conference papers,27 and probably would not have been written but for this invitation, and because most of my academic collaborations began with meetings at a conference. As examples of the latter, I met Jeff Cox for the first time at the History Workshop on Religion and Society held at Friends’ House London in 1983, which was probably the largest gathering ever held of those interested in the social history of religion, and I also had a meeting there with Bob Scribner. This led to my collaboration with him in a series on “Christianity and Society in the Modern World,” which included many notable books on the period from the Reformation to now.28 The most widely read, no doubt, was Callum Brown’s The Death of Christian Britain,29 to which I shall return later. I had first met Callum at the Social History Conference in 1981, and I first met David Hempton, with whom I would also later work, at a conference of the Ecclesiastical History Society in the later ’80s. While there are good reasons why academics might reduce their travel to distant parts of the world, the requirement to meet online has severely reduced the value of the conferences held during the covid pandemic. One, based in the Netherlands, in which I took part, was a disaster because of technical problems. The other such events went smoothly so far as the technology was concerned but they largely excluded the informal discussions and the new contacts which are essential parts of face to face academic meetings. In 2002 I was elected president of the Ecclesiastical History Society, the main organization of historians of Christianity in the UK. It also regularly includes speakers and participants from other countries. The president chooses the theme for that year’s conferences. I chose “Retribution, Repen27. For example, Hugh McLeod, “Religion in the British and German Labour Movements: A Comparison,” Bulletin of the Society for the Study of Labour History, 50 (1986), 25– 36; id., “Weibliche Frömmigkeit und männlicher Unglaube?” in: Bürgerinnen und Bürger, Ute Frevert, ed. (Göttingen, 1988), 134–56; id., “Protestantism and British National Identity, 1815–1945,” in: Peter van der Veer and Hartmut Lehmann, eds., Nation and Religion (Princeton, NJ, 1999), 44–70; id., “Varieties of Anti-Clericalism in Later Victorian and Edwardian England,” in: Nigel Aston and Matthew Cragoe, eds., Anticlericalism in Britain, c.1500–1914 (Stroud, 2000), 198–220; id., “Religion and the Organisation of British Workers, c.1840–1960,” in Lex Herma van Voss, Patrick Pasture and Jan De Maeyer, eds., Between Cross and Class: Comparative Histories of Christian Labour in Europe, 1840–2000 (Bern 2006), 285–304. 28. The series published initially by Methuen and later by Routledge began with Callum Brown, A Social History of Religion in Scotland since 1730 (London, 1987), and ended with John Pollard, Catholicism in Modern Italy: Religion, Society and Politics since 1860 (Abingdon, 2008). 29. (Abingdon, 2001); 2nd edition (Abingdon, 2009). HUGH MCLEOD 459 tance and Reconciliation,” and invited speakers ranging from Christine Trevett on forgiveness and reconciliation in the early Church to John de Gruchy on the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa. I chose as the theme for my presidential address “Christianity and Capital Punishment.”30 This reflected a longstanding interest in the theme, since at sixteen I had won a public speaking competition for the youth of Guildford with a speech calling for abolition. As well as referring to the usual statistical arguments and the probability that those who had been hanged in our country in recent years included some who were innocent, I also made use of religious arguments concerning the sanctity of life. I was therefore very interested to see that Richard Evans, in his brilliant history of capital punishment in Germany, argued that the declining support for the death penalty was an aspect of secularization.31 I was also interested in a book by a former Anglican prison chaplain, Harry Potter, who argued that the continuing support from the Church of England and especially the bishops was crucial to the continuation of hanging into the 1950s and that the withdrawal of this support from the later part of that decade was a key factor in the suspension and then abolition of the death penalty in the ’60s.32 Excellent as both books were, I was not convinced by these central arguments. I suggested that rational arguments for or against the death penalty were less significant than its symbolic significance and that this changed frequently— not least when a former opponent of the punishment, such as Robespierre, found himself in power. Starting with the Catholic Enlightenment and the abolitions in Tuscany and the Austrian Empire in the later eighteenth century and concluding with the current debates in the USA, I argued that the most consistent opponents of the death penalty have been Socialists and dissenting Christian minorities, but that those in political power or positions of privilege have shown a reluctance to relinquish this part of their armoury, even if they had a history of earlier opposition. The historical organization in which I have been most actively involved is the “Commission Internationale d’Histoire et d’Études du Christianisme” (CIHEC), the international organization of historians of Christianity, affiliated to the International Historical Congress. It arose 30. Hugh McLeod, “God and the Gallows: Christianity and Capital Punishment in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries,” in: Retribution, Repentance and Reconciliation, eds. Kate Cooper and Jeremy Gregory (Woodbridge, 2004), 330–56. 31. Richard J. Evans, Rituals of Retribution: Capital Punishment in Germany, 1600– 1987, 2nd ed. (London, 1997). 32. Harry Potter, Hanging in Judgment: Religion and the Death Penalty in England (New York, 1993). 460 JOURNEYS IN CHURCH HISTORY out of the 1950 Congress in a spirit of post-war reconciliation, bringing together historians mainly from France, Belgium and West Germany, and also Catholic and Protestant historians, at a time when they tended to be organized separately. In time, historians from other parts of Europe as well as the U.S. got involved, including some from Poland and Romania, and more recently from other parts of the former Eastern Bloc. My involvement began when I was asked to organize a panel on urban religion in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries as part of a series of sessions organized by CIHEC at the International Historical Congress in Madrid in 1990. In subsequent years I gave papers or organized sessions at many CIHEC conferences, large and small, including those at every International Historical Congress up to Jinan in 2015. I was a committee member from 1995, and then president from 2005 to 2010. Whereas in its early days French influences were dominant, I would say that now its role is most important in countries, particularly in eastern Europe, where research on Christian history was formerly discouraged, and where international contacts are thus especially needed. The Madrid conference was important for me not only because it was my first experience of organizing an international panel, but because it laid the basis for my first edited volume.33 Since then I have edited several volumes, either individually or working with two or three colleagues. The first was a Religious History of Britain as part of a British-French collaboration for a French series. I was brought in by Stuart Mews and we worked with the French historian of Victorian Britain, Christiane d’Haussy.34 Then I was part of a team organizing a conference in Paris on the decline of Christendom as part of a historical project funded by the World Council of Churches. For this I was brought in by my colleague, Werner Ustorf, and after considerable delays it led to another book. More recently I assisted Todd Weir and Benjamin Ziemann in organizing a conference at the British Academy with the title “Defending the Faith.” This focused on “Apologetics” (Christian, Hindu, Jewish, Muslim, Secularist), showing how in the multi-confessional world of the twentieth century religious and anti-religious bodies of all kinds defended their own beliefs and refuted the 33. Hugh McLeod, ed., European Religion in the Age of Great Cities, 1830–1930 (Abingdon, 1995). 34. Christiane d’Haussy, Stuart Mews and Hugh McLeod, eds., Histoire religieuse de la Grande-Bretagne, XIXe et XXe siècles (Paris 1997); Hugh McLeod and Werner Ustorf, eds., The Decline of Christendom in Western Europe, 1750–2000 (Cambridge, 2003); Todd Weir and Hugh McLeod, eds., Defending the Faith: Global Histories of Apologetics and Politics in the Twentieth Century (Oxford, 2020). HUGH MCLEOD 461 attacks from outside, while strengthening the morale and trying to ensure the orthodoxy of those inside. Todd and I edited the resulting volume. My biggest editorial task was to be responsible for the twentieth-century volume of the Cambridge History of Christianity.35 This was limited to the “Western” forms of Christianity, with “Eastern” being the subject of a separate volume. Three volumes in the nine-volume series had a single editor while the others had two or even three editors. Like many editors, I drew quite heavily on people whom I knew and who I was confident would deliver. I do not think that, as one American critic claimed, the volume weas Eurocentric, but because of the lack of money for translations the contributors were either native English-speakers or had very good English. I divided the volume into three sections: “Institutions and Movements,” which looked at those with a global reach, including for example the Papacy and Pentecostalism; “Narratives of Change,” in which the chapters focused on regions of the world, often divided between before after 1945; and “Social and Cultural Impact,” which was the most potentially difficult part to manage in a balanced way. Authors were asked to look globally at a particular theme, but inevitably their expertise was limited to particular parts of the globe, and they sometimes struggled to deal with issues which were very important in some other countries, but not at all in those which they knew most about. The volume received a negative review in Church History and, while I would question many of the reviewer’s criticisms, one was, I think, valid and important, namely that we gave too little attention to popular culture, including the impact of radio, television, gospel music, country and western music, rock music, novels about the Rapture or Nigerian exorcism videos. My first book had been fortunate in its time of publication and the same was true of The Religious Crisis of the 1960s.36 Interest in the 1960s was strong and the book’s international perspectives attracted a readership beyond the UK. Moreover, Callum Brown’s Death of Christian Britain had stirred up interest in religion in the ’60s, as well as provoking controversy. So the time was ripe for a book which covered some of the same ground in a different way. My interest in the ’60s arose in the first instance from having lived through the decade. The earlier histories of religion in the ’60s were written 35. Hugh McLeod, ed., The Cambridge History of Christianity, 9 vols. (Cambridge, 2006–2008, here 2006), Volume 9: World Christianities c.1914–2000. 36. (Oxford, 2007). 462 JOURNEYS IN CHURCH HISTORY by people who remembered those years. Their histories were inevitably influenced by their own memories and indeed by their emotional relationship with that decade—strongly positive in Callum’s case, mainly negative in some other cases, such as that of Gérard Cholvy and Yves-Marie Hilaire, who regarded the later ’60s and early ’70s as a tragedy.37 My own memories influenced my writing in that I saw the ’60s not only as a time of religious crisis, but also of religious ferment. Both aspects, in my opinion, are essential to an understanding of the decade. So far as my relationship with the ’60s is concerned, it was mainly positive, but with some reservations. I appreciated the greater informality and the loosening of conformist pressures which the decade brought. In particular, I valued the democratic and egalitarian ideals of the time, and I regret their subsequent decline. However, I deplored the romanticization of political violence which became fashionable in the later part of the decade. The 1960s played a significant part in Religion and the People, where I saw these years as marking the end of an era in Europe’s religious history. My interest in the ’60s was renewed by hearing Callum speak at a conference in Paris in 1997 and by his subsequent book. Then I was invited to give a paper on the historiography of Christianity in the twentieth century at a session organized by CIHEC in the International Historical Congress in Oslo in 2000. I gave a review of the literature, by then quite extensive, on religion in the ’60s.38 I made the claim, repeated in my book, that future historians would see the 1960s as marking a break in Europe’s religious history as decisive as that brought about by the Reformation. In 2004 I was invited to give the Vonhoff Lectures at the University of Groningen which gave me the opportunity to give my own ideas of the period more shape. My approach was distinctive in three ways. First, I recognized that “the Sixties” were an international phenomenon: while the principal focus in my book was on England, I also gave attention to other countries, most notably France and the USA. Second, my focus was on the way that “ordinary people” experienced the ’60s, rather than the bishops and the politicians, or the activists and the celebrities. This led to my extensive use of oral history. Third, I rejected the chronologies both of those like Callum Brown, who saw a radical change of direction in the ’60s, and those like Alan Gilbert,39 who saw the 60s as merely the culmination of a long-term 37. See Gérard Cholvy and Yves-Marie Hilaire, Histoire religieuse de la France contemporaine, 3 vols. (Toulouse, 1985–88). 38. Hugh McLeod, “Writing the Religious History of a Crucial Decade,” Kirchliche Zeitgeschichte, 14 (2001), 36–48. 39. Alan D. Gilbert, The Making of Post-Christian Britain (London 1980). HUGH MCLEOD 463 evolutionary process of secularization. I argued that the causes of change had to be seen on at three levels: long-term pre-conditions, such as the critiques of Christianity and Judaism, going back to the eighteenth century; medium-term catalysts, most notably the onset of affluence after World War II; and the impact of specific events, most notably the US Civil Rights Movement, The Vietnam War and Vatican II. “The Sixties” arose from the interaction of these three kinds of factors. I attempted to look very broadly at religious change in the “Long Sixties” which I defined as 1958–74, laying special emphasis on the impact of affluence in weakening community, thus permitting more individualistic life-styles. I also looked at changes in the churches, noting both the strong reforming impulses in the mid-’60s and the increasing polarization between progressives and conservatives in the later part of the decade; at “1968” and the political radicalization of the time; at the counter-culture and its “alternative spiritualities”; at sex, gender and the family; and at the sweeping legislative changes with regard to homosexuality, divorce and abortion. In 2011 the sociologist Hans Joas organized a conference in Erfurt where historians from several countries responded to my book from the point of view of their own country. I do not think that any of them presented a picture of change in the ’60s which was incompatible with mine, but taking account of what they said would have enabled me to have presented a more nuanced picture. In the meantime Callum Brown, who had been invited to the conference but was unable to be there, had published a more thorough-going critique,40 so when I published my response to points made by speakers at the conference, I included a response to Brown.41 The basic difference between us was that he sees one big central story of “The Sixties,” namely a mass revolt by the younger generation, especially young women, against the churches and against the puritanical restrictions which many blamed on the churches. Besides this central story, everything else, according to Brown, was a sideshow. My view was that this was one of the stories of “The Sixties,” but that it stood alongside other 40. Callum G. Brown, “What Was the Religious Crisis of the 1960s?” Journal of Religious History, 34, no. 4 (2010), 468–79. 41. “Review Symposium on Hugh McLeod, The Religious Crisis of the 1960s,” Journal of Religion in Europe, 5, no. 4 (2012), 425–520. Guillaume Cuchet, a leading authority on modern French Catholicism, has provided an excellent commentary on our debate in “La ‘crise religieuse des années 1960’: Autour d’un débat récent dans l’historiographie britannique,” Revue Historique, 679 (2016), 629–44. He and Géraldine Vaughan were later instrumental in making possible a French translation of my book: Hugh McLeod, Le déclin de la chrétienté en Occident: Autour de la crise religieuse des années 1960, trans. Élise Trogrlic (Geneva, 2021). 464 JOURNEYS IN CHURCH HISTORY equally important stories, including the political radicalization of the later ’60s, the impact of Vatican II, and the social changes associated with rising prosperity, to mention only three of the most significant. The “Long Sixties” could be traumatic for Catholics, because up to that time they had been generally more successful than the Protestants in resisting the secularizing trends. In 1960 there were still parts of rural Europe, for example in Brittany, where 90% of the population were practising Catholics. But in a few years between 1965 and 1975, these figures often fell by a half or more. In both Protestant and Catholic Churches the mid-’60s had seen demands for radical reforms in Church and society, and rising hopes that rapid changes were possible, even likely. Because Vatican II had raised hopes for change so high, the disappointment was all the greater when changes were limited and came slowly. Most denominations saw a decline in the numbers of their clergy, both because of fewer vocations and because of those leaving the priesthood, but the Catholic losses were much more severe. Research in France suggests that most of those who left had gone through a longer period of disillusionment with the setapartness of the clergy and the hierarchical nature of the Church.42 While the political and religious dramas of the decade, as well as the sexual revolution, made the headlines, some of the social changes were much more subtle and imperceptible. One of the advantages of oral history is that it can pick up some of the less dramatic but equally significant changes. I was struck by an interview with a woman who recalled that she and her husband had regularly attended the Methodist church until the time of their marriage, but then they increasingly came to spend Sunday, their only free day together, going out on their motor bike—with the result that they ‘floated away’ from the church. I faced the question of how far changes in that decade followed a common pattern and how far there were distinctive national trajectories. I think in retrospect that I may have placed insufficient emphasis on national differences. One national difference which I did discuss, however, was the growing gap opening up in the ’70s between a more religious USA and an increasingly secular Europe. I argued that in the ’60s churches in both Europe and the USA had suffered serious losses. But the situation in the USA began to stabilize around 1972, while the trend in Europe continued to be downward. In 2010 I had the chance to explore this theme more fully. 42. Martine Sevegrand, Vers une Église sans prêtres (Rennes, 2004). HUGH MCLEOD 465 I was given a Fellowship at the Swedish Collegium of Advanced Studies in Uppsala as part of a small group interested in longer term patterns of religious change. Also in the group were Hans Joas, one of the Collegium’s permanent fellows, and two historians from the USA, David Sorkin and Jeff Cox. I rejected the view that there was a fundamental divide between a “religious” United States and a “secular” Europe, arguing that up to the 1970s Europe was not “less religious” than the United States but “differently religious.” Moreover, there were big differences between European countries and between American regions. From the perspective of the early twentyfirst century when, especially during the presidency of George W. Bush, many Europeans were concerned at the political influence of the Religious Right in the USA, and many Americans were concerned at the growth of secularism in Europe and also at the rising importance of Islam, it appeared that there were deep-rooted historic differences which might explain the current situation. I argued, however, that the real divergence took place in the 1970s. I subsequently discussed the question with David Hempton and we planned two conferences at Radcliffe and Harvard, papers from which eventually fed into a collective volume.43 Our idea was to pick nine issues where it might be argued that there were significant European/American differences and then to invite two authors, one mainly expert on the USA and one mainly expert on one or more European countries, to debate the issue. David and I, while agreed on quite a lot, also had some significant differences, so we wrote two concluding chapters. David’s theme was the accumulation of small differences which led Europe and America in what were ultimately different directions. My theme was change over time in the nature and extent of the differences. In the nineteenth century, American religious history was very different from that of France, for example, but the religious similarities between the USA and Great Britain were far greater than the differences. From the early twentieth century onwards, Britain and the USA diverged as secularization, though apparent in both countries, advanced more rapidly in Britain. But the presence especially of the Catholic Church in many parts of Europe and its roots in popular culture remained strong up to the 1960s, in spite of the greater role of secularism in European than in American politics. My most recent project, leading to a book on Religion and the Rise of Sport in England, now in the process of publication,44 has developed over many years. My interest in the subject began with my book on Religion and 43. Ed. David Hempton and Hugh McLeod, Secularization and Religious Innovation in the North Atlantic World (Oxford, 2017). 44. Forthcoming from Oxford University Press. 466 JOURNEYS IN CHURCH HISTORY Society 1850–1914. I was struck by the fact that the decline in church-going from about 1890 coincided with the Victorian sports boom, and I wondered if there was a connection. To complicate the question, I was well aware that the churches had often contributed to the boom by forming cricket and football clubs or providing gymnasia. When Sturt Mews was elected president of the Ecclesiastical History Society in 1999 and selected as his theme “Work, Rest and Play” (a reference to the advertising slogan “A Mars Bar a Day Helps you Work, Rest and Play”), I took the opportunity to return to the theme with a short paper. I presented the relationship between Victorian Churches and sports in the form of a modified version of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice in which this relationship moved through successive phases of repulsion, attraction and ultimately (diverging here from Austen) a friendly separation. I then developed the theme in the following years, usually in response to invitations to contribute to conferences or collective volumes. The first was a paper on “Nonconformity and Sport” for a Festschrift in honour of Clyde Binfield.45 For a Festschrift in honour of Keith Robbins, I took a more international approach, examining the relationship between religion, sport and politics in several European politics, highlighting the difference between England and the many European countries, including France, Germany and Ireland, where sport was more strongly politicized.46 An invitation to deliver the Hulsean lectures in Cambridge in 2008 gave me the opportunity to tie my thoughts on the Victorian period more fully together. But as one questioner asked, “What happened before and what happened after?” In the book which I finally completed in 2021 I tried to answer those questions, bringing the story up to the present day. The peculiar circumstances of 2020 and 2021 influenced the shape of my later research. Access to archives was cut off for long periods, and I had to make much greater use of sources available through the internet. While the relationship between religion and sport in the nineteenth century is well-documented and there are some (though not many) major studies by historians,47 very little research has been done on the twentieth century. So in discussing 45. Hugh McLeod, “‘Thews and Sinews’: Nonconformity and Sport,” in: David Bebbington and Timothy Larsen, eds., Modern Christianity and Cultural Aspirations (Sheffield, 2003), 28–46. 46. Hugh McLeod, “Religion, Politics and Sport, c. 1870–1939,” in: Stewart J. Brown, Frances Knight and John Morgan-Guy, eds., Religion, Identity and Conflict in Britain: From the Restoration to the Twentieth Century (Farnham, 2013), 195–212. 47. Notably Dominic Erdozain, The Problem of Pleasure: Sport, Recreation and the Crisis of Victorian Religion (Oxford, 2010). HUGH MCLEOD 467 the nineteenth century I was in dialogue with other historians, including some for whom religion was secondary to their main concerns, but in writing about the twentieth century I was to a large extent on my own, apart from Jack Williams, a leading historian of cricket, who was the first to point to the importance of the churches in sport in the inter-war years.48 My research showed that many of the sports clubs and facilities established by churches in the Victorian years continued into the 1960s and only went into rapid decline in the ’70s and ’80s. It was precisely then that Evangelical churches began to come to the fore in church-based sport and large numbers of new clubs and leagues were formed. I suggested that the history of the relationship between religion and sport encapsulates the various stages of English religious history since the later eighteenth century. It begins with the “unreformed” Church of England and its connections with “traditional” sports. Then in the early nineteenth century, the rise of Evangelicalism brought growing tensions as Christian preachers attacked many of the then-popular sports because of their cruelty or brutality, and all of them because of their associations with gambling. Some Evangelicals simply regarded all sports as a waste of precious time. However, the growing liberalization of theology in the later part of the nineteenth century was associated with a friendlier view of sport—or at least of “good” sports such as football and cricket. The first half of the twentieth century was the era of what some historians have called “diffusive Christianity”: church-going was in decline but the churches remained familiar and respected institutions, not least because of the huge range of recreational activities which they provided, especially for the young, but for many adults too. The later twentieth century saw growing secularization and the decline of churchbased sports. But by the end of that century and the beginning of the twenty-first, there was not only a changed religious world but a changed relationship between religion and sport. In spite of continuing secularization, there was a large growth of sports chaplaincy, involving, for example, the majority of major soccer clubs; the impact of immigration and the globalization of sport meant that star athletes came from a wide variety of religious backgrounds, including many Muslims; and the Evangelicals who had once condemned sport were now its most enthusiastic advocates. When I retired in 2010, Callum Brown and Mike Snape organized a small conference and presented me with a Festschrift with contributions 48. Jack Williams, Cricket and England: A Cultural and Social History of the Inter-War Years (London, 1999). 468 JOURNEYS IN CHURCH HISTORY from historians and sociologists from a number of countries.49 I am immensely grateful to Callum and Mike, as well as to all the other contributors, for their work in making this fine volume possible. I also appreciated the diversity of the contributors, including scholars with opposing views on major historical or sociological issues. So far as my historical work is concerned, I have tried to avoid joining a party, and have valued having friends with very different approaches and belonging to organisations with different cultures. Introducing me before a lecture in Sheffield some years ago, Clyde Binfield made the perceptive comment that he had heard me speak both at the Ecclesiastical History Society and at a History Workshop and “they are as different as chalk and cheese.” My historical roots lie in the social history of the 1960s and ’70s, and in spite of the various learning experiences which I have described here, my approach to history has not changed fundamentally since then. The theme of my work has continued to be the interaction between religion and society, but I have explored this theme by focusing on many different areas, including, for example, the labour movement, national identity, the role of religion in legislative changes, anti-clericalism and everyday life. My interest in comparative history has led me to spread my net widely, and I think this has both advantages and disadvantages. In my recent work on the history of sport I have been aware that I do not have the in-depth knowledge of any one sport which most specialists in the field have. And, indeed, I do not have the kind of in-depth knowledge of the history of any religious denomination, including my own, which any denominational historian has. My corresponding strength, I hope, lies in a readiness to enter sympathetically into very different religious worlds. 49. Callum G. Brown and Michel Snape, eds., Secularisation in the Christian World (Farnham, 2010). Catholic Child and Youth Martyrs, 1588–2022 RACHEL M. MCCLEARY* Child and youth martyrs throughout the history of Christianity are few. New emphasis on their presence in the twentieth century raises questions about the nature of sanctity. Using a new data set on child, adolescent, and youth martyrs beatified and canonized since 1588, this article discusses early modern to contemporary models of sanctity for males and females while at the same time showing how the ancient motif of puer senex continues to be relevant in their narratives. With Catholic teachings adapting to contemporary views on child agency and autonomy, several problems arise, requiring the Church to reevaluate its models of sanctity for young people. Keywords: Martyrs, child, adolescent, youth, Vatican II, sanctity, puer senex, beatified, canonized ince the establishment of the Congregation for the Causes of Saints in 1588, the Roman Catholic Church has beatified 5,213 martyrs.1 These numbers exclude pre-Congregation child and youth martyrs, among them the Holy Innocents, the first Christian martyrs.2 Unlike confessors, mar- S * Rachel M. McCleary is a Lecturer in the Economics Department at Harvard University. Her email address is: rachel_mccleary@harvard.edu. She would like to thank her colleagues at Harvard and the Association for the Study of Religion, Economics, and Culture for their comments. 1. Initially called the Sacred Congregation of Rites and Ceremonies, its founding was to create a centralized administration responsible for saint-making and relics within the Roman Curia. “The creation of the Sacred Congregation of Rites and Ceremonies marked a major evolution in causes of canonization, providing a stable structure so that these causes could be treated in a systematic way.” The second reason for the establishment of the Congregation was to ensure that the process was systematic and thorough, avoiding ridicule from Protestants as well as within the Church. “The Sacred Congregation of Rites was entrusted with the duty to study causes of canonization with great care, thus insuring [sic] that those to be proposed as saints were truly worthy. Moreover the Congregation was to see that the institution of canonization observed the highest degree of integrity so as to hold it above ridicule.” Jason A. Gray, “The Evolution of the Promoter of the Faith in Causes of Beatification and Canonization: A Study of the Law of 1917 and 1983” (Thesis ad Doctoratum in Iure canonico adsequendum, Pontificia Università Lateranense, Rome, 2015), 58. 2. The term “Holy Innocents” refers to the male children of Bethlehem, two years old and under, massacred by order of Herod the Great. The three Magi informed Herod of the 469 470 CATHOLIC CHILD AND YOUTH MARTYRS, 1588–2022 tyrs tend to die in large groups, resulting in the overall number of martyrs beatified greatly exceeding the number of confessors (772).3 Among the beatified martyrs, 183 are children and youth eighteen years and younger (Table 1). According to the 1983 Code of Canon Law, minority status ends at eighteen, adolescence at fourteen, and infancy at seven. In 1981, the Congregation for the Causes of Saints held a Plenary Congregation in the Vatican to discuss the question of the beatification and canonization of adolescents.4 This article discusses a new data set of child and youth martyrs officially recognized by the Church from 1588 to early 2022.5 This data set was constructed using documents of the Church such as the Index ac Status Causarum (1953, 1999, 2008), the website of the Congregation for the Causes of Saints, as well as written materials by the Congregation, papal documents, documents of the offices of archdioceses and dioceses as well as religious orders, and investigative studies on martyr events.6 The birth of a new king. Herod sought to eliminate all possible rivals through the massacring of the infants (Matthew 2:1–18). They are considered martyrs because they not only died for Christ, but instead of Christ. For a discussion of the differences and similarities in accounts of early Latin and Greek Church fathers, see M. J. Mans, “The Early Latin Church Fathers on Herod and the Infanticide,” Harvard Theological Studies, 53, nos. 1 & 2 (combined issue, 1997), 92–102 (firstname unknown). For a discussion of the Holy Innocents in East and West theological writings, see Paul A. Hayward, “Suffering and Innocence in Latin Sermons for the Feast of the Holy Innocents, c. 400–800,” Studies in Church History, 31 (1994), 67–80, and Marie E. Doerfler, “The Infant, the Monk and the Martyr: The Death of Children in Eastern Patristic Thought,” Le Muséon, 124, no. 3 (2010), 243–58. Also excluded from this discussion are child and youth saints and blesseds, such as Simon of Trent, expunged from the liturgical calendar in the 1960s. 3. For a discussion of martyrs beatified since 1588, see Rachel M. McCleary and Robert J. Barro, “Opening the Fifth Seal: Catholic Martyrs and Forces of Religious Competition,” Journal of Religion and Demography, 7 (2020), 92–122; Rachel M. McCleary and Robert J. Barro, “Martyrs and Confessors,” (paper, delivered at the American Economic Association Meetings, held virtually, January 7, 2022). For a discussion of the confessors data set, see Robert J. Barro and Rachel M. McCleary, “Saints Marching In, 1590–2021,” Economica, 83 (2016), 385–415; Robert J. Barro, Rachel M. McCleary, and Alexander McQuoid, “Economics of Sainthood, a Preliminary Investigation,” in: Handbook of Religion and Political Economy, ed. Rachel M. McCleary (Oxford, 2011), Chapter 10. 4. Congregation for the Causes of Saints, Plenary Congregation, March 31–April 2, 1981. L’Osservatore Romano, April 10, 1981, page 7 carried articles by several authors, including Cardinal Pietro Palazzini, Prefect of the Congregation for the Causes of Saints, presenting arguments for heroic virtues in children and adolescents qualifying them for beatification. 5. From here on in the discussion, the Roman Catholic Church is referred to as “the Church.” 6. The Congregation for the Causes of Saints published a small book by Maurizio Tagliaferri and Judith Borer, Santi e Beati Giovani (Vatican, 2017), that lists by geographic region the child, adolescent, and youth (up to age thirty) confessors and martyrs beatified and RACHEL M. MCCLEARY 471 TABLE 1. Beatified Child and Youth Martyrs Total Age 0–6 ________ Age 7–14 Age 15–18 ________ No age ________ ________ ________ All F All F All F All F All F All Start–1800 1801–1900 1901–1978 1978–2005 JPII 2005–2013 Ben XVI 2013–2022 Francis 183 3 33 28 29 70 21 41 0 1 9 9 20 3 29 0 10 0 0 19 0 11 0 0 0 0 11 0 45 2 9 9 5 17 3 10 0 0 4 1 4 1 73 1 10 19 12 14 18 13 0 1 5 4 1 2 36 0 4 0 12 20 0 8 0 0 0 4 4 0 Lay Lay Plus ________ Order ________ Alone ________ ________ All F All F All F All F All Start–1800 1801–1900 1901–1978 1978–2005 JPII 2005–2013 Ben XVI 2013–2022 Francis 142 3 25 25 22 56 12 41 0 1 9 9 20 3 147 3 25 25 25 57 12 41 0 0 9 9 20 3 34 0 7 3 4 13 7 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 20 0 1 6 3 2 8 8 0 1 2 2 1 3 Note: No age signifies a child or youth martyr without information on specific age at death. These persons are included in the “total” group in the upper panel. F denotes female. The category of “Lay Plus” includes those who were catechists, aspirants, sacristans, altar boys, acolytes, postulants, candidates, oblates, and those affiliated with a religious order in a nonordained position such as novice, cooperator, or lay brother. Data obtained from the Congregation for the Causes of Saints, Index ac Status Causarum (1953; 1999; 2008); the Congregation’s website, http://www.causesanti.va/it.html, and for Japanese martyrs, Juan Ruiz de Medina, S.J., El Martirologio del Japón, 1558–1873 (Roma, 1999). present analysis situates martyrs within the social, cultural, and political contexts of their deaths (Table 2). Even though martyrdoms occurred at historically different periods, within diverse societal contexts, and across geographic locales, similar persecution patterns emerge when accounting for gender, age, ethnicity, social status, and affiliation with the Church. The issue of agency—choosing to be a martyr—is a prominent theme in cases of child and youth martyrs who died alone. Without the psychological, emotional, and physical support of family and other canonized from 1588 to 2017. No biographical narratives are provided. Between 1588 and 2022, the Church beatified nine confessors eighteen years and younger. Four were canonized. 472 CATHOLIC CHILD AND YOUTH MARTYRS, 1588–2022 TABLE 2. Beatified Child and Youth Martyrs by Event Event Numbers Martyrs of Japan 83 (F: 19) [0] Persecution by Tokugawa Shogūnate. Died in groups of entire families, groups of female and male Christians. Imprisoned, died by burning at the stake, cut to pieces, etc. Description Spanish Civil War 26 (F: 0) [3] Anti-Catholic Republican Army captured, imprisoned and shot mostly clerics and males. Militia came to the homes of two youths, took them and shot them. The third youth who died alone was imprisoned and shot. Boxer Rebellion 16 (F: 6) [2] Spontaneous Boxer rebel uprising against foreigners and native Christians. Boxers captured, tortured, and killed clerics, Chinese villagers residing near mission stations (Catholic and Protestant) and Chinese Christians. Martyrs of Natal (Brazil) 12 (F: 4) [0] Dutch-Portuguese colonists warring along with indigenous auxiliaries led to massacres of a moradores settlement that included male and female children and youth. Martyrs of Korea 8 (F: 4) [4] Chosǒn empire persecuted foreign and native Christians. Imprisoned, tortured, and hanged. Martyrs of Uganda 7 (F: 0) [1] European missionaries and colonists threatened the Buganda empire. Court Christian pages burned alive on orders of the king. Ssebuggwawo, who died alone, was hacked to death by the king’s executioners. Canary Islands (on way to Brazil) 5 (F: 0) [0] Part of Counter-Reformation conflicts, when French Huguenot pirates attacked the ship carrying Jesuit missionaries to Brazil. Martyrs of Prague 3 (F: 0) [0] Franciscan friars and novices were beaten to death by Protestants after the Archduke of Austria sacked Prague. Martyrs of Thailand 3 (F: 3) [0] Franco-Thai border conflict: the Thai government persecuted Catholics as part of its “nationalist” agenda, leading local authorities to put Catholics to death. Martyrs of Tlaxcala 3 (F:0) [1] Spanish Conquest of Mexico and the conversion of adolescents who proselytized to relatives and indigenous tribes. Cristóbal, a noble Nahual youth, was murdered by his father. (continued on next page) RACHEL M. MCCLEARY 473 TABLE 2. Beatified Child and Youth Martyrs by Event (continued) Event Numbers Description Communism post WWII 1 (F: 0) [1] Communist forces persecuted Christians in occupied countries. Rolando Rivi was imprisoned, tortured, and shot; he died alone. Cristero War (Mexico) 1 (F: 0) [1] Pro-Catholic forces challenged the Mexican liberal government. The Military captured Sanchez del Rio, who was tortured and shot. El Salvador Civil War 1 (F: 0) [0] The Salvadoran military targeted Catholics whom it viewed as “Communist”; it shot priest and his companions. Guatemala Civil War 1 (F: 0) [1] The Guatemalan military targeted Catholics, whom they viewed as “guerrilla sympathizers.” They captured Barrera Mendez, who was tortured, hanged from a tree, and shot to death. Martyrs of Ireland 1 (F:0) [0] Queen Elizabeth I and the Act Against Reconciliation with Rome: those who secretly conveyed priests by boat were tortured, hung, drawn and quartered. Martyrs of Laos 1 (F: 0) [0] During the Laotian Civil War, Communist guerrillas attacked a car carrying Inthirath and the parish priest, killing both. Martyrs of Vietnam 2 (F: 0) [1] Two historical periods (1600s and 1800s) of government purges of native Catholics and missionaries. Guam and Philippines 1 (F: 0) [0] Indigenous group murdered a missionary priest and native catechist for violating chieftain’s order. In Defensum Castitatis 5 (F: 5) [5] Five girls and a youth who were violently attacked in attempted rapes (in defensum castitatis). Each died alone. Martyrs of Paimol, 2 (F: 0) [0] Uganda Intra-tribal conflicts, exacerbated by British colonial rule, led to the killings of Okelo, a catechist, and Jildo, who were proselytizing outside their tribe. Tenentismo Revolt 1 (F: 0) [0] (Brazil) Brazilian military officers’ revolt against the government: Tenentismo revolutionaries ambushed and killed a missionary priest and his Brazilian altar server. Note: Female number shown in parentheses. Number of children and youth who died alone shown in brackets. 474 TABLE 3. PART I. All Martyrs Beatified by Event Death years BEA years Spanish Civil War Martyrs of Otranto (Italy) French Revolution Martyrs of Japan English Reformation Martyrs of Korea World War II Martyrs of Vietnam Boxer Rebellion Communism post WWII Mongol Invasion (Second) Canary Islands (on way to Brazil) Cristero War (Mexico) Martyrs of Natal (Brazil) Martyrs of Uganda Algerian Civil War Martyrs of Gorkum (Netherlands) Martyrs of China Martyrs of Ireland Martyrs of Laos Guatemala Civil War Martyrs of Prague 1934–1939 1480 1792–1799 1597–1639 1535–1681 1791–1888 1939–1946 1745–1862 1900 1945–1995 1260 1570 1926–1931 1645 1885–1886 1994–1996 1572 1747–1856 1579–1654 1954–1969 1980–1991 1611 1987–2021 1771 1906–2021 1627–2008 1886–1987 1925–2014 1971–2021 1900–1951 1946–1955 1998–2019 1807 1854 1988–2005 2000 1920 2018 1675 1889–1900 1992 2016 2017–2021 2012 2053 813 446 437 288 228 171 113 86 84 49 40 39 29 22 19 19 17 17 17 14 14 236 — 151 93 4 73 32 1 34 8 0 0 0 5 0 6 0 1 1 0 0 0 26 — 0 83 0 8 1 1 16 1 — 5 1 12 7 0 0 0 1 1 1 3 0 — 0 19 0 4 1 0 6 0 0 0 0 4 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 — 0 52 0 3 0 0 5 1 — 0 1 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 1 3 0 — 0 14 0 2 0 0 2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 26 — 0 7 0 5 1 1 11 0 — 5 0 0 6 0 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 — 0 1 0 2 1 0 4 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 — 0 24 0 0 0 0 0 0 — 0 0 12 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 — 0 4 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 4 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 Note: No age signifies a child or youth martyr without information on specific age at death. These persons are included in the age 0–18 group. F denotes female. Martyrs of Otranto case has information on gender for only one person. Martyrs of Otranto and Mongol Invasion cases have no data on age at death. CATHOLIC CHILD AND YOUTH MARTYRS, 1588–2022 Event Overall Age 0–18 _________ Age 0–14 _________ Age 15–18 _________ No age __________ _________ All F All F All F All F All F TABLE 3. PART II. All Martyrs Canonized by Event Death years CAN years Spanish Civil War Martyrs of Otranto (Italy) French Revolution Martyrs of Japan English Reformation Martyrs of Korea World War II Martyrs of Vietnam Boxer Rebellion Communism post WWII Mongol Invasion (Second) Canary Islands (on way to Brazil) Cristero War (Mexico) Martyrs of Natal (Brazil) Martyrs of Uganda Algerian Civil War Martyrs of Gorkum (Netherlands) Martyrs of China Martyrs of Ireland Martyrs of Laos Guatemala Civil War Martyrs of Prague 1934, 1936 1480 1792 1597–1637 1535–1681 1838–1867 1941–1942 1745–1862 1900 — 1260 — 1926–1928 1645 1885–1886 1994–1996 1572 1747–1856 1579-1654 1954-1969 — 1611 1999, 2013 2013 2016 1862–1987 1935–1975 1984 1982, 1998 1988–1992 2000 — — — 2000, 2016 2017 1964 — 1867 1996, 2000 — — — — 11 813 1 42 47 105 2 113 86 0 0 0 25 29 22 0 19 17 0 0 0 0 0 — 0 4 0 4 0 1 16 0 0 0 1 12 7 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 — 0 0 0 2 0 0 6 0 0 0 0 4 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 — 0 2 0 2 0 0 5 0 0 0 1 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 — 0 0 0 1 0 0 2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 — 0 2 0 2 0 1 11 0 0 0 0 0 6 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 — 0 0 0 1 0 0 4 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 — 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 12 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 — 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 4 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 475 Note: See note to Table 3: Part I. 0 — 0 2 3 49 1 1 34 0 0 0 0 5 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 RACHEL M. MCCLEARY Event Overall Age 0–18 _________ Age 0–14 _________ Age 15–18 _________ No age _________ _________ All F All F All F All F All F 476 CATHOLIC CHILD AND YOUTH MARTYRS, 1588–2022 Christians, a child martyred alone demonstrates exceptional fortitude and discipline. His Eminence Pietro Palazzini, Prefect of the Congregation for the Causes of Saints (1980–1988), referred to young martyrs and confessors as “precocious,” “exceptional” and “endowed with singular abilities.”7 By doing so, he continued the usage of the ancient puer senex motif in modern narratives of young martyrs.8 Exceptional sanctity in children and youth assumes agency beyond their chronological, biological development. The Church’s theological interpretation of sanctity, what can be called “the norm,” applies universally, regardless of whether a person is an adult or minor, including infants and children. Because of their cognitive, psychological, and physical development, the norm of sanctity in minors applies according to their chronological capabilities, what Palazzini refers to as the principle of relative maturity.9 Yet, children and youth singled out for beatification are “exceptional” and a rarity among minors. The discussion presented here does not elaborate on the topic of agency in minors.10 Rather, this study presupposes the position taken by Palazzini, theologians, and religious scholars that minors are capable of exceptional spirituality and heroic action. The focus here is providing a description of the contexts of martyrdom and sanctity of those child, ado7. Pietro Palazzini, Instruzione Redatta ad uso di Quanti si Occupano delle Cause di Beatificazione e Canonizzazione delgi Adolescenti (working document, approved May 6, 1981 by Pope John Paul II in preparation for the Plenary Congregation of the members of the Congregation for the Causes of Saints, March 31–April 2, 1981. Provided to the author by the Congregation for the Causes of Saints, June 26, 2020). 8. The evolution of the puer senex motif has its origins in ancient Roman literature, see André-Jean Festugière, “Lieux communs littéraires et thèmes de folklore dans l’hagiographie primitive,” Wiener Studien, 73 (1960), 123–52; Teresa C. Carp, “‘Puer Senex’ in Roman and Medieval Thought,” Latomus, 39, Fasc. 3 (Jul.–Sep., 1980), 736–39; Christian Gnilka, “Das Puer Senex Ideal und die Kirchenbauten zu Nolan,” Boreas: Münsterche Beiträge zur Archäologie, 18 (1995), 175–84; Ernst Robert Curtius and Colin Burrow, European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages (Princeton, 2013), 98–101. For discussions of the puer senex motif in medieval hagiographies, particularly in the childhoods of adult saints, see André Vauchez, Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages, trans. Pierre Birrell (Cambridge, 1997), 507–10; Donald Weinstein and Rudolph M. Bell, Saints and Society: The Two Worlds of Western Christendom (Chicago, 1982), 19–47; and Michael Goodich, “Childhood and Adolescence among the Thirteenth-Century Saints,” History of Childhood Quarterly, 1, no. 2 (Fall 1973), 285–309. 9. Palazzini, “Instruzione,” 5–6. Also, see Vicenzo Lelièvre, Les Jeunes Peuvent-ils être Canonisés? (Paris, 1984), 394–97. 10. For an in-depth discussion as well as survey of approaches to the topic in Roman Catholicism see, Lelièvre, Les Jeunes Peuvent-ils être Canonisés? and Thierry Lelièvre, Même les Enfants Peuvent être Canonisés! (Paris, 2005). RACHEL M. MCCLEARY 477 lescent, and youth martyrs beatified between 1588 and early 2022.11 Although they lived and died during different historical periods, their beatifications occurred in the early-modern to modern period, from 1627 to 2022. Among the several purposes of hagiographies as a literary form is the promotion of models of sanctity presented to the faithful and to the wider public.12 In the cases discussed here, the Church’s early-modern to contemporary models of sanctity are under scrutiny. This article, first, presents a description of the data set, followed by a discussion of child and youth martyrs who died in groups and, finally, a discussion of those martyred alone. Canonized minors, similar to adults, serve as a visible sign of God within a particular historical context. In the early modern to contemporary period under discussion, the Church presents them as exemplary models of Christian sanctity for their peers to imitate. The main purpose is to distill models of sanctity that the Church chooses for male and female children, adolescents, and youth. Description of Child and Youth Martyrs Data Set Martyrs are the ultimate witness of faith.13 Their lives exemplify heroic virtues for which they voluntarily accept death, motivated directly or indi11. For treatments of medieval child and youth martyrs and confessors, see Michael Goodich, “Childhood and Adolescence among the Thirteenth-Century Saints,” 285–309; Weinstein and Bell, Saints and Society (Chicago, 1982), 17–99; Patricia Healy Wasyliw, Martyrdom, Murder, and Magic: Child Saints and Their Cults in Medieval Europe (New York, 2008); Michael Goodich, ed. and trans., Other Medieval Ages: Witnesses at the Margins of Medieval Society (Philadelphia, 2015). 12. André Vauchez discusses the necessity of hagiographies to convey both the humanity (imitability) and the holiness (admirability) of saints, “Saints Admirables et Saints Imitables: Les Fonctions de l’Hagiographie ont-elles Changéaux dernier Siècles du Moyen Âge?” in: Les Fonctions des Saints dans le Monde Occidental (IIIe–XIIIe siècle), Actes du Colloque de Rome, 27–29, 1988 (Rome, 1991), 161–72. Several authors discuss the early modern Church’s evolving criteria for sanctity. Simon Ditchfield describes post-Tridentine hagiographic emphasis on imitation, moving the reader into action, in Liturgy, Sanctity, and History in Tridentine Italy: Pietro Maria Campi and the Preservation of the Particular (Cambridge, 1995), 132–4, as does Karen A. Winstead with regard to English hagiography after the fifteenth century, in Fifteenth-Century Lives: Writing Sainthood in England (South Bend, 2020), 147–60. John McCafferty details the “repurposing” of Brigit of Kildare’s hagiography to comply with female sanctity as defined by the Church’s post-Tridentine reforms in “Brigid of Kildare: Stabilizing a Female Saint for Early Modern Catholic Devotion,” Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies, 50, no. 1 (2020), 53–73. 13. The theological-juridical definition of martyrdom is “the voluntary suffering or sustaining of death for the faith or another virtue related to God.” See Prospero Lambertini (Benedict XIV), De Servorum Dei beatificatione et Beatorum canonizatione (Prato, 1839), Lib. 478 CATHOLIC CHILD AND YOUTH MARTYRS, 1588–2022 rectly by hatred of the faith (odium fidei) on the part of their persecutors, whom the martyrs forgive.14 This classic interpretation of martyrdom originates with Roman persecution of the early Christians martyred for their faith. They are, in Peter Brown’s felicitous phrase, “the venerable nucleus of the throng of saints.” Lumen Gentium introduced a new dimension of sanctity, referred to as the “martyr of charity.”15 This new model of martyrdom emphasizes selfless, voluntary sacrifice of one’s life out of love (caritas) for God and one’s neighbor, pivoting away from a focus on the persecutor and the persecutor’s motivation (odium fidei) to emphasize the martyr’s heroicity. The first actualization of this broadening of the classical meaning of martyrdom occurred when John Paul II canonized Maximilian Kolbe as a “martyr of charity” in October 1982.16 Eleven years earlier, Pope Paul VI beatified Kolbe as a confessor, not a martyr, referring to him as “martyr of III, Cap. 11, 1. Another definition is, “Martyrdom is the supreme witness given to the truth of the faith: it means bearing witness even unto death. The martyr bears witness to Christ who died and rose, to whom he is united by charity. He bears witness to the truth of the faith and of Christian doctrine. He endures death through an act of fortitude. ‘Let me become the food of the beasts, through whom it will be given me to reach God.’” Catechism of the Catholic Church (Vatican, 1993), para. 2473. 14. Benedict XVI reaffirmed Benedict XIV’s historical, canonical-legal criteria of martyrdom in his letter to the 2006 plenary session of the Congregation for the Causes of Saints. Martyrdom is (1) to suffer a violent death inflicted by (2) a persecutor perpetrated for (3) reason or reasons directly bearing on the victim’s faith and/or Christian moral virtue, and (4) such death suffered by the victim whose life exemplifies a constancy in practicing the virtues over time confronts her death with fortitude and forgives her persecutor. Benedict XVI, To the Participants of the Plenary Session of the Congregation for the Causes of Saints (letter, Vatican, April 24, 2006). 15. “Since Jesus, the Son of God, manifested His charity by laying down His life for us, so too no one has greater love than he who lays down his life for Christ and His brothers (230). From the earliest times, then, some Christians have been called upon—and some will always be called upon—to give the supreme testimony of this love to all men, but especially to persecutors. The Church, then, considers martyrdom as an exceptional gift and as the fullest proof of love. By martyrdom a disciple is transformed into an image of his Master by freely accepting death for the salvation of the world—as well as his conformity to Christ in the shedding of his blood. Though few are presented such an opportunity, nevertheless all must be prepared to confess Christ before men. They must be prepared to make this profession of faith even in the midst of persecutions, which will never be lacking to the Church, in following the way of the cross.” Pope Paul VI, The Dogmatic Constitution of the Church, Lumen Gentium: The Light of the Nations (Vatican, 1964), Chapter V, para. 42. 16. “In virtue of my apostolic authority, I have decreed that Maximilian Maria Kolbe, who, after his beatification was venerated as a confessor, shall henceforth be venerated also as a martyr.” John Paul II, “Solemn Rite of Canonization of Saint Maximiliano Maria Kolbe” (homily, Vatican, October 10, 1982). RACHEL M. MCCLEARY 479 love.”17 Kolbe, a Conventual Franciscan friar imprisoned at Auschwitz, offered his life for that of a fellow prisoner who was the father of several children. John Paul II declared Kolbe’s act of self-sacrifice one of heroism and therefore martyrdom. According to John Paul II, Kolbe is a modern martyr who confronted Nazism’s culture of hatred against humanity, exterminating innocent people.18 Pope Francis introduced the category of oblatio vitae, which is not a form of martyrdom even though it is similar to the concept of “martyr of charity.”19 Oblatio vitae entails the performance of a single selfless act grounded in habitual Christian virtuous behavior in quotidian life until the extraordinary moment of supreme self-sacrifice. Francis’s introduction of oblatio vitae as a separate category can be interpreted as part of the pontiff’s broadening of the Church’s understanding of daily martyrdom.20 Between 1588 and 2022, the Catholic Church beatified 183 child and youth martyrs and canonized fifty of them (Table 1). Of the fifty canonized child and youth martyrs, 78% were made saints after Vatican II (Table 3: Part II). Among the 183 beatified, 122, or 66%, were chosen after the close of Vatican II (1962–1965), similar to the pattern among martyred blesseds as a whole.21 Of the 183 beatified martyrs, 142 or 77% are male, slightly lower than the 85% of all adult martyrs. After receiving the three sacraments of initiation—baptism, confirmation, and Eucharist—children and adolescents exercise full membership in the church and its evangelizing mission. Upon reaching the age of seven (age of reason), children perform penance and receive communion. Around this age, the Church introduces boys to institutional roles. Of the male child and youth martyrs, the youngest novice was eight years and 17. Pius VI, “Solemn Beatification of Father Massimiliano Maria Kolbe” (homily, Vatican, October 17, 1971). 18. John Paul II, “Solemn Rite of Canonization of St. Maximilian Maria Kolbe,” (homily, Vatican, October 10, 1982). 19. Francis introduced this category in his apostolic letter (motu proprio), Maeiorem Hac Dilectionem: On the Offer of Life (Vatican, July 11 2017). 20. See Francis, “Angelus,” (St. Peter’s Square, Vatican, June 23, 2013), 1, and his address, “Visit to ‘Villa Nazareth’” (Vatican, June 18, 2016), 3. Francis reiterates this concept of daily martyrdom in his audiences, speeches, and homilies; see Pope Francis, “Holy Mass for the Beatification of Paul Yun Ji-Chung and 123 Martyr Companions” (homily, Gwanghwamun Gate, Seoul, August 16, 2014); Pope Francis, General Audience (Paul VI Audience Hall, Vatican City, January 7, 2015); and Pope Francis, General Audience (St. Peter’s Square, Vatican, September 25, 2019), 2. 21. See McCleary and Barro, “Martyrs and Confessors” for data on adult martyrs. 480 CATHOLIC CHILD AND YOUTH MARTYRS, 1588–2022 another martyr entered seminary at the age of ten. By the age of twelve, boys can become catechists and acolytes. Of the total blessed child and youth males (142), thirty-four, or 24%, were affiliated with a religious order, from serving as a catechist to being a professed religious. By contrast, 56% (1799 out of 3187) of adult martyred males were affiliated with a religious order. This pattern underscores several factors. First, the Catholic Reformation asserted the monopolistic authority of male clergy in the Church, giving preferential status to male religious vocations. Since the late sixteenth century, the majority of males canonized are ordained (deacon, cleric, priest, bishop, archbishop, pope). Second, many religious orders established a house or monastery in Rome, strategically positioning themselves to petition for the causes of their candidates. Third, religious orders, through their international networks of houses, institutional resources, and finances, are capable of championing one of their members’ causes, including those lay candidates who worked with the order.22 By contrast, females represent only 22.4% (41 out of 183) of all child and youth martyrs. None of them formally belonged to a religious order. Historically, women, as wives and mothers who govern the home, transmit religious beliefs and shape the spiritual lives of their children, grandchildren, and other family members. Six women (martyrs of China and Korea) were informally lay catechists. In 2021, Francis formally established the lay apostolic ministry of catechist for women and men.23 He also altered canon law, permitting women formally to serve as lectors and acolytes.24 Historically, these two ministries—lector and acolyte—represented the first stages toward ordination and a clerical career. With the decline in priests worldwide, officially installing women as catechists, acolytes, and lectors acknowledges their participation in an “authentic lay vocation” while draw- 22. Religious orders promoted their martyred members with a reputation of sanctity through hagiographies and passiones circulating both orally and written among the houses; see Michael Goodich, “The Politics of Canonization in the Thirteenth Century: Lay and Mendicant Saints,” Church History, 44 (1975), 294–307; Simon Ditchfield, Liturgy, Sanctity, and History in Tridentine Italy (Cambridge, 1995); Christopher MacEvitt, “Martyrdom and the Muslim World through Franciscan Eyes,” The Catholic Historical Review, 97, no. 1 (2011), 1–23. Kenneth L. Woodward in Making Saints (New York, 1996) points out that a religious order, as an institution, is optimally positioned to assume the financial cost of a candidate for canonization (114). Frequently the causes of lay candidates are assumed by religious orders (112). 23. Francis, (motu proprio), Antiquum Ministerium (apostolic letter, Vatican, May 10, 2021). 24. Francis, (motu proprio), Spiritus Domini (apostolic letter, Vatican, January 10, 2021). RACHEL M. MCCLEARY 481 ing a sharp line between their function (“in a fully ‘secular’ manner”) and that of ordained clergy.25 Of the thirty-six child and youth martyrs with no recorded age, all died during two periods of religious persecution. Between 1613 and 1636, twenty-four were martyred by the Tokugawa shogūnate of Japan. The predominant pattern was the martyrdom of entire families. Sometimes this occurred with sons and fathers separated from wives, daughters, and infants, who were executed in groups. Nine of the children and youth without ages belonged to the prominent Ogasawara family. These children were beheaded along with their parents and four servants in a private execution in a Buddhist temple. In 2008, Benedict XVI beatified 188 Japanese martyrs, among them twenty “sons” and three “daughters,” with proper names but no ages. The three daughters belonged to a noble family who died together. Those designated “sons” accompanied a parent, brother, or other relatives to martyrdom. The second group of children and youth without known ages are twelve Brazilians, eleven of which lack proper names and ages. In 2017, Francis canonized this group of Brazilian martyrs, known as the Martyrs of Natal. Simply referred to as “daughters of . . .” they died in a group of thirty Portuguese Catholic colonists murdered by native Brazilians and Dutch Huguenot settlers. Seven of these are male Brazilian martyrs described as “young companions of Joao Martins.” Group Martyrs The majority of child and youth martyrs died in groups (89%) (Table 3: Part I). Of these, males are the majority (80%). Among the 147 child and youth martyrs with known ages, 114 or 77% are males. Of these 114, sixty-one, or 54%, are youth (fifteen to eighteen years), thirty-five, or 31%, are adolescents (seven to fourteen years), and eighteen, or 16%, are children (one to six years). Several factors explain the martyrdom pattern among male youth and adolescents. Socialization into gender roles occurs between the ages of five and eight, when children acquire reasoning capabilities, understand moral distinctions, and assume gender-defined responsibilities through participation in adult activities.26 Parents and other adults 25. Francis, (motu proprio), Antiquum Ministerium (apostolic letter, Vatican, May 10, 2021). 26. Barbara Rogoff et al., “Age of Assignment of Roles and Responsibilities to Children: A Cross-cultural Survey,” Human Development, 18 (1975), 353–69; Chunyan Yu et al., 482 CATHOLIC CHILD AND YOUTH MARTYRS, 1588–2022 (for example, a priest or teacher) direct males into work and religious responsibilities outside the home. By contrast, females are socialized in domesticity, assuming responsibilities within the private sphere of the home, the “epicenter of feminine virtue,” learning to care for family members and identifying as future mothers and wives. Male children become participants in the church’s formal religious rituals as early as the age of seven. Since only males receive ordination, perform sacramental roles, and become senior officials in the Church hierarchy, they congregate together at an early age in exclusively male church-sanctioned activities. Through this socialization, young males learn the language, symbolism, and significance of religious doctrine and sacramental practices that regulate Catholic life. As a consequence, males publicly represent the Catholic faith, becoming targets of religious violence. Of the male martyrs in the data set with known ages, the youngest to formally affiliate with the Church were two Franciscan novices, aged eight and ten, martyred by Protestants in Prague in 1611. Of the seventy-eight male martyrs between the ages of eight and eighteen, 59% formally participated in some institutional capacity.27 The majority of these males were affiliated with or were members of a mendicant order.28 Only four had no affiliation with a religious order. 46% of male child and youth martyrs formally involved in the Church died during the Spanish Civil War. Among child and youth martyrs who died in groups, 20% are female. None of these females was a member of an order. Even as the Church formally and “incisively” broadens female participation in liturgical celebrations and lay ministries, the Vatican continues to uphold traditional Catholic teaching on complementary gender roles. Girls are to remain chaste until marriage, becoming a virtuous wife and mother modeled on the Virgin Mary, mother of Christ. In patriarchal, male-dominated Catholicism, a common theme in hagiographies of young female medieval saints and martyrs was their unwillingness to submit to marriage, thereby “Marching to a Different Drummer: A Cross-Cultural Comparison of Young Adolescents Who Challenge Gender Roles,” Journal of Adolescent Health, 61 (2017), 548–54; Glenn H. Elder, Jr. and Martha J. Cox, “When Societal Events Occur in Lives: Developmental Linkages and Turning Points,” in: Children in Changing Worlds: Sociocultural and Temporal Perspectives, eds. Ross D. Parke and Glen H. Elder, Jr. (Cambridge, 2019), 25–56. 27. They are acolyte, catechist, cooperator, confrater or tertiary, aspirant, sacristan, seminarian, novice, religious, and cleric. 28. These orders were Augustinian Recollects, Order of Friars Minor (Franciscan), Order of Preachers (Dominican), Carmelite of the Ancient Observance, and Hospitallers of Saint John of God. RACHEL M. MCCLEARY 483 rejecting the binary gender characteristics of dominant (male)/submissive (female) or superior (male)/inferior (female) and instead choosing a religious vocation.29 Joining a religious community to avoid marriage, however, does not entail avoiding binary gender constructions. Female religious orders are under male ecclesiastical authority (for spiritual direction and sacramental needs) from the local bishop up to the Holy See.30 The Spanish Civil War patterns of martyrdom show religious persecution conforming to gender stereotypes promoted by the Nationalist and Republican forces. Republicanism depicted the Catholic clergy as controlling and “accessing” women through sacramental rituals (especially the confessional) in order to express “their irrepressible sexual desires.”31 Anticlerical militia viewed nuns and lay religious women as “duped” victims, submissive “instruments” of the clergy’s lustfulness and authority.32 Nationalists similarly viewed women as subjugated to male authority (husband and priest) but as defenders of traditional Catholic patriarchal normative order. Statistics on deaths during the Spanish Civil War show that few nuns were killed (283) when compared to an estimated 6,832 members of the Catholic clergy, including thirteen bishops, 4,172 diocesan priests and seminarians, and 2,365 monks, clerics, and friars.33 Whereas male postulants, novitiates, clerics, and seminarians were violently attacked, with many of them stripped naked, their genitalia removed, and executed, female religious were rarely physically abused, raped, or executed.34 29. For a discussion of refusal to marry in the lives of young saints, see Weinstein and Bell, Saints and Society, 87–99. Caroline Walker Bynum positions the topic of rejection of marriage as an issue of control over one’s physicality, Holy Feast and Holy Fast (California, 1987), 222–26. 30. The exception to males in the Church administration are few and only recent. In 2020 and 2021, Francis began to appoint women to positions in the Vatican Curia: Italian lawyer Francesca di Giovanni as Undersecretary of Multilateral Affairs, Secretariat of State; Sister Alessandra Smerilli, Undersecretary for Faith and Development, Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development; Italian magistrate Catia Summaria, Promoter of Justice, Vatican Court of Appeals; Sister Nathalie Becquart, co-Undersecretary for the Vatican’s Synod of Bishops. 31. María Pilar Salomón Chéliz, “Beatas Sojuzgadas por el Clero: La Imagen de las Mujeres en el Discurso anti-Clerical en la España del Primer Tercero del Siglo XX,” Feminismo/s (Dec., 2003), 41–58. 32. Mary Vincent, “’The Keys to the Kingdom’: Religious Violence in the Spanish Civil War, July–August 1936,” in: The Splintering of Spain: Cultural History and the Spanish Civil War, 1936–1939, eds. Chris Ealham and Michael Richards (Cambridge, 2005), 68–89. 33. Antonio Montero Moreno, Historia de la Persecución Religiosa en España, 1936– 1939 (Madrid, 1961), 762. 34. Vincent, “‘The Keys to The Kingdom,’” 86. 484 CATHOLIC CHILD AND YOUTH MARTYRS, 1588–2022 The 2,053 martyrs of the Spanish Civil War are the largest group of beatifieds for a single event (Table 3: Part I).35 Of the 236 females beatified, 192 are religious and forty-four are lay, and none are younger than the age of nineteen. Among the total of 236, John Paul II beatified ninetynine, Benedict XVI beatified forty-eight, and Francis beatified eightynine. These Spanish Civil War martyrs include twenty-six child and youth martyrs, all of whom are male and only two of which did not die in a group (Table 3: Part I). All the beatified child and youth martyrs of the Spanish Civil War were between the ages of fifteen and eighteen. Republican forces imprisoned and executed groups of lay males (including male relatives) and entire religious communities together.36 The youngest beatified martyr of this war, Francisco García León, fifteen years of age, was arrested with his uncle for refusing to discard a scapular. He died with his father and uncle in a group of prisoners massacred by Republican militia. Another teenager, the fifteen-year-old Antonio Gaitán Perabad who was arrested with his father and two cousins, refused to return home when given the opportunity. Republicans shot them several times in the head and buried them in a common grave. The themes of multigenerational martyrdom and filial loyalty prevalent in Spanish Civil War narratives are also culturally prominent among the blesseds of pre-modern Japan, Chosǒn Korea, and Qing China. The largest geographic concentration of child and adolescent martyrs (ages zero to fourteen) is in Asia (Table 3: Part I). The Tokugawa shogūnate in Japan (1600–1873), and later the Korean Chosǒn dynasty (1784– 1886), instituted systematic purges of Christians lasting decades.37 The Chinese martyrs of the Qing dynasty (1898–1901) died under different circumstances; nevertheless, the societies of Tokugawa Japan, Chosǒn Korea, and Qing China reflect religious diffusion primarily through kinship networks. 35. Fifty-five martyrs from that civil war are to be beatified in 2022, only one of whom is a nun. 36. Francisco Javier Ramón Solans, “‘They Walked Towards their Death as if to a Party.’ Martydom, Agency and Performativity in the Spanish Civil War,” Politics, Religion, and Ideology, 17, nos. 2–3 (2016), 210–26, here 220. 37. For a discussion of the reasons for the persecutions by the Japanese Shogūnate, see Charles R. Boxer, The Christian Century in Japan (Berkeley, 1951) and Joseph Jennes, A History of the Catholic Church in Japan: From Its Beginnings to the Early Meiji Period (1549–1873) (Tokyo, 1959); for Chosǒn Korea, see Franklin Rausch, “Like Birds and Beasts: Justifying Violence against Catholics in Late Chosǒn Korea,” Acta Korana, 15, no. 1 (2012), 43–71; for China, see Paul Hattaway, China’s Christian Martyrs (Oxford, 2007) and Anthony E. Clark, China’s Saints: Catholic Martyrdom during the Qing (1644–1911) (Pennsylvania, 2011). RACHEL M. MCCLEARY 485 In neo-Confucian Japan, Korea and China, the soul of a departed ancestor could only receive reincarnation and deification through a series of religious rites performed by his or her descendants.38 Children (especially the first-born male) ensured the veneration of one’s parents and ancestors through filial piety, the highest norm in pre-modern Confucian societies. The social norms learned within the family translated into the socio-economic-political roles a child assumed as an adult in society. For example, in pre-modern Japan, the loyal son became the loyal subject of a daimyō, and the daimyō, in turn, became the loyal subject of the shogun. The integrity of Asian societies and their successful functioning relied on the interlocking nature of neo-Confucian ethics. Conversion to Christianity was a disruptive force within multigenerational family households and implicated all family members, even those who did not convert.39 Converting to Christianity was apostasy from the perspective of traditional spiritual and cultural ancestral veneration. Two of the earliest Korean beatified martyrs, executed in 1791, were cousins who had burned their ancestor tablets. Breaking with ancestor worship became an act of defiance as well as a test to ferret out Christians. Converts who refused to perform ancestral worship were “breaking off proper human relations” and rebelling against the cosmic-moral foundation of civilization.40 Families disowned converted children or were powerless to protect them against societal persecution. Thus another theme—subhumanness—runs through the accounts of religious persecution. In the Spanish Civil War context, religious males were preying sexual beasts. In the Confucian context, Christian converts violated the social order and were no longer human beings, but jackals and crows.41 On the other hand, even though conversion broke neo-Confucian social order, entire households 38. Endō Shūsaku, cited in James Harry Morris, “Anti-Kirishitan Surveillance in Early Modern Japan,” Surveillance and Society 16, no. 4 (2018), 410–31; here 421; Andrew Finch, “The Pursuit of Martyrdom in the Catholic Church in Korea before 1866,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 60, no. 1 (2009), 95–118; Jan Jakob Maria de Groot, The Religion of the Chinese (New York, 1910), Chapter Three; James Watson and Evelyn Rawski, eds., Death Ritual in Late Imperial and Modern China (Berkeley, 1988). 39. This is a theme in early Roman Christianity, Ernest Cadman Colwell, “Popular Reactions against Christianity in the Roman Empire,” in: Environmental Factors in Church History, eds. James T. McNeill, Matthew Spinka, and Harold R. Willougby (Chicago, 1939), 53–71, here 62. 40. James Huntley Grayson, Korea: A Religious History, revised edition (London, 2002), 141–6; Don Baker, Korean Spirituality (Honolulu, 2008), 64–70; Rausch, “Like Birds and Beasts,” 57. 41. Rausch, “Like Birds and Beasts,” 57, 60. 486 CATHOLIC CHILD AND YOUTH MARTYRS, 1588–2022 converted to Christianity, thereby ensuring intergenerational familial integrity. Christian households met secretly, creating wider social cohesion and organizing themselves into sodalities and neighborhood units.42 An amalgam of neo-Confucianism and Jesuit Catholic Reformation martyrology created a distinctive brand of Japanese religious fervor.43 Appeals to the hardships endured by early Roman Christian martyrs “especially the young ones and meek women” who gave up their homes, family, and friends to die for their faith were intended to inculcate loyalty to the Christian faith. Following the persecutions under Hideyoshi in the 1580s, young Japanese boys learned the lives of the saints from the Sanctos no Gosagyo (adapted from Flos Sanctorum) printed in 1591 in romaji.44 The psychological pressure exerted by missionaries and soon-to-be martyrs on their families not to apostatize required novel doctrinal interpretations. The Exhortations to Martyrdom, compiled around 1614–15, consists of teachings on how to remain faithful under persecution.45 The Instructions on Martyrdom (circa 1622) state unequivocally who is a martyr, including an infant (baptized or unbaptized) and a fetus killed along with 42. The circumstances and existence of underground Christian (Kirishitan) communities up until the late 1800s are discussed by Peter Nosco, “The Experiences of the Christians during the Underground Years and Thereafter,” Japanese Journal of Religious Studies, 34, no. 1 (2007), 3–29. 43. Martyrdom was integral to Jesuit evangelizing missionary activities worldwide. “Just as they were candidates for martyrdom in the Reformed regions of Europe, the Jesuits desired to die for the Church everywhere, treating their own martyrs as instruments for the conversion of souls and the establishing of the Church in new lands. This was part and parcel of a systematic global strategy that was carefully documented and illustrated. On the basis of this policy, the Jesuits circulated widely the reports of the martyrdom of their brethren, thus creating a veritable spiritual cartography that accompanied the technical cartography of the world that was in the process of being made at that time.” Renato Cymbalista, “The Presence of the Martyrs: Jesuit Martyrdom and the Christianisation of Portuguese America,” International Journal for the Study of the Christian Church, 10, no. 4 (2010), 287–305, here 290–1. For the effect of Jesuit theater on impressionable young minds and their use for recruitment purposes, see Christoph Nebgen, “Missionaries: Who Were They?” in: A Companion to Early Modern Catholic Global Missions, ed. Ronnie Po-chia Hsia (Boston, 2018), 401–24, here 416– 19, 421–23. Child martyrdom was part of Jesuit evangelization propaganda and theatrical performances for young western European children; see Goran Proot and Johan Verberckmoes, “Japonica in the Jesuit Drama of the Southern Netherlands,” Bulletin of Portuguese Japanese Studies, 5 (2002), 27–47, here 41–44; James A. Parente, “Andreas Gryphius and Jesuit Theatre,” Daphnis, 13, no. 3 (1984), 525–51, here 535n26. 44. Boxer, Christian Century, 191, 234. 45. Masaharu Anesaki, “Writings on Martyrdom Kirishitan Literature,” Transactions of the Asiastic Society of Japan, [ser. II], 8 (Jan., 1931), 39–59. RACHEL M. MCCLEARY 487 the mother.46 The Exhortations makes clear that one should not apostatize out of affection for wives, children, and friends. A disturbing account of martyrdom zeal is an exchange between soon-to-be-martyr Jesuit Carlo Spinol, who calls out to Isabel Fernandez as she appears on Nishizaka Hill outside Nagasaki: “Isabel where is your son Ignacio?” Isabel, holding up her five-year old son, exclaims in response, “Father, here is my son. I will offer him to God. He will become a martyr with me.”47 Becoming a martyr was the highest act of charity, whereas the second highest was the sacrifice of one’s “dedicated wives and children, relatives, property, and so forth.”48 The beatifications of large groups of Japanese martyrs by Pius IX (1867) and Benedict XVI (2008), combined with the twenty-six beatified by Urban VIII (1627) include eighty-three child and youth martyrs, the largest affiliated with a single event (Table 3: Part I). One estimate of the total number of Christians executed in Japan after the 1614 expulsion edict 46. Anesaki, “Writings,” 59–65. For the Church, the veneration of children who suffered violent deaths has its locus not in their innocence but in God’s relationship with humanity. Humans are born with the impulse to sin and therefore are “non-innocent.” Augustine viewed original sin as inherited from Adam, tainting human beings from their first breath. A newborn child in this hereditary state of original sin is “pure” but not “innocent.” On Augustine’s view, unbaptized children were destined for hell. Since the first centuries of Christian persecution, the Church theologically posits that martyrdom can be a substitute for water baptism (baptismus aquæ). “Those who suffer death for the sake of the faith without having received Baptism are baptized by their death for and with Christ. This Baptism of blood, like the desire for Baptism, brings about the fruits of Baptism without being a sacrament,” Catechism of the Catholic Church (Vatican City, 1993), VI, para. 1258. Fetuses martyred in the womb are similar to the Holy Innocents. Their executioners out of “selfishness and fear” intentionally ended their lives and in this way “they are in solidarity with the Holy Innocents,” International Theological Commission, The Hope of Salvation for Infants who Die without being Baptised (Rome, 2007), para. 86b. Thomas Aquinas held that “children while in the mother’s womb . . . can, however, be subject to the action of God, in Whose sight they live, so as, by a kind of privilege, to receive the grace of sanctification” Summa Theologica (London, 1963), III.68.11.1. The Church agrees with this theological interpretation of the mystery of God’s grace that is beyond human knowing; see International Theological Commission, The Hope, 87c. Instructions on Martyrdom, written in Japan prior to 1622, has a curiously undogmatic section on the martyrdom of a child executed in the arms of her mother or in the womb. A child “without judgment or determination,” that is, in innocence “below the age of reason” and lacking intentional volition, goes to her martyrdom. A child who dies in her mother’s arms or womb is a martyr because the mother is a Christian who willingly gave her life for God. The Instructions suggests a covenant of faith. Through the mother’s faith, the innocent infant and fetus attain salvation, a theologically unsound proposition in the Catholic Church. See Anesaki, “Writings,” 59–65, here 62–3. 47. Don C. Seitz, “The Nagasaki Martyrs,” Catholic Historical Review, 13, no. 3 (1927), 503–09, here 506. 48. Anesaki, “Writings,” 51. 488 CATHOLIC CHILD AND YOUTH MARTYRS, 1588–2022 The 26 martyrs of Nagasaki. Japanese Jesuit priest Paulus Miki with six other professed priests and religious of the Society of Jesus as well as of the Order of Friars Minor and seventeen lay people, including male youth and adolescents, were arrested and sentenced to death by crucifixion in 1597. On order of daimyo Toyotomi Hideyoshi their bodies remained on the crosses for several months. The 26 martyrs of Nagasaki were beatified in 1627 by Urban VIII and canonized in 1862 by Pius IX. Attribution: ilustración—grabado calcográfico—de Juan Francisco de San Antonio: «Crónicas de la apostólica provincia de S. Gregorio de religiosos descalzos de NSPS Francisco en las Islas Filipinas, China, Japón, & c.” (Parte Tercera, de la Celeberrima Seraphica Mission de Japon), Sampaloc, 1744. https://franciscanos_ martires_de_japon-312x350.jpg&f=1&nofb=1 is 2,128, including seventy-one Europeans.49 Between 1597 and 1633, fifty-nine beatified children and youths with known ages were executed. Adolescent and youth males tended to die with their fathers and brothers in groups of males. Infants and younger adolescents died with their mothers or their entire families. Many family members died from wretched prison conditions awaiting execution. 49. Boxer, Christian Century, Appendix XIV. RACHEL M. MCCLEARY 489 The Korean martyrs, similar to those of Japan, died in waves of government-sponsored Christian persecution over several decades. Whereas the introduction of Catholicism to Japan began with Jesuit missionaries converting a daimyō and those under his domain through mass conversion, the Korean Catholic Church from its inception was a native lay movement.50 The persecution of Korean Christians, which began in 1795 and lasted until 1871, resulted in an estimated 10,000 deaths with 8,000 of those occurring between 1868 and 1870.51 The government imprisoned thousands of Korean children with their relatives and fellow Christians. Whereas the Japanese Tokugawa shogūnate sought to exterminate Christianity by executing infants, children and youth with their families, a slightly more humane interpretation appears in the narratives of Korean child and youth martyrs. Prison officials allowed mothers to release their infants into the care of relatives. Pregnant women temporarily left prison to give birth and returned for execution. Judges were reluctant to sentence children and adolescents (particularly females) to death, often urging them to apostatize. Of the 228 beatified Korean martyrs (who died between 1791 and 1888), only eight are children and youth, a miniscule fraction of those persecuted. Francis beatified four of these children and youth in 2014, and Pius XI beatified three in 1925. John Paul II canonized four in a group of 103 martyrs in 1984. Unlike the origins of religious persecution in Japan and Korea, antiCatholic violence in China at the turn of the twentieth century began as a chaotic popular uprising in reaction to special legal and economic concessions granted by the Qing government to Protestant and Catholic foreign missions. The Boxer Rebellion (1899–1901) targeted Christian missions located in northern China. After the Empress Dowager Cixi in June of 1900 declared war against the Eight Nation Alliance, her government issued a public decree requiring Chinese Christians to apostatize. Qing imperial troops coordinating with bands of Boxers attacked mission stations, frequently killing and destroying entire villages in which the missions were located. Estimates of the number of victims of the Boxer Rebellion is 250 foreigners and tens of thousands of Chinese.52 Of the 120 50. Finch, “A Persecuted Church: Roman Catholicism in Early Nineteenth-Century Korea,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 51, no. 3 (2000), 556–80. 51. Committee for the Bicentennial Commemorative Projects of the Catholic Church of Korea, Lives of the 103 Martyrs (Seoul, 1984), 10–1. 52. Paul Cohen, History in Three Keys: The Boxers as Event, Experience, and Myth (New York, 1997), 310. 490 CATHOLIC CHILD AND YOUTH MARTYRS, 1588–2022 canonized by John Paul II in 2000, eighty-seven are Chinese and thirtythree are foreign missionaries. Of the 120, sixteen are children and youth who died in 1900. Patterns of persecution are similar to those in other Asian societies in that the youngest Chinese martyrs, ages seven and nine, died with their mothers. Unmarried females accompanied their mothers and siblings to their deaths, several refusing sexual slavery or arranged marriages. The socialization of Chinese male adolescents and youths in the Church as catechists, acolytes, and seminarians translates into a pattern of males dying together, at times in the company of foreign clergy. The region with the second highest number of child and youth martyrs is Africa.53 Two Catholic missionary institutes, The Society of Missionaries of Africa (White Fathers) and the Componi Missionaries, worked in eastern and northern Uganda, respectively, during the late 1800s. The founder of the Componi missionaries, Daniele Comboni, drawing on the missionary philosophy of Charles Lavigerie, founder of the White Fathers, trained Africans to evangelize to Africans.54 In the 1870s, increasing European (Anglican and Catholic) missionary presence in East Africa as well as British and German trade, scientific, and military expeditions challenged the territorial authority of the Bagandan (modern Uganda) rulers.55 The martyrdom of twenty-two Banda in 1886, including seven adolescent and youth pages from the Baganda court, occurred within this unstable geo-political context.56 One explanation for the executions is that Mwanga II, Kabaka of Buganda, suspected his Christian pages of being informants for the foreign (Anglican and Catholic) missionaries. The primary explanation for the martyrdoms given in historical accounts is the Christian pages refusing to participate in Mwanga II’s homosexual practices.57 Christian missionaries (Anglican and Catholic) preached an absolutist moral stance against homosexuality as well as other Bugandan prac53. The geographic region with the least number of child and youth martyrs is Eastern Europe. 54. Laura António Nhaueleque and Luca Bussotti, “The Conceptualisation of Africa in the Catholic Church Comparing Historically the Thought of Daniele Comboni and Adalberto da Postioma,” Social Sciences and Missions, 32, no. 1–2 (2019), 148–76, here 157. 55. Rev. J.P. Thoonen, Black Martyrs (London, 1942), 169. 56. To the north of Buganda, Kabarega (the king of Bunyoro Kitara, a traditional enemy of Buganda) was fighting off the pending invasion from the Khedive of Egypt. From the east, the Germans were annexing territories in the regions of present Tanzania. 57. Thoonen, Black Martyrs, 99, 104–06, 165, 170–01; J.A. Rowe, “The Purge of Christians at Mwanga’s Court: A Reassessment of the Episode in Buganda History,” Journal of African History, 5, no. 1 (1964), 55–72, here 70. RACHEL M. MCCLEARY 491 tices such as polygamy, worshipping tribal gods, wearing magical amulets, and shamans. The canonization of twenty-two Uganda martyrs in 1964 (not including twenty-three Anglican martyrs) was an opportune moment to reinterpret historical events from Ugandan and western perspectives, bringing into question the official interpretation of the Congregation for the Causes of Saints that hinged on the role of sodomy in the Baganda court.58 The canonization entered into contemporary African debates on same-sex relations, including whether sodomy was a foreign import (“European”) or ethnic “Bugandan” practice.59 Yet, the recurring theme of subhuman-ness appears in Paul VI’s homily celebrating the canonization of the Banda Catholic martyrs. Bugandan culture was “that primitive human society” with Africans behaving in an “almost instinctive state” until Christianity elevated them to a civilized state.60 Focusing for a moment on Kizito, the youngest martyred page at approximately thirteen years of age, the priest Père Simeon Lourdel described Kizito gaily going to his execution, “as if he were at play with his friends.”61 This same motif occurs in an eyewitness account of the second great martyrdom of Edo (Tokyo) on December 24, 1622, describing a group of eighteen children following men and women, “all too young to have learnt to fear death. They went laughing and gleefully joking in childlike fashion, carrying the toys and knickknacks that are children’s delight.”62 58. Thoonen, Black Martyrs, 99, 104–06, 165, 170–01; Kevin Ward, “Same-sex Relations in Africa and the Debate on Homosexuality in East African Anglicanism,” Anglican Theological Review, 84, no. 1 (2002), 81–111; Neville Hoad, African Intimacies: Race, Homosexuality, and Globalization (Minnesota, 2007); John Blevins, “When Sodomy Leads to Martyrdom: Sex, Religion, and Politics in Historical and Contemporary Contexts in Uganda and East Africa,” Theology and Sexuality, 17, no.1 (2011), 51–74. 59. Blevins, “When Sodomy,” passim; Rahul Rao, “Re-membering Mwanga: Same-sex Intimacy, Memory and Belonging in Postcolonial Uganda,” Journal of Eastern African Studies, 9, no. 1 (2015), 1–19. 60. Paul VI, “Canonization of the Martyrs of Uganda,” October 18 (homily, Vatican, October 18, 1964). 61. Thoonen, Black Martyrs, 189, 243–4. 62. An eyewitness account of the second great martyrdom of Edo (Tokyo) on December 24, 1622, around the time the Instructions was compiled, described a group of eighteen children following men and women. These children were hacked to death with a sword. “Some were beheaded, others slashed from head to navel, others sawn asunder, while others finally were hung up by one foot and torn limb to limb.” Hubert Cieslik, “The Great Martyrdom in Edo 1623: Its Causes, Course, and Consequences,” Monumenta Nipponica, 10, nos. 1–2 (combined issue, 1954), 1–44, here 33. 492 CATHOLIC CHILD AND YOUTH MARTYRS, 1588–2022 Returning to Kizito, even though Père Lourdel thought Kizito a child, “too young to know his own mind and also insufficiently instructed,” Kizito exhibits a maturity beyond his chronological age (puer senex motif) by understanding that if he was killed without being baptized, he would not be saved.63 Kizito’s insistence on being baptized signaled his acceptance of impending martyrdom, conveying the message that a life of Christian purity could only be lived in the afterlife. Kizito’s narrative mirrors that of Anpronianus in the Flos Sanctorum, who requested baptism (redemption from sin) as a yearning for martyrdom.64 The narrative of a second group of Ugandan martyrs, Daudi Okelo and Jildo Irwa, follows the same story arc of Antonio and Juan, the two Nahua martyrs. Two converted young boys, Antonio, the grandson of a Tlaxcala nobleman, and his slave-servant Juan, at the request of the Spanish Franciscan Fray Martín de Valencia, traveled to a hostile tribe to evangelize. The Franciscan friar warned them of the volatile circumstances. Antonio and Juan were foreign Christian converts to this tribe. When they defiled sacred objects in their evangelistic zeal, the local tribe beat them to death in 1529. The narrative of Ugandan martyrs Daudi Okelo and his assistant Jildo Irwa follows the formulaic storyline, highlighting similar themes. In 1917, the Italian priest Cesare Gambaretto, who has recently opened a Comboni mission station at Kitgum in northern Uganda, requested Okelo, sixteen years of age and a catechist, to travel to the town of Paimol with Jildo Irwa, twelve years, as his assistant to evangelize to Acholi tribal children.65 Analogous to the role of the Franciscan friar in Juan and Antonio’s narrative, Gambaretto warned the boys of the area’s lawlessness, frequented by slave traders and gold seekers and marred by inter-tribal violence. In both narratives, the clerical warning sets the stage for the boys to acknowledge their acceptance of martyrdom. Similar to the two Nahua boys sent to evangelize to a nearby tribe, Okelo and Irwa were Acholi tribe members but belonged to a different clan from the Paimolians. Like Antonio and Juan, they are a foreign presence as well as young Christian converts actively engaged in evangelizing. In eastern Acholi, where Paimol was located, ongoing intra-tribal conflict and violent resistance to British colonization policies had destabilized the region, a theme mirrored in Antonio 63. Thoonen, Black Martyrs, 165. 64. Andrew M. Beresford, “Dreams of Death in Medieval Castilian Hagiography: Martyrdom and Ideology in the Gran Flos Sanctorum,” La Corónica, 42, no. 1 (2013), 159–84, here 177–78. 65. John Orr Dwyer, “The Acholi of Uganda: Adjustment to Imperialism” (PhD diss., Columbia University, 1972), 213. RACHEL M. MCCLEARY 493 and Juan’s narrative as the tribe they sought to evangelize was resisting Spanish conquest. In 1918, in defiance of the British commissioner’s decision to depose the Acholi tribal hereditary chief and appoint a man from another village, an uprising began in October, lasting until early November. Okelo and Irwa, outsiders and innocent bystanders to the conflict, died along with local Catholic converts and foreigners.66 The third largest geographic concentration of child and youth martyrs is in Latin America, signaling a new trend initiated by the last three popes. If we include those without age and proper name, the largest group died in 1645 in Natal, Brazil.67 Within the context of the Dutch-Portuguese wars, rebel moradores (Portuguese colonists) hanged thirty-three Tupi Amerindian Dutch auxiliaries and enslaved their families in retaliation for a Dutch-led massacre on the Portuguese village of Cunhaú, murdering Jesuit priest André de Soveral and numerous colonists. In retaliation, Tupi and Tarairiu allied together and, accompanied by Dutch colonists of the West India Company, attacked a moradores settlement at Uruaçu, Rio Grande.68 This counterattack freed the enslaved Tupi women and children while exacting casualties among the Portuguese settlers, among them twelve children and youth. In 2000, for the celebration of the 500th anniversary of the evangelization of Brazil, John Paul II beatified thirty Portuguese martyrs from Cunháu and Uruaçu (referred to as the Natal martyrs). Among them were twelve youth with no age, and eleven with no proper name. In his homily, John Paul II referred to the martyrs as “defenceless Catholics,” glossing over the colonial context of brutal warring and violent subjugation of 66. For a discussion of this event, see Dwyer, “The Acholi of Uganda,” 164–67. For a critique of the Vatican’s framing of the beatification of Okelo and Irwa, see Henni Alava, “The Lord’s Resistance Army and the Arms that Brought the Lord: Amplifying Polyphonic Silences in Northern Uganda,” Suomen Anthropologi, 44, no. 1 (2019), 9–29. For a sharp critique of the Catholic Church and the Comboni Mission’s collaboration with British colonial authorities, see Todd David Whitmore, “Sequela Comboni: Writing Theological Ethnography in the Context of Empire,” Practical Matters, 6 (2013), 1–39, here 23. 67. The second group of martyrs classified as Brazilian, although they had not yet reached Brazil, are forty Portuguese and Spanish Jesuit missionaries to Brazil martyred at sea by French Huguenots in 1570 near the Canary Islands. The five martyred youth of this group were novices and clerics, fitting the familiar pattern of male socialization into the Catholic ecclesiastical hierarchy. 68. Mark Meuwese, “The Opportunities and Limits of Ethnic Soldiering: The Tupis and the Dutch-Portuguese Struggle for the Southern Atlantic, 1630–1657,” in: Empires and Indigenes, Intercultural Alliance, Imperial Expansion, and Warfare in the Early Modern World, ed. Lee Wayne (New York, 2011), 193–220, here 210. 494 CATHOLIC CHILD AND YOUTH MARTYRS, 1588–2022 Amerindians. 69 For their canonization in 2017 by Francis, the narrative of their martyrdoms places Dutch Calvinists as the instigators of the persecution, moving the Amerindians to the periphery.70 Rearticulating their story within the narrow focus of Protestant-Catholic competition contemporized their martyrdoms for Brazilians. The Church in Brazil is losing adherents to Evangelicalism (of various types) to the degree that by the end of 2022, Brazil, the largest Catholic country in the world, will become majority Protestant.71 The revised hagiography positions the Martyrs of Natal as powerful exemplars for contesting anti-Catholic rhetoric and Protestant competition. During the same ceremony in 2017, Pope Francis canonized three Nahua male youth martyrs of Tlaxcala, Mexico—Cristóbal (age twelve) martyred in 1527, and Antonio and Juan (ages twelve and thirteen) martyred in 1529. Educated by millennialist Franciscans, these young zealous converts turned against their Nahual institutions and norms.72 Openly criticizing Tlaxcalan elders’ religious practices and desecrating sacred objects, 69. John Paul II, “Beatification of 44 Servants of God” (homily, Vatican, March 5, 2000). In his post-synodal apostotic exhortation, Querida Amazonia (Vatican, 2020), Francis twice alludes to the early colonial period but does not directly address Catholic colonial missionary activity and its role in subjugating the Amerindians. This is odd given that on July 9, 2015, speaking at the Second World Meeting of Popular Movements, Francis asked for forgiveness for, “the many grave sins were committed against the native peoples of America in the name of God.” Nevertheless, his words did not translate into action as he went on to canonize the Natal martyrs without acknowledging Amerindian Christian martyrs. Francis, “Address by the Holy Father” (address, Expo Feria Exhibition Centre, Santa Cruz de la Sierra, July 9, 2015, given during the Apostolic Journey of His Holiness Pope Francis to Ecuador, Bolivia and Paraguay [5–13 July, 2015], participation at the Second World Meeting of Popular Movements). 70. General postulator’s report, “Canonization of the Holy Martyrs of Natal, Brazil and Tlaxcala, Mexico,” Featured News, Ordo Fratrum Minorum, October 13, 2017, http://ofm.org/blog/canonisation-holy-martyrs-natal-brazil-tlaxcala-mexico/. 71. Francis X. Rocca, Luciana Magalhaes, and Samatha Pearson, “Why the Catholic Church is Losing Latin America,” Wall Street Journal, January 11, 2022, A1, A10. 72. Byron Ellsworth Hamann, “Child Martyrs and Murderous Children,” in: The Social Experience of Childhood in Ancient Mesoamerica, eds. Traci Ardren and Scott R. Hutson, (Boulder, 2006), 203–31; Robert Haskett, “Dying for Conversion: Faith, Obedience, and the Tlaxcalan Boy Martyrs in New Spain,” Colonial Latin American Review, 17, no. 2 (2008), 185–212, here 201. Mark Christiansen, “Missionizing Mexico: Ecclesiastics, Natives, and the Spread of Christianity,” in: A Companion to Early Modern Catholic Global Missions, ed. Ronnie Po-Chia Hsia, [Brill’s Companions to the Christian Tradition, 80] (Leiden, 2017), 17–40, discusses the Franciscan evangelizing strategies of concentrating educational efforts on children and youth while at the same time performing mass baptisms without proper Catholic catechesis instruction. RACHEL M. MCCLEARY 495 early hagiographers deploy the puer senex motif to describe these boys as “‘wise infants’ instructing foolish elders,” thereby justifying the inversion of Nahual social order.73 Cristóbal was murdered by his father Acxotecatl, a Nahual lord and elder. Interpreting the murders of these pubescent boys depends on the cultural perspective. Are they adolescents lacking full agency, or are they adults challenging the authority of their peers? From the European perspective, children ages twelve and thirteen are not yet adults, retaining a saintly innocence and purity. According to Tlaxcala stages of childhood, at the ages of twelve and thirteen, the martyrs were now adults.74 Cristóbal, as direct heir to his father’s title and holdings, challenged his father’s social status not as a child but as a male adult. On this interpretation, Acxotecatl murdering his son was justified by Nahual cultural norms, as his adult son was challenging his legitimate authority.75 Interpreting persecutors’ intentions are difficult to discern in ideologically radicalized contexts. The first child and youth martyrs of Central America died during civil wars in El Salvador (1979–1992) and Guatemala (1960–1996).76 After Vatican II, the Latin American Catholic Conference of Bishops formulated a social justice doctrine justifying a normative stance for clergy and laity to organize farming cooperatives, credit unions, and labor unions.77 The assassination of sixteen-year-old Nelson Rutilio Lemus, who died accompanying Jesuit priest Rutilio Grande and lay catechist Manuel Solórzano while driving from the town of Aguilares to El Paisnal, El Salvador appears to have a political motivation. Grande, as “an activist cleric,” through his pastoral activities of organizing comunidades eclesiales de base became a “Communist” threat to the military.78 The narrative arc of Nelson Rutilio Lemus’s life and martyrdom reappears in the hagiographies of Adilio Daronch (age fifteen) and Thomas Khampheuane Inthirath (sixteen). Adolescents serving in their capacities as 73. Haskett, “Dying for Conversion,” 200–1. 74. Hamann, “Child Martyrs,” 223–24. 75. Hamann, “Child Martyrs,” 224. 76. The case of Juan Barrera Méndez, Guatemala, is discussed in the section on those who were martyred alone. 77. The Bishops’ position is laid out in Consejo Episcopal Latino-Americano (CELAM), II Conferencia General del Episcopado Latino Americano (Colombia, 1968). For a discussion of the political and social context of the martyrdoms see, Tommi Sue Montgomery, “The Church in the Salvadoran Revolution,” Latin American Perspectives, 10, no. 1 (1983), 62–78, here 70–4. 78. Montgomery, “The Church,” 83; Paul Sigmund, Liberation Theology at the Crossroads: Democracy or Revolution? (Oxford, 1992), 112. 496 CATHOLIC CHILD AND YOUTH MARTYRS, 1588–2022 altar boys (not trained as catechists) accompanied their parish priests on pastoral visits into geographic areas violently contested between rebel groups and the military. After warnings from local residents of insurgent activities in the area, the youth and his parish priest continued their pastoral visits. Rebels captured and executed Daronch with Spanish priest Manuel Gómez González in southwestern Brazil in 1924. Guerrillas murdered Inthirath, of the ethnolinguistic group Lavȇn, with French priest Lucien Galan during pastoral visits in Laos in 1968. These narratives express the familiar motif of a warning foreshadowing their martyrdoms found in the narratives of the two Nahua youth and the two Acholi youths. The corpus of their narratives consists of their obedience to ecclesiastical authority, fulfilling their assigned role with extraordinary courage and devotion to the Catholic faith. The narratives of group martyrs incorporate motifs and patterns of persecution repeated in different historical contexts. To a large degree, the uniqueness of an individual martyr’s life is conformed to the formulaic themes of sanctity the Church intends to convey. In contexts of European empire expansion in Latin America (early sixteenth century), Asia (sixteenth to twentieth century), North America (sixteenth to seventeen century), and Africa (late nineteenth to early twentieth century), Catholic missionaries intentionally encouraged adolescent and youth males to evangelize. A strong emphasis on catechesis for males beginning around the age of discretion (seven years) gave the Church some control over children, undermining parental as well as political authority and creating the struggle between “chief and chapel.”79 Missions, often reinforced by colonial military presence, shifted power dynamics, challenging the normative foundation of the subjugated society. Themes of Christian moral superiority over traditional religious practices and faith over filial piety ruptured normal family relations. Christian converts became antisocial, destroying existing societal structures and kinship relations. These new converts were more loyal to each other and their clerics than to their families, tribal elders, and local religious figures. In every case of group martyrs, involvement with the Church politically implicated the young convert. Woven into their narratives are expressions of courage, self-discipline, justice, and moral rectitude. In confronting persecution and martyrdom, child and youth martyrs, when given the opportunity to apostatize, displayed exceptional faith in accepting their impending death. 79. Jean Camaroff and John Camaroff, Of Revelation and Revolution: Christianity, Colonialism, and Consciousness in South Africa, 2 vols. (Chicago, 1991–1997, here 1991), I, 262. RACHEL M. MCCLEARY 497 Martyrs who Died Alone Only a small number of beatified martyred children and youth (twenty) died alone. The geographic concentrations are in descending order: Asia (seven), Western Europe (six), Latin America (four, if including Mexico), Eastern Europe (two), and Africa (one) (Table 2). Francis has beatified more children and youth who died alone (eight) than any other pope. Beatifying children and youth who died alone raises the same challenges as beatifying young confessors. Child and youth martyrs who die alone require autonomous agency involving cognitive, psychological, and physical maturity that belies their chronological development. These salient dimensions of martyrdom are glossed over when infants, children, and youth die in groups. All of the dozen child and youth males who died alone are between the ages of twelve and eighteen. Male martyrs actively participated in religious activities in their community such as being a catechist, acolyte, seminarian, member of a religious association, or a novitiate in a religious order. Such is their religious fervor that they dedicate their young lives to their faith and express a willingness to die for it. The youngest male martyrs exemplify extraordinary devotional rigor through daily prayer, attending mass, and confession. The theme of biological brothers features prominently in the narratives of several young men who died alone. Older brothers are role models for younger ones, especially those who formally join the Church. Their affiliation with a religious order or diocese singles them out for persecution. Lluis Estruch Vives joined the same religious order, the Capuchins, as his older brother. At the beginning of the Spanish Civil War, in October of 1936, the local revolutionary anarchist committee became aware of Vives’s religious vocation even though he dressed in civilian clothing, lived with his parents, and worked in a munitions factory with his father. One evening, members of a leftist militia visited his family’s home and under false pretenses took Vives away. His body was located the next day at the entrance to a local cemetery. Another youth, Luis Quintas Duran, also martyred during the first months of the Spanish Civil War, belonged alongside his brother José to the Nocturnal Adoration Society. The circumstances of the capture of José (age twenty-three), Luis (eighteen), and their younger brother Mario (fourteen) are not detailed. Mario was cruelly beaten and released. The militia separated the two older brothers. Luis became a prisoner in the Convent of the Worshippers (Adoratrices), a converted prison, and was shot in the neck while holding a bottle of water to his mouth. His younger brother Mario identified his body. José, the eldest, was martyred two years later in Turón. 498 CATHOLIC CHILD AND YOUTH MARTYRS, 1588–2022 The fraternal theme continues in the narratives of two adolescents transitioning into youths. José Sánchez del Río, age fourteen and intent on following his older brothers into the Cristero War (1926–1929), was captured, tortured and killed by the Mexican military. A similar narrative progression of tortured martyrdom “going on for some hours” before death appears in the hagiographies of José Sánchez and Juan Barrera Méndez, age twelve, who died during the Guatemalan Civil War. Juan and his two (some say three) older brothers were captured by the Guatemalan military in January 1980. After instigating a massacre in their family’s village, the military captured Juan and his older brothers of the ethnolinguistic Maya K’iche group. The older brothers managed to escape, leaving Juan behind. Juan’s family were members of Catholic Action, a lay Catholic organization that over the course of several years evolved into promoting the rights of the poor.80 The Marxist Ejército Guerrillero de los Pobres, operating in the region where Juan lived, recruited from Catholic Action members.81 The military sliced the bottom of Juan’s feet with a knife (as they did to José), forced him to walk on river rocks (José walked on cobblestones), cut off his ear, broke his legs, (José was stabbed several times with bayonets), hung him from a tree, and finally riddled Juan’s body with bullets (José was shot in the head). Establishing odium fidei on the part of the persecutor is complicated. Unlike the strident anticlericalism of the Mexican government in José’s case, the reasons for Juan’s torture and death appear to be multiple. One narrative suggests that the military tortured and executed Juan in retaliation for his brothers’ escape.82 80. Many priests were sympathetic to as well as actively involved with guerrilla movements. For example, Faustino Villanueva Villanueva, a Spanish Catholic priest of the Missionaries of the Sacred Heart and parish priest of Joyabaj, El Quiché, traveled to Nicaragua clandestinely to learn from the Sandinistas how to export violent revolution to Guatemala; see Bill Vasey, Called: He Gave them the Word, the memoir of Bill Vasey with Tammy Endres (Vasey, 2020), 107. John D. Early, a former Catholic priest and scholar of Guatemalan Catholicism, failed to mention the forms of violence and coercion the guerrilla movements engaged in, especially the Ejército Guerrillero de los Pobres, against indigenous communities; see John D. Early, Maya and Catholic Cultures in Crisis (Gainesville, 2012), 235–61. For such an account, see Tomás Guzaro and Terri Jacob McComb, Escaping the Fire: How an Ixil Mayan Pastor led His People out of a Holocaust during the Guatemalan Civil War (Austin, 2010). The violence perpetuated by the guerrillas against indigenous communities, as well as Catholic and Protestant clergy, remains understudied. The focus of scholars in the United States, Europe, and Latin America is on military/state violence perpetuated against civilians, especially indigenous communities, after the 1982 coup d’état. 81. David Stoll, Between Two Armies in the Ixil Towns of Guatemala (Columbia, 1993), 66; Mario Payeras, Los Pueblos Indigenas y la Revolución Guatemalteca: Ensayos Étnicos, 19821992 (Guatemala City, 1997), 49. 82. Oficina de Derechos Humanos del Arzobispado de Guatemala, Testigos de la fe por la paz: Vidas ejemplares de la Iglesia Católica de Guatemala, (Guatemala, 2003), 89–93, here 93. RACHEL M. MCCLEARY 499 Maya K’iche children touching the mural of 12 year-old martyr Juan Barrera Méndez in Zacualpa, El Quiché, Guatemala. (photograph Rachel McCleary, July 2022). Juan Barrera Méndez, a K’iche Maya catechist was tortured and executed by the Guatemala military in 1980 during the civil war. He was beatified along with six other lay members of the El Quiché diocese and three Spanish priests of the order Missionaries of the Sacred Heart. http://www.radioscatolicasdequiche.org/ radioquiche/index.php/martires-de-quiche/juan-barrera-mendez Racism against Maya K’iche could be another possible motive. Some suggested that the military believed him to be a guerrilla sympathizer.83 The narratives of José and Juan’s lives depict devout adolescents who actively participated in parish life. José, in the words of the postulator, exhibited “psychological maturity much higher than that of his own age.”84 Juan was “an inquisitive child with adult-like initiatives who exhibited atti83. Oficina de Derechos Humanos, Testigos, 92. 84. Deborah Castellano Lubov, “Postulator Recalls St. José Sanchez del Rio Saying ‘My Faith Is Not for Sale,’” National Catholic Register, October 16, 2016, https://www.ncregister.com/news/postulator-recalls-st-jose-sanchez-del-rio-saying-my-faith-is-not-for-sale, accessed January 27, 2022. 500 CATHOLIC CHILD AND YOUTH MARTYRS, 1588–2022 tudes and ways of being typical of the responsibility and maturity of an adult person.”85 The puer senex topos of exceptional maturity for their chronological ages explains their steadfast faith. To be truly virtuous and holy, José and Juan had to overcome their biological childhood. Similar themes run through the hagiographies of male martyrs who died during the Boxer Rebellion and the waves of state persecution in Chosǒn Korea beginning in the early 1800s. These themes likewise recur in violent twentieth-century conflicts between Marxist ideologies and Christianity, replacing the conflict between paganism and Christianity. The Mexican revolution and civil war, the subsequent Cristero war, and World War II and its aftermath in Europe pitted variations of Marxist anticlerical ideology against the traditional Catholic hierarchy. The only Italian (child and youth) male martyr associated with World War II who died alone was Rolando Rivi, of fourteen years. As a seminarian returning home wearing his cassock, he was kidnapped by members of the Communist Garibaldi Brigade. Imprisoned in a pigpen and tortured, Rivi was shot to death in 1945. The motif of a youth refusing to discard a religious object (scapular, prayer card, image of the Virgin) to avoid persecution runs through several narratives. Rivi’s family warned him not to wear the cassock, a warning he chose not to heed. Politics and ideologies contextualize the martyrdom of males who die alone. This contrasts sharply with the circumstances of female martyrs, whose gender and familial circumstances are central to their deaths. The narratives of female martyrs who died alone are dominated by themes of precocious religiosity, virtuous behavior (humility, modesty, patience, obedience, selfless charity), an understanding of sin, as well as a renunciation of personal desires and ambitions to assume domestic responsibilities (cooking, sewing, washing, cleaning, caring for siblings, collecting wood or water, tending farm animals). Many forgo their own ambitions to remain at home performing domestic chores as well as tending livestock. Economic conditions motivate parental dependence on a young daughter’s labor. Of the eight child and youth females martyred alone, six lost one or both parents at a young age. The death of one parent brings into sharp focus the necessity of filial obedience. When a parent dies or suffers from chronic illness, young females renounce their biological adolescence, dutifully assuming adult household tasks that their mothers fulfilled for the family. Unlike medieval female saints who react to a parent’s death by rejecting worldly responsibil85. Oficina de Derechos Humanos, Testigos, 91–2 (translated from Spanish by the author). RACHEL M. MCCLEARY 501 ities foisted upon them, these young female martyrs accept the premature burden of adulthood.86 Spiritually, a young female responds to the added responsibility by strengthening her religious devotion (praying daily, attending mass), conserving the family by maintaining harmony with her siblings, and caring for them as a surrogate parent. The ancient Christian theme of the “double crown”—virginity and martyrdom—continues in contemporary contexts.87 The theme of pubescent females as protectors or “keepers” of their own chastity originated in the third century along with other forms of sexual renunciation.88 Thirdand fourth-century Roman Christian saints Agatha, Lucy, and Agnes, having taken permanent vows of chastity before God, repudiated male advances and offers of marriage, were denounced, and martyred. Their rebuffed persecutors sought revenge by denouncing the young women as Christians, an outlawed religion. These young women, rather than apostatizing, demonstrated unusual autonomy, steadfastness in virtue, and fortitude beyond their ages. Beginning in the twentieth century, the sanctification of girls and youth martyred for protecting their chastity took on a slightly new interpretation. Rather than being martyred for rejecting marriage or spurning a suitor, these young women died in violent attacks resisting a rapist. Practicing chasteness, they remained “virginal” by choosing martyrdom over the moral, social, psychological, and physical consequences of submitting to rape. Pius XII established the contemporary Catholic paragon of female chastity and domesticity with the beatification of eleven-year old Maria Goretti in 1947 and canonization in 1950. She died in 1902 in Italy in defense of her virginity (in defensum castitatis).89 In his beatification homily, 86. Both medieval saintly men and women rejected familial obligations at the death of a parent see, Weinstein and Bell, Saints and Society, 53–56. 87. Patricia Healy Wasyliw points out that the retelling of a saint’s life and death depends on the perspective of the writer who may emphasize one aspect, for example, her virginity and refusal to marry a prefect’s son, over other aspects, namely, refusal to obey pagan laws and worship idols. Such are the narratives of Saint Agnes in the literary hands of Ambrose, Tertullian, and Augustine, see Martyrdom, Murder, and Magic, 18–19. 88. Peter Brown, The Body and Society: Men, Women, and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity (New York, 1988), 191. 89. Pius XII, “Address of His Holiness Pius XII to the Faithful Convention in Rome for the Canonization of Santa Maria Goretti” (Vatican, June 25, 1950); John Paul II, “To the Bishop of Albano for the Centenary of the Death of St. Maria Goretti” (message, Vatican, July 6, 2002); John Paul II, Angelus (Vatican, July 7, 2002). This is not the place to discuss the arguments put forward by theologians, scholars, and journalists on the Church’s use of 502 CATHOLIC CHILD AND YOUTH MARTYRS, 1588–2022 Pius XII glorified her spiritual fortitude and preternatural physical strength (puer senex motif) in fighting off Alessandro Serenelli, who was twice her age. Three years later, in his canonization homily, Pius XII again referred to the virtues of obedience and domesticity as integral to her purity of faith, a theme reiterated by John Paul II. Goretti’s extraordinariness (puer senex motif), according to John Paul II, was her “strong and mature personality.”90 With the last three popes, a trend emerged of beatifying girls and adult women who died resisting rape. Benedict XVI beatified Albertina Berkenbrock (twelve years) and Lindalva Justo de Oliveira (forty). John Paul II beatified Antonia Mesina (fifteen), Karoliny Kózkówny (sixteen), Teresa Bracco (twenty), Alfonsine Anuarite Nengapita (twenty-three), and Pierina Morosini of Bergamo (twenty-six). Francis beatified Anna Kolesárová (sixteen), Veronica Antal (twenty-two), Benigna Cardoso da Silva (thirteen) and Isabel Cristina Mrad Campos (twenty).91 The causes at various stages of pre-beatification of fourteen girls and women martyred during an attempted rape illustrate the popularity of the in defensum castistatis corpus of saintliness with the Holy See. Five females between the ages of eleven and sixteen died alone in attempted rapes (Maria Goretti, Antonia Mesina, Albertina Berkenbrock, Karolina Kozkowny, and Anna Kolesarova). One adolescent, Laura Vicuña (confessor, twelve years), was a victim of domestic abuse. Vicuña’s narrative alludes to sexual advances by the abusive hacendero to whom her mother was mistress.92 A wide range of scholars, theologians, journalists, notable writers, and lay Catholics have critiqued this model of sanctity involving obedience, submission, and domesticity (learning to handle the females murdered during a rape attempt as examples of Christian virtue. See, for example, Monica Turi, “Il ‘Brutto Peccato.’ Adolescenza e Controllo Sessuale nel Modello Agiografico di Maria Goretti,” in: Bambini Santi: Rappresentazioni dell’Infanzia e Modelli Angiografici, eds. Anna Benvenuti Papa and Elena Giannarelli (Turin, 1991); Eileen J. Stenzel, “Maria Goretti: Rape and the Politics of Sainthood,” in: Violence Against Women, eds. Elisabeth Schūssler Fiorenza and M. Shawn Copeland (London, 1994), 91–98, and Kathleen Norris, “Maria Goretti—Cipher or Saint” in: Martyrs: Contemporary Writers on Modern Lives of Faith, ed. Susan Bergman (San Francisco, 1996), 299–309. 90. John Paul II, Angelus (Vatican, July 7, 2002). By contrast, Francis focused on Maria Goretti’s act of charity in forgiving Serenelli before she died, Francis, Angelus (Vatican, July 3, 2016). 91. The beatifications of Benigna Cardoso da Silva and Isabel Cristina Mrad Campos will take place, respectively, on October 24, 2022 and December 10, 2022. 92. Maria Domenica Grassiano, For Love of My Mother: Laura Carmen Vicuña (New York, 1985). RACHEL M. MCCLEARY 503 Maria Goretti, beatified and canonized by Pius XII, died in 1902 at the age of 11 fending off her sexual assailant, Alessandro Serenelli. Pius XII established the contemporary Catholic paragon of female chastity (purity) and domesticity with her sanctification. Attribution: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maria_Goretti#/media/ File:Photograph_of_Saint_Maria_Goretti,_1902.jpg:~:text=By%20Unknown%20 author%20%2D%20http%3A//www.famigliacristiana.it/%2C%20Public%20 Domain%2C%20https%3A//commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php%3Fcurid% 3D30256607 needle as opposed to horses) as virtue resisting evil (male bestiality) ending in sacrificing one’s life to a sexual attacker.93 93. The Church’s use of females murdered during a rape attempt (a criminal act) as examples of Christian virtue underscores Andrew Greeley’s criticism of the Catholic hierarchy as unwilling to adapt and reform to changing gender roles with access to education and technology particularly in western societies. He argues that the Church is becoming irrelevant, weakening the authority of the pope; see The Catholic Revolution: New Wine, Old Wineskins, and the Second Vatican Council, (Berkeley, 2004). Stenzel, “Maria Goretti: Rape and the Politics of Sainthood,” 91–98 and Norris, “Maria Goretti—Cipher or Saint,” 299–309 discuss the cognitive dissonance between the Church’s model of female sanctity and contemporary gender roles and choices for women (birth control, fertility, abortion, career and economic independence, partnering options), particularly those who are college-educated. 504 CATHOLIC CHILD AND YOUTH MARTYRS, 1588–2022 Female martyrs offer a model of sanctity distinct from males murdered in hatred of the faith. These girls and women exhibit deep devotion, humility, and selfless caring for others. At least three knew their assailants. Each assault took place at or near the young woman’s home while she was performing chores (sewing, fetching water, or searching for a stray bullock). Karolina Kózkówny (Poland) and Anna Kolesarova (Slovakia) died during the First and Second World Wars, respectively. Similar to other attempted rape victims, these young women, both age sixteen, came from poor rural families. With both parents living, Karolina’s childhood conveys a sense of normalcy. She has leisure time to interact with neighboring children, attend mass daily, and help her uncle with his work at the local library. By contrast, Anna lost her mother when she was just over ten years of age. Anna assumed the domestic responsibilities of caring for her brother and father. When the liberating Red Army occupied her village, the women including Anna, dressed in black to become sexually anonymous. Karolina and Anna, precociously devout and dutiful young women, each were brutally assaulted and murdered by occupying Russian soldiers. In Karolina’s case, the soldier dragged her into the woods under false pretenses. She fought off the soldier who then mortally wounded her with his saber. Anna’s assailant, after eating a meal she had prepared for him in the family’s kitchen, pointed his gun at her in the presence of her father. When Anna refused to submit, the soldier shot her. Of the three Chosǒn Korean Christian females who died alone, the two youngest, Anastasia Yi Bonggeum, age twelve, and Yi Bareubara, fourteen, died in their prison cells. The young ages of these orphaned girls presented public relations problems for authorities. Reluctant to punish either girl because of their adolescence, the authorities urged each to apostatize, but they refused. After forcing Anastasia to witness her mother’s martyrdom, she was tortured and hanged in her cell at midnight away from public scrutiny. Yi Bareubara, having lost both parents, accompanied her aunts to prison. She died of Typhoid Fever in her cell, most likely to the relief of the authorities. The third, eighteen-year-old Barbara Sim A-gi, was taught catechism by her brother. After his arrest, the police returned to the family home for her. The police beat her in the hopes that she would apostatize. She submitted to the abuse and died at the police station. Looking at the narratives of the lives of the male and female martyrs who died alone, their behavior belies their chronological age. Many of these adolescents and youth are spiritually precocious. At an early age, they demonstrate consistent and abiding devotion characteristic of adults. Their daily lives exhibit constancy of religious purpose through intense praying, RACHEL M. MCCLEARY 505 confessing, attending mass, taking communion, becoming catechists, joining lay organizations, and volunteering in the parish. Obedience to the Church frames their secular daily activities. Some males commit their lives to the Church by becoming acolytes, novitiates, and seminarians. Females fulfill the Marian ideal of a loving caregiver in the family and a future mother. These children and youth overcome the appetites and desires characteristic of their biological age to engage in consistent acts of devotion, filial piety, and charitable acts toward others. Whereas males act on their faith in public spaces and are frequently active agents in their martyrdom, females have little control over their bodies, social context, and the circumstances of their martyrdom. Whereas male adolescents and youth defy parental control, females succumb to parental authority out of filial love and duty. Child martyrs who died alone are particularly problematic for the Catholic Church as their martyrdom entails a developed degree of autonomous agency requiring a maturity that belies their chronological age. In their narratives, the Church underscores their precociousness (puer senex motif), steadfastness in faith, and fortitude in dying. Whether children and youth die in groups or alone, exhibiting sanctity during their short existence is central to the Church’s reasons for beatifying and canonizing them. The narratives of their lives serve an edifying purpose and are not, as André Vauchez expresses it, “the profane period of their existence.”94 As exemplars for young boys and girls, the sanctity of these young martyrs are models embedded in traditional gender roles promoted by the Church. Expanding Research on the Sanctity of Child and Youth For centuries, official child and youth martyrs were rare. In the midnineteenth century, Pope Pius IX made an exception in beatifying and canonizing large groups of martyrs (in 1867) from Japan and Brazil that included a significant number of infants, children, and youth. The three consecutive papacies of John Paul II, Benedict XVI, and Francis show no clear trend in child and youth beatifications.95 A significant change by Francis is the beatification of child and youth martyrs who died alone (eight) more than any previous pope (at least after 1588). 94. André Vauchez, Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages, 508. 95. John Paul II beatified 1.1 per year; Benedict XVI beatified 8.9 per year; and Francis 2.4 per year. Benedict’s percentage is high as he beatified a group of 188 Japanese martyrs in 2008, which included fifty-three minors, and he had the shortest term as pope (7.9 years) compared to John Paul II (26.5 years) and Francis (8.9 years) whose term continues. 506 CATHOLIC CHILD AND YOUTH MARTYRS, 1588–2022 Scholarly and theological treatment of child and youth martyrs is sparse, and with good reason. The younger the martyr, the more likely they occupy the periphery of oral and written testimonies of the violent events in which their martyrdom takes place. Children naturally orbit around their parents and family members. They find themselves in these circumstances because they accompany parents, siblings (as we have seen with brothers), and adult relatives. One can say that their biographies are “not so much the celebration of one individual, but of the entire value system or style of life which he personifies.”96 Official Catholic teaching underscores this relational dimension of children to parents. The family is like a “domestic church,” with the placement of the child within a hierarchical network of relationships. Children remain under the authority of their parents who are responsible for rearing and educating them “by word and example.”97 With John Paul II’s papacy, the Church began to elaborate and deepen theological reflection on the nature of sanctity, significantly transforming in some respects the Church’s interpretation of child and youth spirituality while maintaining traditional core gender characteristics.98 Yet, changing societal perceptions of gender roles are undermining the Church’s typologies of virtuous behavior expected of girls and boys, requiring a rethinking on the part of the Church of its models of sanctity. A theological shift began with the pastoral constitution Gaudium et specs, in which a child’s religious participation in the spiritual life of the family is described as active, reciprocal, and more egalitarian. “As living members of the family, children contribute in their own way to making their parents holy.”99 Children, as spiritual beings, in their prayers “have a special power 96. Goodich, “Childhood and Adolescence,” 286. 97. Vatican Council II, Lumen Gentium: The Dogmatic Constitution on the Church (Vatican, November 21, 1964), 11. 98. See Mario Gioia (ed.), I Giovani nella Bibbia (Roma, 1988). In 1998, John Paul II established the Commission for the New Martyrs of the Great Jubilee to work with local commissions to compile a registry of martyrs from various Christian faiths in a “vision of the ecumenicism of the blood.” The archives of the Commission are not publicly available and, as a result, it is not known how many Catholic child and youth martyrs are included. Two books by Catholic scholars, Italian historian Andrea Riccardi, The Century of Martyrdom: Christians in the Twentieth Century (Milan, 2000), and Robert Royal, The Catholic Martyrs of the Twentieth Century: A Comprehensive World History (New York, 2000), focus on Catholic “new martyrs” and pay particular attention to the contexts of their martyrdom. Some child and youth martyrs are mentioned in Riccardi’s narrative, but there is no systematic or comprehensive treatment of them. 99. Paul VI, Gaudium et spes: Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World (Vatican, December 7, 1965), 48. RACHEL M. MCCLEARY 507 to penetrate heaven and soften God’s justice.”100 Because of their unique spirituality, children can share their “deeply lived” faith with their parents and not just be passive recipients of parental teachings.101 For the first time, the Church recognized children’s “separateness from adults” respecting the “fullness and complexity of their real lives in the circumstances of the present and in their autonomy.”102 Francis went further, stating that children have full autonomy separate from parents. “. . . children are not the property of a family, but have their own lives to lead.” No longer “family property,” children can make decisions like Jesus that “may demand a parting for the sake of the Kingdom of God.”103 Given this evolving papal line of reasoning on child and adolescent agency, the Church’s interpretations of sanctity for young people is anachronistic. Another dimension of the Church’s evolving understanding of childhood and adolescence since Vatican II is the increasing usage of secular international human rights language in pastoral writings and teachings, often at odds with canon law, doctrine, and theology. “In the family, which is a community of persons, special attention must be devoted to the children by developing a profound esteem for their personal dignity, and a great respect and generous concern for their rights.”104 [emphasis added]. If a child is an autonomous being with his or her own rights, then does a child’s rights supersede a parent’s authority over him or her? If yes, then the contextual gender role interpretations of virtues expressed in child and youth models of sanctity require revising. The Catholic Reformation repurposed the hagiographies of saints to appeal to the faithful, and to guide the lapsed Catholic back into the fold and away from Protestant competition. The early modern and contemporary models of sanctity presented here require reassessment within the historical circumstances of the audience. One of the main reasons for 100. Paul VI, Mense Maio: Encyclical of Pope Paul VI on Prayers during May for Preservation of Peace (Vatican, April 29, 1965), 14. 101. Paul VI, Evangelii Nuntiandi: Apostolic Exhortation of His Holiness Pope Paul VI to the Episcopate, to the Clergy and to All the Faithful of the Entire World (Vatican, December 8, 1975), 71. 102. John Paul II, Familiaris Consortio: Apostolic Exhortation of Pope John Paul II to the Episcopate the Clergy and to the Faithful of the Whole Catholic Church on the Role of the Christian Family in the Modern World (Vatican, November 22, 1981), 21. 103. Francis, Amoris Laetitia: Post-Synodal Apostolic Exhortation of the Holy Father Francis to Bishops, Priests and Deacons, Consecrated Persons, Christian Married Couples, and All the Lay Faithful on Love in the Family (Vatican, March 12, 2016), para. 18. 104. John Paul II, Familiaris Consortio, 26. 508 CATHOLIC CHILD AND YOUTH MARTYRS, 1588–2022 promoting the beatification and canonization of children, adolescents, and youth is for them to serve as exemplars for their contemporary peers. Making saints is a competitive strategy on the part of the Church to counter Protestantism as well as secularism.105 To what degree are these martyrs’ narratives, as presented by the Church, relevant to young people’s lives today and therefore sufficiently compelling to attract them and keep them in the faith? 105. McCleary and Barro, “Opening the Fifth Seal: Catholic Martyrs and Forces of Religious Competition,” 92–122, and McCleary and Barro, “Saints Come Marching In: 1590–2021,” 385–415. The Strategy of Papal Nuncios in the Sacred Space of Prague against the Backdrop of the Confessional Transformation of the City at the Turn of Seventeenth Century TOMÁŠ ČERNUŠÁK* The nunciature at the imperial court in Prague at the turn of the seventeenth century represented an important power center for Catholicism. Nuncios carried out their mission at the level of diplomatic negotiations and effectively incorporated the sacred space of the mostly non-Catholic Prague into their strategy. Keywords: sacred space, nuncios, Prague, imperial court Introduction At the Minorites on Tuesday, 25 July, we were witness to a ceremony on the occasion of the feast of James the Greater. The Spanish ambassador was there […]; he was sitting with the nuncio in the upper row on a magnificent yet moderately sized pew. In the row beneath them were the Venetian and Florentine ambassadors. […] The mass was led by the Abbot of Strahov with his mitre and crozier, who, for example, invited the nuncio to bless the Book of the Gospels.1 Such is the picturesque description of a liturgical celebration at the church of the Prague Minorites in 1600 as given by Pierre Bergeron, a member of the French delegation to Emperor Rudolf II (1576–1612).2 The selected excerpt is interesting mainly for a single inconspicuous detail, i.e. the different approaches of the diplomats in attendance to the religious acts per* Dr. Černušák is a scientific researcher at the Institute of History of the Czech Academy of Sciences Prague / Brno branch. His email address is: cernusak@brno.avcr.cz. 1. Eliška Fučíková, ed., Tři francouzští kavalíři v rudolfinské Praze [Three French Cavaliers in Rudolphine Prague] (Prague, 1989), 56 2. On the life and work of Emperor Rudolf II, see in particular Robert J. W. Evans, Rudolf II and His World: A Study in Intellectual History 1576–1612 (Oxford, 1973); Josef Janáček, Rudolf II. a jeho doba [Rudolf II. and His Time] (Prague, 1987); Karl Vocelka, Die politische Propaganda Kaiser Rudolfs II (Vienna, 1981). 509 510 THE STRATEGY OF PAPAL NUNCIOS formed in a sacred space. Contrasting with the activity of the papal nuncio is the passivity of the representatives from the other countries. It raises interesting questions. On what was this approach in a sacred space contingent? Was it merely an isolated incident, or was it a normal part of the work of nuncios? Could it have been part of a strategy that grew in importance with respect to the dominantly non-Catholic setting of an imperial residential city? Defining Sacred Space For some time now, the spaces in which diplomats operated have been studied as part of a so-called new diplomatic history,3 which, among other things, acknowledges “the significance of diplomatic history’s pivotal moments, but it builds on the premise that sociocultural practices constituted political relationships, that they were not the consequence of foreign policy, international law, and political thought but their basis.”4 The spaces often cited as typical for early modern diplomats, who not only used them in pursuing their activities but also shaped them, include royal courts, peace congresses, and imperial diets.5 The standing of nuncios within a specific sacred space, however, has received little attention, and what attention it has been given usually falls within the context of royal court ceremonials.6 How, though, is sacred space to be defined? One of the older definitions describes it “as that portion of the earth’s surface which is recognized by individuals or groups as worthy of devotion, loyalty or esteem.”7 This is 3. See, among others, Tracey A. Sowerby, “Early Modern Diplomatic History,” History Compass, 14, no. 9 (2016), 441–56; John Watkins, “Toward a New Diplomatic History of Medieval and Early Modern Europe,” Journal of Medieval and Modern Studies, 38, no. 1 (2008), 1–14. 4. Jan Hennings and Tracey A. Sowerby, “Introduction: Practices of diplomacy,” in: Practices of diplomacy in the early modern world c. 1410–1800, eds. Sowerby and Hennings (London, 2017), 2. 5. In recent times see, for example, Guido Braun, ed., Diplomatische Wissenskulturen der Frühen Neuzeit: Erfahrungsräume und Orte der Wissensproduktion (Berlin, 2018). 6. Guido Braun, Imagines imperii: Die Wahrnehmungen des Reiches und der Deutschen durch die römische Kurie im Reformationsjahrhundert (1523–1585) (Münster 2014), 398–405; Alexander Koller, “La dieta di Augusta del 1582 come spazio di esperienza diplomatica,” in: Diplomatische Wissenskulturen der Frühen Neuzeit: Erfahrungsräume und Orte der Wissensproduktion, ed. Guido Braun (Berlin, 2018), 113–34; Tomáš Černušák and Pavel Marek, Gesandte und Klienten: Päpstliche und spanische Diplomaten im Umfeld von Kaiser Rudolf II (Berlin, 2020), 189–217; Elisabeth Garms-Cornides, “Liturgie und Diplomatie. Zum Zeremoniell des Nuntius am Wiener Kaiserhof im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert,” in: Kaiserhof—Papsthof (16.–18. Jahrhundert), eds. Richard Bösel, Grete Klingenstein, and Alexander Koller (Vienna, 2006), 125–46. 7. Richard H. Jackson and Roger Henrie, “Perception of Sacred Space,” Journal of Cultural Geography, 3 (1983), 94–107, here 94. TOMÁŠ ČERNUŠÁK 511 a relatively fitting interpretation, as it does not reflect sacred space only in static terms as a purpose-built and topographically delimited structure, such as a church, nor as a simple antipode to the profane space, but instead lends it a degree of dynamism. The character of the space does not necessarily make up a given definite and unchanged value, but this social entity can be transformed and newly determined by the actions of people or their perceptions.8 The boundary between sacred and profane space can, therefore, be extremely variable and fluent. Roads leading toward pilgrimage churches could, for example, be perceived as holy.9 Places in private homes, designated for individual or group prayer by members of a family and supplied with religious paintings and objects, were reserved for private religious operations.10 Houses were used for the purposes of shared services by certain religious communities.11 This variability could be seen at work in the opposite direction as well; for example, the spaces of churches could be used for profane purposes, for communicating decrees and rulings of the nobility, or for various forms of profane interpersonal negotiations.12 Sacred space itself was also differentiated in various ways on the inside.13 In the case of various liturgical operations, for instance, it was 8. Susanne Rau, “Raum und Religion,” in: Topographie des Sakralen: Religion und Raumordnung in der Vormoderne, eds. Susanne Rau and Gerd Schwerhoff (Hamburg, 2008), 10– 37, here 18. 9. Andrew Spicer and Sarah Hamilton, “Defining the Holy: the Delineation of Sacred Space,” in: Defining the Holy: Sacred Space in Medieval and Early Modern Europe, eds. Andrew Spicer and Sarah Hamilton (Aldershot, 2006), 1–23, here 4–8. 10. Marco Faini and Alessia Meneghin, “Introduction,” in: Domestic Devotions in the Early Modern World, eds. Faini and Meneghin (Leiden, 2018), 9–26; Jeanne Nuechterlein, “The Domesticity of Sacred Space in the Fifteenth-Century Netherlands,” in: Defining the Holy: Sacred Space in Medieval and Early Modern Europe, eds. Andrew Spicer and Sarah Hamilton (Aldershot, 2006), 49–79; Margaret A. Morse, “Creating Sacred Space: the Religious Visual Culture of the Renaissance Venetian ‘Casa,’” Rennaissance Studies, 21, no. 2 (April 2007), 151–84. 11. For Early Modern Cologne, see Ute Langer, “Die konfessionelle Grenze im frühneuzeitlichen Köln: Das Zusammenleben von Reformierten und Katholiken zwischen Anpassung und Abgrenzung,” Geschichte in Köln, 53 (2006), 35–62, here 39–40. 12. Renate Dürr, Politische Kultur in Frühen Neuzeit. Kirchenräume in Hildesheimer Stadt- und Landgemeinden, 150–1750 (Heidelberg, 2006), 336–41; Emily F. Winerock, “Churchyard Capers: The Controversial Use of Church Space for Dancing in Early Modern England,” in: The Sacralization of Space and Behavior in the Early Modern World: Studies and Sources, ed. Jennifer Mara DeSilva (Farnham, 2015), 233–56. 13. Gerd Schwerhoff, “Sakralitätsmanagement. Zur Analyse religiöser Räume im späten Mittelalter und in der Frühen Neuzeit,” in: Topographien des Sakralen. Religion und Raumordnung in der Vormoderne, eds. Susanne Rau and Gerd Schwerhoff (Hamburg, 2008), 38–71, here 42–43. 512 THE STRATEGY OF PAPAL NUNCIOS given a certain dynamism, which may have served to renew or reaffirm the sacred character of the place. On the other hand, liturgical processions happening beyond the confines of the church building constituted a literal extension of sacred space and a sacralization of profane space.14 In keeping with this interpretation, sacred space can be understood not only in terms of the purpose of its consecration, as was the case with Catholic churches, but also its functional use, which bestowed, either temporarily or permanently, a new sacred character to a space that had originally served other purposes. The Papal Nuncios in Early Modern Diplomacy Interpreting the function of papal nuncios in sacred space, such as the depiction in the opening example, requires an accurate contextual understanding of the aspects they had in common with other diplomats as well as those that set them apart. Nuncios existed as a form of papal diplomat from as early as the Middle Ages. In his time, the prominent church law theoretician Guillaume Durand (†1296) ranked amongst the minimi, i.e. the less important, whereas the main pillar of medieval papal diplomacy consisted of the legates. Both forms of diplomacy were of a temporary nature.15 First, there was the process of building the papal state itself, which was intimately linked with new reflections on the person of the ruler in the specific dual role of pope and king.16 Another factor was the change in the function of diplomacy in favor of permanent diplomatic representation, which corresponded more closely to the international needs arising from the formation of modern states and whose beginnings can be traced to the Italian milieu.17 14. Stijn Bossuyt, “The Liturgical Use of Space in Thirteenth-Century Flanders,” in: Defining the Holy: Sacred Space in Medieval and Early Modern Europe, eds. Andrew Spicer and Sarah Hamilton (Aldershot, 2006), 187–206, here 189–96; Amanda Eurich, “Sacralising Space: Reclaiming Civic Culture in Early Modern France,” in: Sacred Space in Early Modern Europe, eds. Will Coster and Andrew Spicer (Cambridge, UK, 2005), 259–81, here 272–73; Langer, “Die konfessionelle Grenze,” 44. 15. Knut Walf, Die Entwicklung des päpstlichen Gesandtschaftswesens in dem Zeitabschnitt zwischen Dekretalenrecht und Wiener Kongress (1159–1815) (Munich, 1966), 6–7. On medieval terminology (nuntius, legatus), see also Clifford Ian Kyer, “Legatus and nuntius as Used to Denote Papal Envoys: 1245–1378,” Medieval Studies, 40 (1978), 473–77; Richard A. Schmutz, “Medieval Papal Representatives: legates, nuncios and judges-delegate,” Studia Gratiana, 15 (1972), 441–63 16. Cf. Paolo Prodi, Il sovrano pontefice: Un corpo e due anime: la monarchia papale nella prima età moderna (Bologna, 2006). 17. Garrett Mattingly, Renaissance Diplomacy (Baltimore, 1955), 47–102; Matthew S. Anderson, The Rise of Modern Diplomacy 1450–1919 (London, 1993), 5–15. TOMÁŠ ČERNUŠÁK 513 FIGURE 1. Guillaume Durand (c. 1230–November 1, 1296), print, seventeenth century. Originally published in Boissard, Jean-Jacques: Bibliotheca chalcographica . . . 1652–1669. Artist unknown. Image from http://www.uni-mannheim.de/ mateo/desbillons/aport/seite295.html. The image is in the public domain. Although legates continued to function as high-ranking papal diplomats,18 the permanent nuncios began to take on a more important role and became an increasingly flexible instrument of foreign policy with which to respond to political developments.19 Their mission in the first half of the sixteenth century was specifically to develop and strengthen bilateral relations between the papacy and the rulers of various states.20 An increase in the importance of the papal nunciature occurred following the dissolution of the Council of Trent and during the pontificate of Gregory XIII (1572– 18. Walf, Die Entwicklung, 192–202. On both forms, see Bernard Barbiche, Bulla, legatus, nuntius: Études de diplomatique et de diplomatie pontificales (XIII e–XVII e siécle) (Paris, 2007), 159–307; Antonín Kalous, Late Medieval Papal Legation: Between the Councils and the Reformation (Rome, 2017), 55–62. 19. Barbiche, Bulla, 184–85; Prodi, Il sovrano, 308–09. 20. On the development of nunciatores in the first half of the sixteenth century, see Walf, Die Entwicklung, 76–87; Pierre Blet, Histoire de la Répresentation Diplomatique du Saint Siège des origines à l’aube du XIX e siècle (Città del Vaticano, 1982), 175–273; Anton Pieper, Zur Entstehungsgeschichte der ständigen Nuntiaturen (Freiburg i. B., 1894). 514 THE STRATEGY OF PAPAL NUNCIOS 85), a period when the existing network was expanded with several additional areas in the Holy Roman Empire, where the position of Catholicism had long come under pressure from the Protestants. Representatives of this group are sometimes distinguished from others with the “reform” label, which should serve to indicate the importance of internal church reform in their activities.21 The general goals of diplomacy, i.e. “negotiation, information-gathering, and representation,”22 were the concerns not only of the nuncios but also of other diplomats. In this respect, they were all diplomats type ancien, for whom there were certain common traits that are no longer observed in later years. They did not serve their countries, as some sort of abstract entity, but rather their rulers, in relation to whom they generally held the status of client. On the one hand, they had to be adept at faithfully representing the image of those rulers (imago principis et umbra),23 while on the other they needed to represent the interests of other persons or fractions without necessarily putting themselves in a conflict of interest. Another important element of the activities of a diplomat was his relationship with his own relatives, as his position presented a truly important opportunity to enhance not only his own social standing but also that of his family.24 Despite nuncios adopting these traits common to all early modern diplomats, they possessed additional specific attributes that we do not see in other members of this social group. The primary difference lies in the fact that they represented the pope in his dual role, that is, not only as the sovereign ruler of the Papal States but also as the head of the Catholic 21. Alexander Koller, “Nuntiaturberichte aus Deutschland als Quellen zur Landesgeschichte,” Blätter für deutsche Landesgeschichte, 133 (1997), 37–53; Walf, Die Entwicklung, 114–128; Blet, Histoire, 275–334; Alexander Koller, Imperator und Pontifex: Forschungen zum Verhältnis von Kaiserhof und römischer Kurie im Zeitalter der Konfessionalisierung (1555–1648) (Münster, 2012), 61–71. 22. Isabella Lazzarini, Communication and Conflict: Italian Diplomacy in the Early Renaissance 1350–1520 (Oxford, 2015), 6. 23. Hillard von Thiessen, Diplomatie und Patronage: Die spanisch-römische Beziehungen 1605-1621 in akteurszentrierter Perspektive (Epfendorf, 2010), 157–58; Christian Wieland, “Diplomaten als Spiegel ihrer Herren? Römische und florentinische Diplomatie zu Beginn des 17. Jahrhunderts,” Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung, 31 (2004), 359–79, here 377. 24. Thiessen, “Diplomatie,” 483–93; Daniela Frigo, “Corte, onore e ragion di stato: il ruolo dell’ambasciatore in età moderna,” in: Ambasciatori e nunzi: Figure della diplomazia in età moderna, ed. Daniela Frigo (Rome, 1999), 13–55; André Krischer, “Souveränität als sozialer Status: Zur Funktion des diplomatischen Zeremoniells in der Frühen Neuzeit,” in: Diplomatisches Zeremoniell in Europa und im mittleren Osten in der frühen Neuzeit, eds. Ralph Kauz, Giorgio Rota, and Jan Paul Niederkorn (Vienna, 2009), 1–32. TOMÁŠ ČERNUŠÁK 515 Church. Their representation in the areas of foreign politics and bilateral international relations (in temporalibus) was complemented in a significant manner in the ecclesiastical sphere (in spiritualibus).25 This mainly involved supervision of local churches,26 which was influenced by great efforts aimed at implementing the decrees of the Council of Trent.27 Another trait specific to nuncios, particularly considering the high degree of representation required of the religious matters they were charged with overseeing, was that they were often empowered with special canonical privileges. These conferred faculties gave them remarkable authority, which, for example, allowed them to intensively pursue the centralizing tendencies of the papacy in relation to local parishes.28 In order to carry out their role to the maximum extent as diplomatic representatives of the pope, the ruler of the Papal States and head of the Catholic Church, the social and religious position of nuncios underwent a marked transformation. While in the middle of the sixteenth century the function could still be held by laymen, there was an increasingly evident shift toward clericalization, and by the end of the century, the vast majority of nuncios held the rank of bishop.29 This trend was linked with an analogical process affecting a large group of persons harboring career ambitions within the framework of the administrative, legal, and governing structures of the Holy See.30 Nuncios and the Religious Milieu of Early Modern Prague Nuncios were a permanent fixture in Prague between 1578 and 1612. It was in this period that Emperor Rudolf II resided in the capital of the 25. Prodi, Il sovrano, 321–22; Koller, Imperator, 287; Stefano Andretta, “Cerimoniale e diplomazia pontificia nel XVII secolo,” in: Cérémonial et rituel à Rome (XVI e–XIX e siècle), eds. Maria Antonietta Visceglia and Catherine Brice (Rome, 1997), 201–22, here 207. 26. Walf, Die Entwicklung, 91; Michael F. Feldkamp, La diplomazia pontificia (Mailand, 1998), 46–55. 27. Koller, Imperator, 61–71, 277–79; Koller, Die Nuntien, 273. 28. Samuel Steinherz, “Die Facultäten eines päpstlichen Nuntius im 16. Jahrhunderte,” Mitteilungen des Instituts für Österreichische Geschichtsforschung, 19 (1898), 327–42, here 328; Walf, Die Entwicklung, 91-97, 223–43; Leo Mergentheim, Die quiquennalfakultäten pro foro externo: Ihre Entstehung und Einführung in deutschen Bistümern, 2 vols. (Stuttgart, 1908), I, 250–63. 29. Henry Biaudet, Les nonciatures apostoliques permanentes jusqu’en 1648 (Helsinki, 1910), 41–47; Bernard Barbiche and Ségolène de Dainville-Barbiche, “La diplomatie pontificale de la paix de Vervins aux traités de Westphalie (1598–1648),” in: Bulla, legatus, nuntius: Ètudes de diplomatique et de diplomatie pontificales (XIII e–XVII e siècle), ed. Bernard Barbiche (Paris, 2007), 181–92, here 186–87. 30. Koller, Imperator, 278–81; Prodi, Il sovrano, 219–24. 516 THE STRATEGY OF PAPAL NUNCIOS Kingdom of Bohemia, and the city was not only home to the diplomats of various states and other persons involved in diplomacy, but also a destination for numerous foreign delegations and an important center of international politics. The jurisdiction of the nuncios of the imperial court encompassed most of the Holy Roman Empire and the Kingdom of Hungary as well as the Bohemian lands, which had become a focal point of papal politics and were viewed as an ideal space in which to pursue recatholization initiatives that could also be implemented elsewhere.31 In the dominantly non-Catholic state, nuncios had several primary goals, including limiting the influence of the Protestants at the imperial court, the appointment of Catholics to key offices, support for church reforms and new religious orders, reintegration of the Utraquists into the Catholic Church, and control over the preservation of church immunity. Despite constraints arising from religious and political relations, some of these goals were achieved with great success, such as the appointment of radical Catholic aristocrats as heads of Bohemian provincial offices in 1599 or the implementation of a diocesan synod within the Archdiocese of Prague in 1605, where decrees of the Council of Trent were accepted.32 In religious terms, however, the nunciature, which represented the head of the Catholic Church, constituted a foreign element in the city. This becomes quite evident when we consider the confessional orientation of the city, which was influenced by a historical evolution that also left its mark on sacred space. The Hussite Wars at the beginning of the fifteenth century and the period that followed, when the system of religious pluralism stabilized in the Bohemian lands, were of key importance and saw the emergence of majority Utraquism, which was recognized by land laws and had its own ecclesiastical administration. The Prague city agglomeration also acquired a predominantly Utraquist character.33 Minority Catholicism, on the other hand, found itself in a completely different situation. Weakened economically and socially, numerous monastic institutions and 31. Karel Stloukal, Papežská politika a císařský dvůr pražský na předělu 16. a 17. věku [Papal Politics and the Imperial Court in Prague at the Turn of the Seventeenth Century] (Prague, 1925), 155–56. 32. For a summary of the work of nuncios at the court of Rudolf II in relation to the Bohemian lands, see Tomáš Černušák et al., The Papacy and the Czech Lands: A History of Mutual Relations (Prague, 2016), 164–79. 33. Václav Ledvinka and Jiří Pešek, Praha [Prague] (Prague, 2000), 249–62. Since the Middle Ages, Prague consisted of three royal towns with their own administration—Staré Město (Old Town), Nové Město (New Town), and Malá Strana (Lesser Town). This structure was expanded at the end of the sixteenth century with Hradčany (Ledvinka and Pešek, Praha, 298). TOMÁŠ ČERNUŠÁK 517 communities began to decline, and in 1421 the Prague archbishopric entered a period of sede vacante.34 The religious situation became even more complicated and detrimental to Catholicism with the German Reformation of the sixteenth century, the followers of which significantly bolstered the confessional plurality of the city and the entire country. Economic difficulties and the dominant standing of adherents of the Reformation were particularly apparent in the monasteries of Prague, which suffered from a significant lack of monks and were plagued by serious internal problems, as evidenced in numerous reports from the period.35 This confessional transformation also had an impact on the number of Catholics in the city. Research to date indicates that approximately forty thousand inhabitants lived in the four towns of Prague at the turn of the seventeenth century,36 with Catholics accounting for no more than ten percent of the population,37 a number that corresponds to information in reports from diplomats; according to the nuncio Giovanni Dolfin, for instance, there were approximately four thousand Catholics in Prague in 1575.38 A similar number was given by Pompeio Vizani, who accompanied the new nuncio Ottavio Santacroce on his trip to the Bohemian lands in 1581. His estimate puts the number of Catholics at five thousand.39 It is not surprising that certain foreign Catholic visitors, such as the aforesaid Pierre Bergeron,40 described the city as distinctly Utraquist. Pompeio Vizani even mistakenly stated that of the 114 churches and chapels in 34. For the situation with Catholicism throughout the Czech Lands up to the beginning of the sixteenth century in summary fashion, see Josef Macek, Víra a zbožnost jagellonského věku [Faith and Piety of the Jagiellonian Age] (Prague, 2001), 160–235. 35. Zikmund Winter, Život církevní v Čechách: Kulturně-historický obraz z XV. a XVI. století [Church Life in Bohemia: Cultural-historical Image from the Fifteenth and the Sixteenth Century], 2 vols. (Prague, 1895–1896, here 1896), II, 691–92, 704; Karl Schellhass, “Akten zur Reformthätigkeit Felicián Ninguarda’s insbesondere in Baiern und Oesterreich während der Jahre 1572 bis 1577,” Quellen und Forschungen aus italienischen Archiven und Bibliotheken, 1 (1898), 39–108, 204–60, here 90–93. 36. For a critical evaluation of the previous estimates of the numbers of Prague inhabitants in the period prior to White Mountain, see Olga Fejtová, “Já pevně věřím a vyznávám. . . ,” in: Rekatolizace na Novém Městě Pražském v době předbělohorské [“I Firmly Believe and Confess. . . ,” in: Re-Catholicization in the New Town of Prague in the Pre-White Mountain Period ] (Prague, 2012), 104. 37. I would like to thank Prof. Zdeněk Hojda of Charles University for her qualified estimate. 38. Daniela Neri, ed., Nuntiatur Giovanni Dolfins 1575–1576, [Nuntiaturberichte aus Deutschland, sec. III, vol. 8] (Tübingen, 1997), no. 34,2, pp. 74–76. 39. Pompeio Vizani, Relatione del viaggio di Germania (n.p., 1581), stored in Rome, Archivio di Stato Roma, Fondo Santacroce, 87, fol. 21v. 40. Fučíková, Tři francouzští kavalíři, 44–45. 518 THE STRATEGY OF PAPAL NUNCIOS Prague, only fourteen were in Catholic hands, with the rest belonging to the Utraquists.41 The clear dominance of the non-Catholic character of the city, apparent even in its spatial dimension, was not a static phenomenon. From 1578 to 1612, a period throughout which, save for short intervals, nuncios resided in Prague on practically a permanent basis, a process can be seen of a gradual revival of Catholicism and an attempt to restore or strengthen its position in society, and this process was also manifested in space. Several factors contributed to this interesting transformation, which occurred in parallel fashion throughout the entire Church.42 The first of these factors was the enthronement of Rudolf II, the ruler of the Holy Roman Empire, who had been raised in an orthodox Catholic court in Spain. He moved the imperial court, which comprised approximately one thousand individuals, most of whom were Catholic, to the capital of the Kingdom of Bohemia: Prague.43 The majority of the courtiers resided in houses in Malá Strana (Lesser Town) and Hradčany, where they made up roughly one third of the population and thus had a substantial influence on the religious character of these localities.44 Catholic aristocrats also played a role in this process, as they saw their confession as an important prerequisite for a career at the court. They filled in the agglomeration by erecting new buildings or remodeling existing palaces and also by engaging in lavish arts patronage benefiting Catholic institutions.45 Another factor was the influx of immigrants from other countries, who were attracted to the general boom in the city resulting from the establishment of the court. Italians made up a small yet important and clearly defined entity in terms of language and confession. They worked in certain professions for which there was demand, such as construction, 41. Pompeio Vizani, Relatione del viaggio di Germania (n.p., 1581), stored in Rome, Archivio di Stato Roma, Fondo Santacroce, 87, fol. 21v. 42. Robert Bireley, The Refashioning of Catholicism 1450–1700: A Reassessment of the Counter Reformation (Washington, DC, 1999). 43. Zdeněk Hojda, “Prag um 1600 als multikulturelle Stadt: Hof—Adel—Bürgertum—Kirche,” in: Metropolen im Wandel: Zentralität in Ostmitteleuropa an der Wende vom Mittelalter zur Neuzeit, eds. Evamaria Engel, Karen Lambrecht, and Hanna Nogossek (Berlin, 1995), 225–32, here 227; Ledvinka and Pešek, Praha, 320–21. 44. Stloukal, Papežská politika, 175–206. 45. Hojda, Prag um 1600, 229–30; Ledvinka and Pešek, Praha, 304; Michal Šroněk, De sacris imaginibus: Patroni, malíři a obrazy předbělohorské Prahy [De sacris imaginibus: Patrons, Painters and Paintings of Pre-White Mountain Prague] (Prague, 2013), 12–41. TOMÁŠ ČERNUŠÁK 519 FIGURE 2. Hans von Aachen, Portrait of Emperor Rudolf II, oil on canvas, 1590s. Stored at Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna, Austria. Image is in the public domain. long-distance trading, and banking. Italians were known in the imperial residential city as definite followers of Catholicism and were not hesitant to present their confessional allegiance in an ostentatious manner.46 In terms of church administration, the position of Catholicism was strengthened with the renewal of the Prague archbishopric in 1561.47 The seemingly most important factor influencing the growing role of Catholicism in early modern Prague was the activities of male ecclesiastical orders, particularly those founded in the sixteenth century, which embodied a 46. Šroněk, De sacris imaginibus, 17–19. On the Italian community in Prague during the reign of Rudolf II, see specifically Josef Janáček, “Italové v předbělohorské Praze (1526– 1620) [Italians in Pre-White Mountain Prague (1526–1620)],” Pražský sborník historický [The Prague Historical Review], 16 (1983), 77–118. 47. Winfried Eberhard, “Entwicklungsphasen und Probleme der Gegenreformation und katholischen Erneuerung in Böhmen,” Römische Quartalschrift für christliche Altertumskunde und Kirchengeschichte, 84 (1989), 235–57, here 238–39; František Kavka and Anna Skýbová, Husitský epilog na koncilu tridentském a původní koncepce habsburské rekatolizace Čech: Počátky obnoveného pražského arcibiskupství [The Hussite Epilogue at the Council of Trent and the Original Conception of the Habsburg Re-Catholicization of Bohemia: The Beginnings of the Renewed Archbishopric of Prague] (Prague, 1969), 35–55. 520 THE STRATEGY OF PAPAL NUNCIOS new and assertive concept of faith. The topography of the city evolved with the construction of churches and monasteries, which represented more than mere static structures. The presence and work of clerics, their contact with citizens of different social standings, preaching and teaching activities, regular church services, and liturgical festivities that occasionally extended out into the profane space of the streets and squares—all of this made these structures living centers of Catholic culture and religion, “islands of Catholicism” not unlike those that could be found in other multiconfessional cities in Europe.48 In 1556, the Jesuits arrived in Prague and took up residence in the very center of Staré Město (Old Town) near the main roads of the city. They built a college there and, in addition to their pastoral and mission activities, began offering an attractive education system.49 The Capuchins were another dynamic religious community. Despite initial difficulties arising from the unsteady position of the superior, the order gained stature among the Catholic nobility and courtiers, and its monastery in Hradčany, which was founded in the year 1600, soon became an important center of religious life.50 These two orders were joined in 1603 by the renewed monastery of the Observant Franciscans, where only a few years later the community comprised sixteen friars from several countries.51 The Dominicans also received a new monastery in Malá Strana (Lesser Town) in 1604.52 Other important centers of Catholic revival were the originally medieval but now reformed communities of the Premonstratensians, the Minorites, and the Augustinians.53 48. Heinz Schilling, “Die konfessionelle Stadt—eine Problemskizze,” in: Historische Anstöße: Festschrift für Wolfgang Reinhard zum 65. Geburtstag am 10. April 2002, eds. Peter Burschel, Mark Häberlein et al. (Berlin, 2002), 60–83, here 68–70. 49. On the beginnings of the Prague college, see Alois Kroess, Geschichte der böhmischen Provinz der Gesellschaft Jesu, 3 vols. (Vienna [vols. 1–2] and Prague [vol. 3], 1910–2012, here Vienna, 1910), I, 13–223; Patrizio Foresta, “Wie ein Apostel Deutschlands”: Apostolat, Obrigkeit und jesuitische Selbstverständnis am Beispiel des Petrus Canisius (1543–1570) (Göttingen, 2016), 362–82. 50. Šroněk, De sacris imaginibus, 15–22; Tomáš Černušák, “San Lorenzo da Brindisi e controriforma in Boemia,” in: San Lorenzo di Brindisi, Doctor angelicus, nell’Europa tra Cinque e Seicento, ed. Gabriele Ingegneri (Trento, 2021), 81–94. 51. Petr R. Beneš, “O trojím těžkém začínání františkánů observantů v Praze (1460–68, 1482–83 a 1604–11)” [“On the Three Difficult Beginnings of the Franciscan Observants in Prague (1460–68, 1482–83 and 1604–11)”], in: Historia Franciscana II, eds. Petr R. Beneš and Petr Hlaváček (Kostelní Vydří, 2005), 66–104, here 92–96. 52. Jakub Zouhar, Česká dominikánská provincie v raném novověku (1435–1790) [Bohemian Dominican Province in the Early Modern Age (1435–1790)] (Prague, 2010), 51–52. 53. Jaroslav Kadlec, “Reformní opatření strahovského opata Jana Lohelia v premonstrátských klášterech ve Slezsku a Polsku” [“Reform Measures of the Strahov Abbot Johann TOMÁŠ ČERNUŠÁK 521 FIGURE 3. Photograph of the eastern entrance of the Clementium, formerly the Jesuit College in Prague’s Old Town (1556). Wikimedia user VitVit, Photograph of the Clementium, May 23, 2017. The photo has been licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License 4.0 International license. Photo is available at https://no.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fil:Klementinum_z_Mari%C3%A1nsk %C3%A9ho_n%C3%A1m_4.jpg. Apart from the new monasteries, the phenomenon of Catholic renewal also manifested itself in the prolific construction of sacred buildings. Between 1580 and 1620, thirteen Catholic churches and chapels were either built from the ground up or completely renovated in the predominantly non-Catholic city of Prague, often with contributions from patrons among the ranks of the aristocracy and courtiers. By contrast, only three buildings belonging to other Christian confessions were either enlarged or renovated in the same period.54 The vitality of Prague’s centers of Catholic culture and religion could also be seen in the organization of entirely new festivities or those presented as possessing a new importance, where particular emphasis was Lohelius in the Premonstratensian Monasteries in Silesia and Polonia”], Bibliotheca Strahoviensis, 4–5 (2001), 91–104; Šroněk, De sacris imaginibus, 31–33. 54. Anna Ohlidal, “Kirchenbau in der multikonfessionellen Stadt: zur konfessionellen Prägung und Besetzung des städtischen Raums in den Prager Städten um 1600,” in: Stadt und Religion in der frühen Neuzeit, ed. Vera Isaiasz (Frankfurt am Main, 2007), 67–81, here 71; Šroněk, De sacris imaginibus, 12–41. 522 THE STRATEGY OF PAPAL NUNCIOS placed on their visual and aesthetic effect. The significance of this effect was not only religious in nature and self-identifying for the Catholic community, but it also served as a form of outward presentation to the majority non-Catholic population with the aim of elevating the presence of the Catholic confession in the public space of the streets and squares.55 The renewal of minority Catholicism is also evidenced by liturgical practice. This is most apparent in the Feast of Corpus Christi processions, one of the most distinctive manifestations of outward self-identification toward the Protestants in the liturgy of early modern Catholicism. From as far back as its medieval beginnings, attempts to dominate the public space formed an integral part of the ritual.56 This reality and its theological aspects constituted the main reason for the negative response to the feast from nonCatholics.57 The Jesuits in Prague began celebrating the Feast of Corpus Christi in the 1560s, and although it was initially confined only to the areas adjacent to their college, it was a truly magnificent event. By the end of the sixteenth century, the Catholics no longer hesitated to cast their influence over the public space in this manner within the much wider geographical framework of the city streets.58 In the early years of the seventeenth century, the organization of these processions moved to the main Catholic churches in Prague, apparently with the aim of having them take place at different intervals throughout the time of the feast in order to achieve the 55. Anna Ohlidal, “Präsenz und Präsentation. Strategien konfessioneller Raumbesetzung in Prag um 1600 am Beispiel des Prozessionswesens,” in: Formierung des konfessionellen Raumes in Ostmitteleuropa, ed. Evelin Wetter (Stuttgart, 2008), 207–17; Annick Delfosse, “From Rome to the Southern Netherlands: Spectacular Sceneries to Celebrate the Canonization of Ignatius of Loyola and Francis Xavier,” in: The Sacralization of Space and Behavior in the Early Modern World. Studies and Sources, ed. Jennifer Mara DeSilva (London, 2015), 141– 59; Jens Baumgarten, “Bekehrung durch Kunst? Jesuitische ‘Überwältigungsästhetik’ und das Problem Konversion,” in: Konversion und Konfession in der Frühen Neuzeit, eds. Ute LotzHeumann, Jan-Friedrich Mißfelder, and Matthias Pohlig (Göttingen, 2007), 463–90. 56. Gerd Schwerhoff, “Das Ritual als Kampfplatz. Konflikte und Prozessionen in der spättmittelalterlichen und frühneuzeitlichen Stadt,” in: Raum und Performanz: Rituale in Residenzen von der Antike bis 1815, eds. Dietrich Boschung, Karl-Joachim Hölkeskamp, and Claudia Sode (Stuttgart, 2015), 309–32, here 319–21; Martin Scheutz, “… hinter Ihrer Käyserlichen Majestät der Päbstliche Nuncius, Königl. Spanischer und Venetianischer Abgesandter: Hof und Stadt bei den Fronleichnamsprozessionen im frühneuzeitlichen Wien,” in: Kaiserhof—Papsthof (16.–18. Jahrhundert), eds. Richard Bösel, Grete Klingenstein, and Alexander Koller (Vienna, 2006), 173–204, here 180. 57. With consideration for the Czech conditions, I have intentionally chosen the term “non-Catholics” (as opposed to “Protestants”) to label the other confessions, as it would be inaccurate to include the older Czech reform directions of the Utraquists and the Unity of the Brethren among them. 58. Anna Ohlidal, “Präsenz,” 213–15. TOMÁŠ ČERNUŠÁK 523 greatest possible presence in the public space without overlapping one another.59 The processions were embellished with visual performances, sounds, and musical accompaniment, and social elites from the ranks of courtiers and the aristocracy participated in them. All of these efforts were intended to help bring about spatial hegemony.60 Apart from these processions, sources also make reference to other entirely new ones taking place on the various Marian feast days under the patronage of the Jesuit sodalities.61 The processions of flagellants organized by the Capuchins and led through the city streets were a similar “innovation” and became a much observed part of the religious atmosphere in the first decade of the seventeenth century.62 The Prague Nuncios and Their Strategies in the Sacred Space of Prague As indicated by recent research examining the spatial aspects not only of papal but also of Spanish diplomats in Prague at the turn of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, of greatest importance to them were the imperial palace, the residences of diplomats, and the palaces of aristocrats. It was here that the majority of diplomatic affairs were conducted, namely interpersonal meetings, the gathering of information, and representation. In the case of papal nuncios, their presence everywhere in these spaces is evidence, albeit in varying degrees of intensity, of their special standing arising from their direct ties to the pope in his dual role of head of the Catholic Church and ruler of the Papal States.63 The same is true of nun59. Tomáš Černušák, “Prestiž, násilí a zápas o veřejný prostor: Konflikty při slavnostech Božího Těla v rudolfínské Praze roku 1605” [“Prestige, Violence and the Struggle for Public Space: Conflicts at the Corpus Christi Celebrations in Rudolphine Prague in 1605”], Český časopis historický [The Czech Historical Review], 118 (2020), 1000–17, here 1007–08. 60. André Krischer, “Rituale und politische Öffentlichkeit in der alten Stadt,” in: Stadt und Öffentlichkeit in der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. Gerd Schwerhoff (Cologne, 2011), 125–57, here 129–34. 61. Diarium Collegii Societatis Jesu Pragae ad sanctum Clementem 1586–1600, 15861600, stored in Prague, Královská kanonie premonstrátů na Strahově [The Royal Canonry Premonstratensians at Strahov] (hereafter KKPS), sign. DC III 21, fols. 79v, 95r, 120v, 124v, 124r. 62. Zdeněk Orlita, “Bolestí ke spáse: flagelantská konfraternita Utrpení Ježíše Krista při hradčanském kapucínském kostele Panny Marie Královny Andělů” [Through Pain Towards Salvation: “The Suffering of Jesus Christ”: A Flagellant Confraternity at the Capuchin Church of Saint Mary of the Angels in Hradčany], in: Pax et bonum: Kapucíni v Čechách a na Moravě v raném novověku [Pax et Bonum: The Capuchin Order in Early-Modern Bohemia and Moravia], eds. Marek Brčák and Jiří Wolf (Praha, 2020), 151–69. 63. Černušák and Marek, Gesandte, 189–209. 524 THE STRATEGY OF PAPAL NUNCIOS cios and their impact on the sacred space of the imperial residential city of Prague, regardless of whether one considers it in terms of its topographically defined form or in its broader sense. In the role of papal nuncios as diplomats, their membership in a prestigious group known as ambasciatori di cappella (ambassadors of the chapel) held a special significance in sacred space.64 In addition to the nuncios, the group included envoys of the Spanish king, the Republic of Venice, and the Grand Duchy of Tuscany, and all of these diplomats, unlike others, had the privileged right as well as an obligation to attend services, prayers, or other ceremonies with the emperor in the imperial chapel.65 According to an interpretation by Antonio Caetani from the year 1611, it was precisely this “seat in the chapel” that gave these individuals the right to use the title of “ambassador.”66 Certain envoys to the papal court in Rome had a similar function, and this was closely connected with acceptance of the sovereignty of their rulers on the part of the pontificate. Thus, even in the case of the imperial court the existence of this group can be understood as a manifestative recognition of the right to sovereignty through the medium of the ceremonial.67 In spatial terms, this group secured its unique status not only in the imperial court but also beyond. The church of the Capuchins in Prague, for instance, had a special pew reserved for these diplomats, and they exercised their exclusive right to use it even if it meant engaging in disputes, such as a conflict that arose between the nuncio Antonio Caetani and the leading Catholic aristocrat Zdeněk Popel of Lobkowicz in the year 1607.68 64. Milena Linhartová and Tomáš Černušák, eds., Epistulae et acta Antonii Caetani 1607–1611, 5 vols. (Prague, 1932–1946 [vols. 1–3, ed. Milena Linhartová], 2013–2017 [vols. 4–5, ed. Tomáš Černušák], here 1932), I, nos. 198.V.6 and 7, pp. 448–49; Alena Pazderová, ed., Epistulae et acta Caesaris Speciani 1592–1598, 3 vols. (Prague, 2016), I, no. 176.2, p. 388; III, no. 727.2, p. 1636. 65. This is based on the reports of the nuncio Camillo Caetani from the year 1592 and Cesare Speciano from the year 1594; see Pazderová, ed., Epistulae, I, no. 198.V.6, p. 448; Pazderová, ed., Epistulae, III, no. 727.2, p. 1636. 66. “Gli Ambasciatori, che meritano veramente questo nome, perché havriano luogo in capella, se si tenesse, sono tre. Per il Re di Spagna, per la Repubblica di Venetia e per il Gran Duca di Toscana,” in: Tomáš Černušák, ed., Epistulae et acta Antonii Caetani 1607–1611, V, no. 640,77, p. 551. 67. Philipp Stenzig, Botschafterzeremoniell am Papsthof der Renaissance. Der Tractatus de oratoribus des Paris de Grassi—Edition und Kommentar, 2 vols. (Frankfurt am Main, 2013), I, 76–77. 68. Tomáš Černušák, “Forme e conflitti dei cerimoniali come comunicazione simbolica nella corrispondenza del nunzio apostolico a Praga Antonio Caetani (1607-1611),” Bollettino dell’Istituto storico ceco di Roma, 10 (2016), 33–50, here 41–42. TOMÁŠ ČERNUŠÁK 525 Nuncios also used sacred spaces for secret high-level political meetings. Their reports from the beginning of the seventeenth century indicate that one such location was the recently-completed monastery of the Capuchins, which presumably was chosen due to its remoteness from the goings-on in the heart of the city. Participants in these meetings could arrive individually and discreetly, without attracting any unwanted attention. For example, Czech Catholic aristocrats, the nuncio Caetani, and the Spanish envoy Zúñiga met here in 1609 to identify ways in which they could prevent the emperor from issuing the famous Letter of Majesty granting religious tolerance. One year later, the monastery would serve as the venue for a meeting to discuss matters relating to the planned founding of the Catholic League.69 In the aforesaid cases, it was the diplomatic role of the nuncios that came to the forefront more than any other. Their advantage as compared with other foreign diplomats was, of course, their rank of bishop, which entitled them to use sacred space in a different, more active way. The plurality and vitality of Catholic institutions provided these bishop nuncios, who as diplomats represented the pope himself, frequent opportunities to participate actively in a wide variety of liturgical festivities. Sacred space allowed them to go beyond the boundaries of the socially restricted space of the imperial court and aristocratic palaces and use their presence alone to speak symbolically to a far broader audience, in some cases even beyond the sphere of their Catholic confession. Their activities and movements as bishops in sacred space can be divided into two categories depending on the type of space. The first constituted the topographically finite space of the Catholic cathedral, churches, and chapels. Here, the most common form of activity was various liturgical functions connected with the church of the Jesuits in the Old Town of Prague and typically intended for the Catholic minority; however, in some cases (e.g. conversions) these activities presumably also had a propagative effect on the sphere of majority non-Catholics. There were numerous liturgical feasts during which nuncios would play the central role of administrators of the sacraments in churches and chapels. In 1591 at the Jesuit church of the Holy Savior, Camillo Caetano baptized a certain Turk and administered the Eucharist to him.70 Cesare 69. Černušák and Marek, Gesandte, 213–14 70. Diarium Collegii Societatis Jesu Pragae ad sanctum Clementem 1586–1600, 1586– 1600, stored in Prague, KKPS, sign. DC III 21, fol. 73v. 526 THE STRATEGY OF PAPAL NUNCIOS Speciano baptized a Jew in this same church in 1597,71 and the nuncio Giacomo Puteo provided confirmation for believers here in April of 1589.72 This integrational character and the emphasis on the link with the Church led by the pope as the representative of Christ was undoubtedly also part of the ordination of candidates to the priesthood or the granting of certain lower levels of ordination.73 There may be a similar function for the interpretation of nuncios as the main celebrants of liturgical ceremonies, primarily making use of the important church feasts, such as Easter, the Feast of the Ascension of Christ, the Assumption of the Virgin Mary, or liturgical celebrations commemorating the death of the as yet uncanonized Ignatius of Loyola (31 July).74 Among the specific tasks recorded in the space of the Jesuit church and to which the nuncios actively contributed were the ceremonial conversions of renowned non-Catholics. The presence of the papal representative helped elevate the propagative significance of the ritual, the symbolic effect of a return to the “true” Church.75 An essential part of the ceremony consisted of the rejection of heresy, the acknowledgment of the Catholic faith, and the consequent reception of the Eucharist from the hands of the nuncio, which further enhanced the public effect. Cesare Speciano accepted Johann Lange, a Lutheran and graduate of the leading Protestant university in Wittenburg, into the Catholic Church in 1592 amid considerable public interest.76 Peter Streuber, a theologian and former superin- 71. Diarium Collegii Societatis Jesu Pragae ad sanctum Clementem 1586–1600, 1586– 1600, stored in Prague, KKPS, sign. DC III 21, fol. 112r. 72. Diarium Collegii Societatis Jesu Pragae ad sanctum Clementem 1586–1600, 1586– 1600, stored in Prague, KKPS, sign. DC III 21, fol. 54r. 73. Diarium Collegii Societatis Jesu Pragae ad sanctum Clementem 1586–1600, 1586– 1600, stored in Prague, KKPS, sign. DC III 21, fols. 8r, 8v, 52v, 61r; Collegii Societatis Jesu Pragae ad sanctum Clementem 1578–1610, 1578–1610, stored in Prague, KKPS, sign. DC III 16, fols. 53v, 54v. 74. For example, Collegii Societatis Jesu Pragae ad sanctum Clementem 1578–1610, 1578– 1610, stored in Prague, KKPS, sign. DC III 16, fols. 18r, 35v, 68v; Diarium Collegii Societatis Jesu Pragae ad sanctum Clementem 1560–1583, 1560–1583, stored in Prague, KKPS, sign. DC III 20, fol. 184v; Diarium Collegii Societatis Jesu Pragae ad sanctum Clementem 1586–1600, 1586–1600, stored in Prague, sign. DC III 21, fols. 30r, 34r, 68r. 75. On the phenomenon of conversion in relation to space in connection with the Early Modern period, see Giuseppe Marcocci, Wietse de Boer, Aliocha Maldavska, and Ilaria Pavan, eds., Space and Conversion in Global Perspective (Leiden, 2015). 76. Pazderová, ed., Epistulae, I, no. 40,8, pp. 91–92; no. 46,7, p. 106. On their relationship and the print propagation of Lange’s conversion in detail, see Alena Pazderová, “Nuncius Speciano a konvertita Lange. Příspěvek ke Specianovým vydavatelským aktivitám v prvních měsících jeho pražského působení” [Nuncius Speciano and Convert Lange. A Contribution TOMÁŠ ČERNUŠÁK 527 FIGURE 4. Cardinal Filippo Spinelli (1556–1616), print, unknown artist, unknown source. Image is stored at http://www.araldicavaticana.com/sx088.htm. Image is in the public domain. tendent whose son studied at the local Jesuit college in 1599, rejected his Lutheranism in the presence of the nuncio Filippo Spinelli and other elite members of the Catholic society and diplomatic corps.77 The Cathedral of Saint Vitus was the venue of a similar liturgical and religious function fulfilled by papal nuncios. Despite occurring on a relatively sporadic basis, the activities undertaken here, the consecration of archbishops and their suffragans, carried considerably greater importance than those observed at the Jesuit church. Nuncio Ottavio Santacroce was chosen to consecrate the newly appointed archbishop Martin Medek in 1581,78 but he died to Speciani’s Publishing Activities in the First Months of His Prague Career], in: Pocta Elišce Čáňové: Sborník k životnímu jubileu [Tribute to Eliška Čáňová: Proceedings of the Jubilee], ed. Alena Pazderová (Prague, 2003), 125–37. 77. Schmidl, Historiae, 179. 78. Alexander Koller, ed., Nuntiaturen des Orazio Malaspina und des Ottavio Santacroce: Interim des Cesare dell’Arena (1578–1581), [Nuntiaturberichte aus Deutschland, sec. III, vol. 10] (Berlin–Boston, 2012), no. 305,3, p. 482; no. 319,4, p. 518. 528 THE STRATEGY OF PAPAL NUNCIOS unexpectedly, and Medek had to be consecrated by someone else.79 Another archbishop, Zbyněk Berka of Dubá, was consecrated on October 10, 1593 by Nuncio Speciano,80 and his successors, Karl of Lamberg and the suffragan Johann Lohelius, were consecrated by the new nuncio Antonio Caetani together with the former nuncio Giovanni Ferreri on October 7, 1607.81 Although it may seem that the appointment of papal diplomats as consecrators was an attempt on the part of the new Prague archbishops to underscore symbolically the closer ties to Rome, the reasons were somewhat more prosaic. The archbishopric was not wealthy, and the organization of festivities celebrating such occasions involved high costs arising from the provision of food and housing for the consecrators and their frequently large entourages. Inviting a nuncio to serve as consecrator was also frequently motivated by economic considerations, which is something that Martin Medek explicitly stated in his request to Santacroce.82 Betrothal ceremonies for members of prominent Catholic aristocratic families were another similarly sporadic rite performed by nuncios; in 1597, for instance, the nuncio Spinelli performed the ceremony for the Italian duke Francesco Gonzaga of Castiglione and Bibiana von Pernstein. At the end of his time in Prague in May of 1607, Spinelli’s successor, Giovanni Stefano Ferreri, gave the blessing during the betrothal ceremony of the emperor’s illegitimate daughter, Caroline d’Austria, and Count François Thomas Perrenot de Granvelle, which took place at the palace of Adam the Younger of Wallenstein.83 It cannot be said with certainty in which space within aristocratic palaces betrothal ceremonies were performed, but presumably it was in the palace chapel. Without a doubt, the motivation for involving papal diplomats in these rather private family festivities was a declaration and verification of the family’s confessional allegiance and its loyalty to the Holy See. The second area with a significant presence of papal nuncios in the sacred space of early modern Prague were liturgical activities that transcended the topographically defined framework of Catholic sanctuaries and, albeit only temporarily, extensively expanded the sacred space into the 79. Klement Borový, Martin Medek, arcibiskup pražský [Martin Medek, Archbishop of Prague] (Prague, 1877), 2. 80. Pazderová, ed., Epistulae, II, no. 398,3, p. 857; no. 403,2, p. 868; no. 448,6, p. 977. 81. Collegii Societatis Jesu Pragae ad sanctum Clementem 1578–1610, 1578–1610, stored in Prague, KKPS, sign. DC III 16, fol. 38v; Linhartová, ed., Epistulae, I, no. 177, pp. 218–219. 82. Koller, ed., Nuntiaturen, no. 305, 3, p. 482. 83. Černušák and Marek, Gesandte, 202–03. TOMÁŠ ČERNUŠÁK 529 profane space, i.e. into the streets and squares. The nuncios could thus speak, in a truly acclamatory manner, not only to Catholics but also to the non-Catholic majority in Prague while applying a visual strategy to help strengthen the role of Catholicism and the sacralization of space. The sources testify to two basic forms of this interaction. The first consisted of the consecration of the foundation stones or construction sites of new Catholic churches and chapels. Of the six newly constructed buildings, the local nuncios were involved in the consecration of three, and it can be assumed that this generated much public interest, serving even to provide a degree of propaganda. The first was the laying and consecration of the foundation stone of the Italian chapel, a renowned Mannerist building that was part of the Jesuit complex in the Staré Město (Old Town). This replaced the original chapel serving the Italian community, which was no longer sufficient in terms of capacity. The foundation stone of the new structure was laid by the nuncio Alfonso Visconti in a ceremonial event on July 23, 1590. The chapel was completed in 1600 and later consecrated by Visconti’s successor, Spinelli.84 A similar event involved the consecration of the construction site for the Capuchin church, which took place on May 23, 1600. This included a ceremony that began at Saint Vitus Cathedral. The members of the community of Capuchins, led by their vicar general, Lawrence of Brindisi, carried a wooden cross on their shoulders, as the ceremony had been established by the order. They carried it in the procession all the way to the building site, followed by the clergy, diplomats, courtiers, aristocrats, and “a remarkable number of both Catholics and heretics.” This was the description of the event given by Spinelli, who presided over the occasion by celebrating Mass at the site.85 The same nuncio consecrated the completed Jesuit church in 1602.86 Another act by a papal diplomat, this time Cesare Speciano, intended to bolster the Catholic confession in the public space was the consecration of the church of the Benedictine monastery of Emauzy in 1592, which occurred following the conversion of the local Utraquist abbot to Catholicism.87 84. Mojmír Horyna and Petra Oulíková, Kostel Nejsvětějšího Salvátora a Vlašská kaple: Praha–Staré Město [Church of the Holy Savior and Italian Chapel: Prague–Old Town] (Kostelní Vydří, 2006), 33. 85. Arturo M. da Carmignano di Brenta, San Lorenzo da Brindisi. Dottore della chiesa universale (1559–1619), 4 vols. (Venice-Mestre, 1960–1963, here 1963), I, no. 151, p. 142. 86. Horyna and Oulíková, Kostel, 7–9. 87. Pavel B. Kůrka, “Události roku 1611 perspektivou Slovanského kláštera” [“Events of 1611 from the Perspective of the Slavonic Monastery”], in: Čtrnáct mučedníků pražských [Fourteen Martyrs of Prague], eds. Petr R. Beneš, Petr Hlaváček, Tomáš Sterneck, et al. (Prague, 2014), 98. 530 THE STRATEGY OF PAPAL NUNCIOS Yet another area of participation by papal diplomats in the Catholic sacralization of the public space, one with both a major manifestation and a confessionally distinctive effect, were various religious processions, in particular those taking place on the occasion of the Feast of Corpus Christi. The earliest testimony to the participation of a nuncio comes from the year 1580.88 Over the following decades, it was a fairly standard practice for the nuncio to assume the function of the main celebrant of Mass or the bearer of the monstrance with the Eucharist during processions. By doing so, he was placing himself in a central role within the visual strategy, primarily developed by the Prague Jesuits, with focus on propagating the Catholic faith in the multiconfessional city.89 Nuncios were not, however, bound to this order only, and we have documented evidence of their identical role in festivities organized by other religious orders.90 The festive manifestations of Catholicism likely had a more substantial impact on members of other confessions watching the Corpus Christi processions, which became more attractive to the public thanks to the participation of social elites of the time, such as members of the ruling Habsburg family or prominent imperial princes who might have been in residence at the imperial court in Prague. These individuals were often joined in the procession by important courtiers and aristocrats. There was, for example, a liturgical procession on June 3, 1605 led by the nuncio Ferreri through the streets around the church of the Augustinians. It took place under the patronage of Archduke Maximilian of Austria, who walked in the procession accompanied by his personal guard.91 When the Imperial Diet, which was made up of selected imperial princes, convened in Prague in 1610 at the initiative of the emperor, religious processions were held on June 10 in the vicinity of the Jesuit church, with the Eucharist carried by the nuncio Antonio Caetani. Large numbers of Catholics participated together with representatives of the nobility and diplomats. Also present in the procession were the main “celebrities,” i.e. the archdukes Maximilian and Ferdinand of Austria (later emperor), accompanied by the imperial personal guard, and the Elector of Mainz, Johann Schweikard of Kronberg, and the Elector of Cologne, Ernst of 88. Diarium Collegii Societatis Jesu Pragae ad sanctum Clementem 1560–1583, 1560– 1583, stored in Prague, KKPS, sign. DC III 20, fols. 188v, 189r. 89. Diarium Collegii Societatis Jesu Pragae ad sanctum Clementem 1586–1600, 1586– 1600, stored in Prague, KKPS, sign. DC III 21, fols. 135v, 145v. 90. Černušák, “Prestiž,” 1004–18. 91. Černušák, “Prestiž,” 1012–13. TOMÁŠ ČERNUŠÁK 531 FIGURE 5. Carl Emil Doepler the Elder, Fronleichnamsprozession [Corpus Christi Procession], oil on canvas, c. nineteenth century. Painting is in the public domain. Bavaria.92 The presence of armed guards in these events was not a mere representative touch but may have been a disciplinary measure intended to prevent any unwanted or unplanned conduct from onlookers, who often were members of other confessions and were strictly confined to the role of passive spectator.93 The final form of nuncial presence was their funerals, which served to demonstrate symbolically their positions as papal representatives either in churches or in public processions through the streets of Prague. There are several documented cases from the 1570s and 1580s, although the sources often provide only limited information. The nuncio Melchior Biglia died of spotted typhoid in Prague in 1571, but little is known about his burial.94 Bartolomeo Portia died of colic in August 1578.95 In his case, the sources 92. Collegii Societatis Jesu Pragae ad sanctum Clementem 1578–1610, 1578–1610, stored in Prague, KKPS, sign. DC III 16, fols. 91v–92r. 93. Krischer, “Rituale,”134. 94. Koller, Imperator, 297n142. 95. Koller, Imperator, 333. 532 THE STRATEGY OF PAPAL NUNCIOS indicate that his funeral took place in magna pompa at the Jesuit church and was attended by many courtiers, diplomats, canons, and monastics.96 This suggests that these festive rituals not only played a role in the salvation of the deceased in the eschatological sense, but also served as public demonstrations of the confession with the aim of achieving spatial hegemony.97 The most abundant information can be found on the death and funeral of the aforesaid Ottavio Santacroce, who died in September of 1581, only three months after embarking on his diplomatic mission.98 Despite his death occurring within a relatively small circle of his closest associates, it transcended the space of the city in the form of his ceremonial funeral, which became a display of allegiance to the Catholic faith.99 It was used to command attention through its visual and aural aspects and thus further advance efforts to establish spatial hegemony.100 Members of religious orders, students of the Jesuit college, and members of religious brotherhoods, all with lit candles in hand, lined up behind a cross at the head of the procession and, accompanied by the ringing of the bells of all the Catholic churches, proceeded through the streets to the seat of the nunciature in Malá Strana (Lesser Town) and on toward Prague Castle. The coffin of the deceased diplomat was covered with a large white cloth reaching all the way to the ground and a small black cloth decorated with a white cross and the family coat-of-arms of Santacroce. The bishop’s mitre and additional symbols of the nuncio’s rank were placed on top. Members of his household and the imperial honor guard, along with fifty paupers dressed in black and with lit torches in their hands, marched in close proximity to the coffin. Representatives of the social elite, foreign diplomats, leading Czech Catholic aristocrats, and imperial councilors as well as other representatives of the court and the nobility followed behind the coffin. The gala procession came to an end at Saint Vitus Cathedral, where ceremonies were performed by the Jesuit Johann Vivario.101 Santacroce’s body 96. Collegii Societatis Jesu Pragae ad sanctum Clementem 1578–1610, 1578–1610, stored in Prague, KKPS, sign. DC III 16, fol. 97r. 97. Langer, “Die konfessionelle Grenze,” 47; Krischer, “Rituale,” 132–34. 98. Studied primarily on the basis of sources from Archivio di stato Roma Alexander Koller. See Koller, ed., Nuntiaturen, pp. xxxi–xxxiv; Koller, Imperator, 345–48. 99. On the complicated nature of the strict separation of death and funerals, see Martin Christ, “Between Domestic and Public: Johann Leisentrit’s (1527–1586) Instructions for the Sick and Dying of Upper Lusatia,” in: Domestic Devotions in the Early Modern World, eds. Marco Faini and Alessia Meneghin (Leiden, 2018), 82–106. 100. Krischer, “Rituale,” 133. 101. For the text with the description of the funeral, see Pompeio Vizani, Relatione del viaggio di Germania, 1581, stored in Rome, Archivio di Stato Roma, Fondo Santacroce, 87, TOMÁŠ ČERNUŠÁK 533 was then laid to rest in the tomb of the chapel of St. Anne, where it remains to the present day. Conclusion At the turn of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the nuncios in Prague demonstrated a remarkable frequency and variability of activity in different types of scared space. It was an element with which they set themselves apart from other diplomats, the greatest influence coming from the nuncios’ rank of bishop, which, however, always correlated to some degree with their function as diplomatic representative of the pope. As concerns operations carried out in the space of Catholic cathedral, churches, or private aristocratic chapels, i.e. within the Catholic community, the involvement of nuncios as active officials in liturgical festivities (in addition to their primarily religious function) had a representative or selfidentifying significance. Liturgical operations during which nuncios intervened in the functionally profane space of Prague’s streets and squares may have had a different purpose, serving as an apolitical tool in their recatholization efforts, the visual and symbolic aspects of which aided in the fight to achieve Catholic spatial hegemony to the detriment of the existing non-Catholic majority. Authentication or further elaboration of this thesis would benefit from comparative research conducted into other early modern multiconfessional cities with papal nunciatures. fols. 48v–50v. For an analysis and edition of the preaching of Johann Vivario, see Koller, Imperator, 403–21. Invisible Umbrella of American Bishops: Aid for the Catholic University of Lublin in the Early Cold War Context SŁAWOMIR ŁUKASIEWICZ* As a result of the Second World War and the subsequent expansion of communism, the Catholic community in Poland was divided into the faithful who remained in the country and those in political exile. Paradoxically, this division created the conditions for the emergence of global networks aimed at organizing aid to Catholics in Poland. A special case was the Catholic University of Lublin (KUL), a unique institution of higher learning for the Catholic elite in Poland. Though its existence was threatened many times, thanks to external aid coming from Catholics in the West, and organized by Polish émigrés together with e.g. the American hierarchy, the university survived and even gained international recognition. Keywords: Catholic University of Lublin, Cold War, US episcopate, Polish Catholics in exile American propaganda cast the Cold War as one of history’s great religious wars, between the godless and the God-fearing, between good and evil. It was a simplistic depiction that was supported and promoted in the highest echelons of government and by the leaders of America’s key institutions.1 T he Polish Catholic Church, which had been hard-hit during World War II, did not live to see better times after its end. The new authorities initially seemed to show respect for the hierarchy, allowing them to * Sławomir Łukasiewicz, Dr. Hab., is a professor and lecturer of European Studies at the John Paul II Catholic University of Lublin, associate at Davis Center for Russian and Eurasian Studies, Harvard University, and Fulbright Scholar 2019/2020. His email address is lukaslaw@kul.pl. This article has been translated from Polish by Renata Kujawska-Matacz. 1. Dianne Kirby, “The Cold War and American Religion,” in: Oxford Research Encyclopedia of Religion, May 24, 2017, https://oxfordre.com/religion/view/10.1093/acrefore/ 9780199340378.001.0001/acrefore-9780199340378-e-398. 534 SŁAWOMIR ŁUKASIEWICZ 535 Stefan Wyszyński at the Catholic University of Lublin, accompanied by, among others, rector Marian Rechowicz. Photograph, unknown photographer, 1958. Stored in Lublin in the collection of the University Archives of the Catholic University of Lublin. launch Catholic journals and open the Catholic University of Lublin (KUL)—for a long time “the only Catholic university between the Elbe and Vladivostok.” However, new methods of oppression quickly emerged. Church grounds were taken away, special operations were conducted against priests, and the most resistant ones were charged and sentenced to imprisonment. Not all church representatives resisted this pressure, which resulted in various forms of cooperation with the authorities. The climax of the fight against the Church in Poland was the arrest of the Polish Primate, Cardinal Stefan Wyszyński. His merits for the Church at that time remain undisputed and his conduct became a symbol of resistance to communism. Nonetheless, the Church in Poland, including such institutions as the aforementioned university, would not have retained its autonomy or perhaps would not have survived, if it had not been for the enormous help that came from the West. That support took different forms, from material and financial gifts to stipends for scholars and students. This study focuses on the help provided by the Polish diaspora and the American episcopate. Much has already been written about the Polish Church during the communist period, although these are works focused mainly on the recon- 536 INVISIBLE UMBRELLA OF AMERICAN BISHOPS struction of ecclesiastical structures, state policy towards the Church, and the martyrdom of the Catholic Church and its servants under communism, such as the aforementioned Cardinal Stefan Wyszyński or other bishops.2 The literature includes numerous works devoted to Karol Wojtyła, professor of the Catholic University of Lublin, who was elected pope in 1978 and assumed the name John Paul II.3 Furthermore, other symbolic figures like Fr. Jerzy Popiełuszko,4 lay Catholic circles,5 and the fate of religious orders6 have been investigated. There is also a tradition of studies that jux- 2. Bartłomiej Noszczak, Polityka państwa wobec Kościoła rzymskokatolickiego w Polsce w okresie internowania prymasa Stefana Wyszyńskiego 1953–1956 [State policy towards the Roman Catholic Church in Poland during the internment of Primate Stefan Wyszyński 1953–1956] (Warszawa, 2008); Ewa K. Czaczkowska, Kardynał Wyszyński: biografia [Cardinal Wyszynski: biography] (Kraków, 2013); Rafał Łatka, Beata Mackiewicz, and Dominik Zamiatała, eds., Kardynał Stefan Wyszyński 1901–1981 [Cardinal Stefan Wyszyński 1901– 1981] (Warszawa, 2019); Rafał Łatka, Episkopat Polski wobec stosunków państwo-kościół i rzeczywistości społeczno-politycznej PRL 1970–1989 [The Polish Episcopate in the face of state-church relations and the socio-political reality of the Polish People’s Republic 19701989] (Warszawa, 2019); Mariusz Krzysztofiński, Arcybiskup Ignacy Tokarczuk (1918–2012): metropolita przemyski obrządku łacińskiego [Archbishop Ignacy Tokarczuk (1918–2012): Metropolitan of Przemysl of the Latin Rite] (Rzeszów, 2019); Konrad Białecki, Rafał Łatka, Rafał Reczek, and Elżbieta Wojcieszyk, eds., Arcybiskup Antoni Baraniak 1904–1977 [Archbishop Antoni Baraniak 1904–1977] (Poznań, 2017); Jan Żaryn, Dzieje Kościoła katolickiego w Polsce (1944–1989) [History of the Catholic Church in Poland (1944-1989)] (Warszawa, 2003); Zygmunt Zieliński, Kościół w Polsce 1945–2002 [The Church in Poland 1945–2002] (Radom, 2003); and Antoni Dudek, and Ryszard Gryz, Komuniści i Kościół w Polsce (1945– 1989) [Communists and the Church in Poland (1945–1989)] (Kraków, 2006). Interest in these issues outside Poland during the Cold War is worth noting: Frank Dinka, “Sources of Conflict between Church and State in Poland,” The Review of Politics, 28, no. 3 (1966), 332– 49; and Tadeusz N. Cieplak, “Church and State in People’s Poland,” Polish American Studies, 26, no. 2 (1969), 15–30. 3. Apart from numerous attempts to write a biography of Karol Wojtyła, it is worth noting the research on the activities of the secret services against him. Among others, see: Marek Lasota, Donos na Wojtyłę: Karol Wojtyła w teczkach bezpieki [Denunciation on Wojtyla: Karol Wojtyla in the files of the secret police] (Kraków, 2006); Michał Skwara and Andrzej Grajewski, Agca nie był sam: Wokół udziału komunistycznych służb specjalnych w zamachu na Jana Pawła II [Agca was not alone: On the involvement of the communist special services in the assassination attempt on John Paul II] (Katowice, 2015). 4. Milena Kindziuk, Jerzy Popiełuszko: biografia [Jerzy Popiełuszko: biography] (Kraków, 2018). 5. From among the recent publications it is worth noting the books by Andrzej Friszke, Między wojną a więzieniem 1945–1953: Młoda inteligencja katolicka [Between War and Prison 1945–1953: The Young Catholic Intelligentsia] (Warszawa, 2015); and Piotr H. Kosicki, Catholics on the Barricades: Poland, France, and “Revolution,” 1891–1956 (New Haven, 2018). 6. For example, Dominik Zamiatała, Zakony męskie w polityce władz komunistycznych w Polsce w latach 1945–1989 [Male religious orders in the policy of communist authorities in Poland in the years 1945–1989], 2 vols. (Łomianki, 2011–12). SŁAWOMIR ŁUKASIEWICZ 537 tapose the fates of the Churches of the individual communist-dominated countries of East Central Europe.7 There are also more and more studies on the Polish Church operating in exile, which was the key structure for coordinating aid to the Church in Poland, although there is still no comprehensive picture of this phenomenon.8 However, there have been few works that attempt to explore the transnational networks of Polish Catholics in the twentieth century. Piotr Kosicki emphasized the importance of their intellectual contacts with French thinkers, proving that the Iron Curtain had its leakages.9 The postwar struggle to maintain such ties, and to add the new ones, is an important and still poorly known dimension of the transnational history of the Cold War. The history of the Catholic University of Lublin perfectly illustrates that struggle, as well as many difficulties encountered by such studies. First, the sources are scattered and in order to complete the set, the researcher must look through both the church archives in Poland and the archives deposited in Rome, London, Paris, or outside Europe. It should also be noted that the censorship and repression apparatus existing in Poland, on the one hand, led to the creation of special sources kept today in the 7. One may start with a work published by the Mid-European Studies Center under the auspices of the Free Europe Committee, namely, Vladimir Gsovski, ed., Church and State Behind the Iron Curtain: Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Poland, Romania: With an Introduction on the Soviet Union (New York, 1955). Cf. Janusz Cywiński, Ogniem próbowane: z dziejów najnowszych Kościoła katolickiego w Europie środkowo-wschodniej [Tried by Fire: Recent History of the Catholic Church in Central and Eastern Europe], 2 vols. (Rzym, 1982; Lublin, 1990); John A. Coleman, “Spiritual Resistance in Eastern Europe,” Proceedings of the Academy of Political Science, 38, no. 1: The New Europe: Revolution in East-West Relations (1991), 113– 28. Among the latest publications, see: Jerzy Kłoczowski, Wojciech Lenarczyk, Sławomir Łukasiewicz, eds., Churches in the Century of the Totalitarian Systems (Lublin, 2000); Marek Wierzbicki, “Między męczeństwem a przystosowaniem: Kościół katolicki w Europie Środkowo-Wschodniej pod rządami komunistów (1944–1989)” [Between Martyrdom and Adaptation: The Catholic Church in Central and Eastern Europe under Communist Rule (1944–1989)], Pamięć i Sprawiedliwość, 1, no. 29 (2017), 17–24; Árpád von Klimó, “Central Europe,” in: The Oxford Handbook of Religion and Europe, eds. Grace Davie and Lucian N. Leustean (Oxford, 2021), 601–16. 8. See the report by Jan Żaryn, “Raport o stanie badań nad dziejami Kościoła rzymskokatolickiego na wychodźstwie w latach 1945–1966 (1989)” [Report on the State of Research into the History of the Roman Catholic Church in Exile in the Years 1945–1966 (1989)], in: Polska emigracja polityczna 1939–1990: Stan badań [Polish political emigration 1939–1990: The state of research], ed. Sławomir Łukasiewicz (Warszawa, 2016), 472–528. 9. Kosicki, Catholics on the Barricades; and György Péteri, Nylon Curtain: Transnational and Transsystemic Tendencies in the Cultural Life of State-Socialist Russia and East-Central Europe (Trondheim, 2006). 538 INVISIBLE UMBRELLA OF AMERICAN BISHOPS archives of the Institute of National Remembrance, and on the other hand, they produced underground behaviors which hinder research today. For example, when the rector of KUL wanted to include important information in his foreign correspondence, he waited until his travel to the West and only then he sent his letters to Paris or London. Therefore, only a search in Paris or London allows one to find such documents today. Many activities were carried out in secret, so that there were no traces left of them or only those that would not expose anyone to persecution by the security authorities. Such caution was particularly advisable in the case of contacts with the United States, considered by the communist authorities as the main external threat and patron of all espionage activities. This is why it is very difficult, and sometimes even impossible, to reconstruct these activities today as the witnesses are dead. What the contacts and aid operations to the Church in Poland looked like, and what role the structures of the Church in exile, the Polish episcopate, the Vatican and the Church in the world played, remain to be described. Aware of all these difficulties, this author decided to investigate what role the Catholic community in the West, including emigrants, played in keeping the Catholic University of Lublin alive. An additional impulse to undertake this research was, among other things, the centennial anniversary of the Catholic University of Lublin celebrated in 2018. On the occasion of this anniversary, new publications about the university itself were produced.10 Thanks to inquiries in the archives of the Catholic University of Lublin, as well as in Paris and Washington, it was possible to supplement the existing state of the research and to focus on the study of the role played primarily by the American episcopate. This research attempt shows how important this topic is and what incredible networks were built to provide the Lublin university with a steady supply of resources and materials necessary for its existence and the education of the Catholic elite under communism. Nevertheless, precise reconstruction of the networks and a full assessment of the scale of that aid needs even deeper study than this modest article. Focusing on this narrow case study, one sees clearly that the survival of the Catholic University of Lublin would not have been possible at all without external assistance. However, the answer cannot be complete if it does not take into account all the help that came to Lublin at that time from various parts of the world. 10. Grzegorz Bujak, Agata Mirek, and Jarosław Rabiński, eds., Katolicki Uniwersytet Lubelski 1918–2018 [Catholic University of Lublin 1918–2018], 3 vols. (Lublin-Warszawa, 2019), II. SŁAWOMIR ŁUKASIEWICZ 539 The Exile Liaison To understand the situation of Polish Catholics after World War II, one must begin by noting that this community was divided by the Iron Curtain. The overwhelming majority remained in Poland, but the part that found itself outside the country numbered many hundreds of thousands. According to Dariusz Stola, in the period between 1939 and 1945, “4.5 million Polish nationals were forced to go abroad,” and “more than 4 million inhabitants of Poland’s postwar borders had to leave between 1945 and 1948.” Around 13% from that wartime flow (600,000) decided to stay in the West and became part of a broader phenomenon today called the Central European Cold War migrations.11 Among them there were many Catholics, Orthodox, Protestants, and Jews. However, Catholics were the most numerous group, which reflected the religious map of prewar Poland, where they made up 65% of the population.12 The reasons for staying in the West after 1945 were common to all emigrants. During World War II, they retained the hope of returning home soon. Nevertheless, the agreements of the world’s leaders placed Poland under the control of Stalin and the Soviet Union, which closed the way for many emigrants to return. What was more, the new political system controlled by the communists needed three years to expel or victimize all forms of previous official opposition. The decision to stay in exile, or go into exile, was not an easy one. Many emigrants also decided to return to Poland to help in its postwar reconstruction, like a group of Christian Democrats or people who in 1945 were under the illusion that they would be able to operate freely in Poland. However, they were either quickly repressed or forced to go abroad again. On top of this it must be added that there was a change in the position of the Catholic Church in Poland which took place as a result of the war. Ethnic cleansing, the Holocaust, and the new borders established in 1945 made the Polish population appear to be 98% Catholic.13 In this new situ11. Dariusz Stola, ‘‘Poland,’’ in: Patterns of Migration in Central Europe, eds. Claire Wallace and Dariusz Stola (New York, 2001), 176. More detailed information on the history of Polish emigration during the Cold War can be found in the article by Sławomir Łukasiewicz, “Poland,” in: East Central European Migrations during the Cold War: A Handbook, ed. Anna Mazurkiewicz (Münich, 2019), 193–242. 12. Andrzej Gawryszewski, Ludność Polski w XX wieku [The population of Poland in the 20th century] (Warszawa, 2005), 246. 13. Such data, confirmed by contemporary researchers, were already known in the 1950s thanks to Richard F. Staar, “The Church of Silence in Communist Poland,” The 540 INVISIBLE UMBRELLA OF AMERICAN BISHOPS Józef Gawlina, photograph, unknown photographer, c. 1945. Stored in Warsaw, the National Digital Archives, Archiwum Fotograficzne Czesława Datki [Czesław Datka’s Photographic Archive], 3/18/0/-/21. ation the Catholic Church became the only important religious institution. With time, it also proved to be a challenge for the communist authorities. During the German and Soviet occupations, a huge part of the Catholic hierarchy and clergymen shared the oppression of their fellow citizens in Poland. This is perfectly illustrated by the fates of the Primate of Poland, August Hlond, and Bishop Józef Gawlina, accountable for the spiritual protection of Polish emigrants from the years of World War II onwards. Their role was framed by the formal title of Protector of Polish Emigration granted by Pope Pius XI in 1931.14 After World War II, some Catholic Historical Review, 3, no. 42 (1956), 296–321. For extensive literature on population changes and war losses, see the book by Timothy Snyder, where he counted fourteen million as an approximate number of people killed by Nazi Germany and Soviet Union during the war on the territory he calls the “Bloodlands,” i.e. Central and Eastern Europe, where the main war theater was established. Timothy Snyder, Bloodlands: Europe between Hitler and Stalin (New York, 2010), 409. 14. Józef Szymański, “Duszpasterstwo polonijne—próba definicji” [Polish pastoral ministry—an attempt at definitione], in: W kręgu badań nad Polonią i duszpasterstwem polonijnym: Istota i metodologia [In the field of research on Polish Diaspora and the Polish pastoral ministry: Essence and methodology], eds. Sławomir Zych and Bartosz Walicki (Lublin, SŁAWOMIR ŁUKASIEWICZ 541 new arrangements were necessary, especially for the soldiers of the Polish Armed Forces who stayed in the West, for whom pastoral care was coordinated within the network of Polish Catholic missions. Even during World War II, due to the development of warfare, it was easier for the Polish hierarchy to obtain support from the American bishops than from the Vatican. The martyrdom suffered by Polish priests and the faithful at the hands of the occupying forces was a cause for concern, and already then the first relief committees were formed. Since it was almost impossible to transfer direct aid to occupied Poland, their main aim was to support the church structures in exile, including Gawlina himself. This is where his close contacts with American bishops developed. Not surprisingly, when he considered returning to Poland after the war, it was the auxiliary bishop of Detroit, Stephen Stanislaus Woznicki—later the bishop of Saginaw, Michigan—who dissuaded him from doing so. Ultimately, the authorities in Poland did not allow him to come back, and Gawlina stayed in Rome, coordinating relief efforts and traveling to all the places where Polish exiled communities were dispersed.15 Although in subsequent years he persistently worked for the benefit of Catholics in Poland and in exile, his relations with the key figure for Polish Catholics, Stefan Wyszynski, were very complex. This is partially because Gawlina was appointed as the Protector of Polish Emigration, and his prerogatives were maintained by the Vatican even after the publication of the Apostolic Constitution “Exsul familia” in 1952. In this way, the pope confirmed the necessity of keeping the pastoral care of emigrants separate, which was supposed to protect them in case the communists took control over the Church in Poland—a strategy which the communists had implemented in other countries of the region.16 It was only after the death of Archbishop Gawlina in October 1964 that, by the decision of Pope Paul VI, the function of the Protector of Emigration returned to the Polish Primate.17 2015), 66; and Damian Bednarski, Biskup Józef Gawlina jako opiekun Polaków na emigracji [Bishop Józef Gawlina as a Protector of Poles in exile] (Katowice, 2019). Hereinafter cited as Bednarski. 15. Bednarski, 99, 103. 16. Bednarski, 120, 126–28, 138; Giuliana Chamedes, A Twentieth-Century Crusade: The Vatican’s Battle to Remake Christian Europe (Cambridge, M.A., 2019), 278–79; and Peter C. Kent, The Lonely Cold War of Pope Pius XII: The Roman Catholic Church and the Division of Europe, 1943–1950 (Montréal, 2002). 17. Bednarski, 166. 542 INVISIBLE UMBRELLA OF AMERICAN BISHOPS Nevertheless, even after this date, the hierarchy continued to function outside the country, its task being, among other things, to coordinate aid to Catholics in Poland, including maintaining contact with the American hierarchy.18 Symbolically a new phase began in 1978, when Polish Cardinal Karol Wojtyła became pope and assumed the name John Paul II. This created new possibilities for the Church in Poland as well as for the Polish Catholics who lived in the West. The pope symbolically had care over all Catholics, and in this sense the division between Poland and the exiled ceased to be so distinct. The position of the Protector of Emigration survived until 2011, though its aid activities had been reduced since the collapse of communism.19 It should also be noted that in the period before 1989, any contact between the emigrants and those who remained in the country was controlled by the state and security apparatus, which strongly obstructed any relief channels. For instance, the work of all priests in Poland was supervised by the special Office of the Proclamation of Faith, which prepared special guidelines for émigré parishes, studied attitudes, and prepared reports on the execution of tasks, treating it as an important element of the country’s foreign policy.20 Therefore, Catholics often resorted to subterfuge, trying to cover their tracks and not to reveal the true origin of the aid. Informal and trust-based networks of benefactors, bishops, priests, and the faithful were the basis for such actions. 18. Before 1980, that function had been held by Bishop—since 1979 Cardinal— Władysław Rubin, and then Bishop—since 1994 Archbishop—Szczepan Wesoły until 2003. Both of them were associated with Rome as the ministers of the Polish emigrants in Italy and both held a strong position among Catholic hierarchs confirmed by their participation in the Second Vatican Council. For context, see Piotr Kosicki, “Vatican II and Poland,” in: Vatican II Behind the Iron Curtain, ed. Piotr Kosicki (Washington, 2016), 127–98. 19. Archbishop Szczepan Wesoły in 2011 published a text in which he asked the following question: “Czy potrzebny jest kościelny protektor emigracji?” [Do we need a Church Protector of Emigration?], Więź, 1 (2011), https://wiez.pl/2018/08/29/czy-potrzebny-jestkoscielny-protektor-emigracji/ (accessed on December 15, 2020). Since 2011 there has been a function of the Delegate of the Polish Bishops’ Conference for Polish Emigration and the Chairperson of the Commission of the Polish Episcopal Conference for Polish Diaspora Abroad, which till 2022 was held by Bishop Wiesław Lechowicz. 20. Among many, see: Dominik Zamiatała, “Duszpasterstwo polonijne w latach 19451989 w dokumentach Urzędu do Spraw Wyznań—rekonesans po zasobie archiwalnym Archiwum Akt Nowych w Warszawie” [Pastoral care of the Polish diaspora in the years 1945–1989 in the documents of the Office for Religious Affairs—a reconnaissance through the archival resources of the Central Archives of Modern Records in Warsaw], in: W kręgu badań nad Polonią [In the field of research on the Polish diaspora], eds. Zych and Walicki, 145-63. SŁAWOMIR ŁUKASIEWICZ 543 In Europe the most important tool that the Protector of Emigration had at his disposal for mobilizing émigré Catholics to help the home country was the network of Polish Catholic missions around which the Polish parishes gathered. Missions were established not only for England, Wales, and Scotland, but also for France (beginning in 1922),21 Belgium, The Netherlands, Spain, Switzerland, Sweden, and Denmark, as well as in South America (Argentina, Chile, and Brazil), in Australia and New Zealand, and in the Union of South Africa (later South Africa).22 There were also some special places like the Polish seminary in Paris, run by Fr. Antoni Banaszak, which played an extremely important role as a type of “node” where aid threads from all over the world came together. It is easy to imagine the mobilizing capability of such networks, cemented by the conviction of the need to save the country’s Catholics as well as the need to fight godless communism. These networks also served as channels for aid that flowed into Poland from the USA, so that the communist authorities in the country did not always know where the aid came from. American Bishops’ Assistance During the Cold War, the USA was the country best able to resist effectively the expansion of communism. It was here that the Marshall Plan was born, the National Committee for a Free Europe was established in 1949, and from here that the so-called Crusade for Freedom was announced.23 Religious rhetoric characterized not only ecclesiastical circles but also politicians engaged in fighting communism around the world. It was no coincidence that Christian Democrats were involved in this struggle—both Europeans and Americans recognized that Christian democracy could be an effective counterweight to the communist promise of equality and social justice.24 Dianne Kirby rightly points out that recent accounts of 21. Michał Kłakus, ed., Duszpasterstwo polskie we Francji w świetle korespondencji arcybiskupa Józefa Gawliny i księdza Kazimierza Kwaśnego w latach 1949–1963: Edycja dokumentów [Polish pastoral ministry in France in the light of correspondence between Archbishop Józef Gawlina and Father Kazimierz Kwasny between 1949 and 1963: Documents] (Katowice, 2017). 22. Bednarski, 353. 23. Anna Mazurkiewicz, Uchodźcy polityczni z Europy Środkowo-Wschodniej w amerykańskiej polityce zimnowojennej (1948–1954) [Political Refugees from Central and Eastern Europe in American Cold War Policy (1948–1954)] (Gdańsk, 2016); and Richard H. Cummings, Radio Free Europe’s “Crusade for Freedom”: Rallying Americans behind Cold War Broadcasting, 1950–1960 (Jefferson, N.C., 2010). 24. Piotr H. Kosicki and Wolfram Kaiser, eds., Political Exile in the Global Twentieth Century: Catholic Christian Democrats in Europe and the Americas, [Civitas: Studies in Christian Democracy, 1] (Leuven, 2021). 544 INVISIBLE UMBRELLA OF AMERICAN BISHOPS Cold War history emphasize both the importance of religion as well as the eschatological nature of the Cold War clash, in which the good embodied by the West and the U.S. clashed with the evil of the Soviet Union and communism.25 On this battlefield, the fate of the only Catholic university behind the Iron Curtain grew to become a symbol of the struggle between good and evil. In this struggle the Catholic community in the West, especially in the USA, was obliged to somehow support the Polish “David” against the “Goliath” of the godless state education system. However, the mobilization of the exile Catholic community in the USA looked different than in Europe. Although thousands of Polish refugees crossed the Atlantic, their organization had to take into account the already-existing old structures, strongly rooted in the structures of the Catholic Church in the USA, whose aid potential could be easily activated. Even before World War II there were over eight hundred Polish parishes there, and the number of Polish priests working in the USA—supported by thousands of nuns— exceeded 1,500. Immediately after the war these numbers increased.26 Therefore, it was unlikely that new structures would be created with the influx of new emigrants. Polish parishes had a personal character and were directly under the jurisdiction of the American hierarchy. Additionally, Polish communities were more scattered than in Europe, and Bishop Gawlina’s care facilities in the area were severely limited. During his visits to America and Canada, he tried to meet with local hierarchs to talk to them about pastoral care for emigrants.27 He could count on the help from American bishops, who saw both the problems of the emigrants themselves28 and the needs of the Church behind the Iron Curtain.29 In this regard, the policy of the Catholic Church in the USA coincided with the 25. Dianne Kirby, “Religion and the Cold War—An Introduction,” in: Religion and the Cold War, ed. Dianne Kirby (London, 2003), 1–22. 26. Fr. Roman Nir, “Dokumentacja źródłowa do dziejów parafii polonijnych w archiwach amerykańskich archidiecezjalnych i diecezjalnych,” [Primary sources for the history of Polish parishes in American archdiocesan and diocesan Archives], in: W kręgu badań nad Polonią, eds. Zych and Walicki, 217. 27. Bednarski, 151. 28. Todd J. Scribner, “‘Not Because They Are Catholic, But Because We Are Catholic’: The Bishops’ Engagement with the Migration Issue in Twentieth-Century America,” The Catholic Historical Review, 101, no. 1 (2015), 74–99. 29. Fr. Roman Nir, “Działalność polskiej sekcji War Relief Services-National Catholic Welfare Conference w Wielkiej Brytanii (1943–1946)” [Activities of the Polish Section of War Relief Services-National Catholic Welfare Conference in Great Britain (1943–1946)], Przegląd Polsko-Polonijny, no. 3 (2012), 329–63. SŁAWOMIR ŁUKASIEWICZ 545 anticommunist policy of the USA at the time. Communism was a threat to democracy as much as to the Catholic religion. Relationships with American bishops were extremely important from the beginning of his term as Protector. It was from the National Catholic Welfare Conference (hereinafter “NCWC”) that the funds for the maintenance of the Roman office came30 with the support from Pope Pius XII himself.31 The direct contact and correspondence maintained by Gawlina with American hierarchs and such key persons as Fathers Edward Swanstrom and Aloysius Wycislo were also of great significance.32 Both Swanstrom and Wycislo were recruited to the War Relief Service personally by Patrick O’Boyle, then a prelate strongly involved in the charity and relief operations, later archbishop of Washington.33 Although the activities of American bishops in this regard seem obvious, they have not yet found a good illustration in the literature. Above all, it should be underlined that the American bishops took a keen interest in the affairs of the Polish Church and received first-hand information on the subject. They were very well informed about any matters related to the liquidation of the Caritas, or the state of Church-State relations. An example could be a detailed report sent by Fr. Wycislo to the General Secretary of the NCWC, Prelate Howard J. Carroll. Among the numerous facts quoted, Aloysius Wycislo ended with a conclusion: “The greatest fear of Catholics in Poland is that they will be forgotten by their brethren in the outside world. Fear is beginning to tell and wear upon 30. Bednarski, 89. Additionally, the embassy of the Polish government in exile in the Vatican, headed by Kazimierz Papée, who was assisted in these efforts by Bishop Stephen Woznicki among others, also sought such funds. See his letter to Prelate Howard J. Carroll, February 4, 1952, stored in Washington, D.C., the Archives of the Catholic University of America, National Catholic Welfare Conference (hereafter ACUA-NCWC), box 50, fold. International Affairs: Relief: Poland 1943–1952. In the period from 1954 to 1969, the embassy actually received a fixed grant of $15,000 a year from this source; see Jan Żaryn, Stolica Apostolska wobec Polski i Polaków w latach 1944–1958 w świetle materiałów ambasady RP przy Watykanie [The Holy See towards Poland and Poles in the years 1944–1958 in the light of materials from the Polish Embassy to the Vatican] (Warszawa, 1998), 34. For more information on the embassy itself, please see Dominika Wronikowska, ed., Ambasada RP przy Stolicy Apostolskiej w latach 1919–1976: Materiały do studiów nad historią [Embassy of the Republic of Poland to the Holy See 1919–1976: Materials for historical studies] (Rzym, 2016). 31. Bednarski, 137. 32. Wycislo was also perfectly aware of the legal position of the emigrants and devoted a separate article to this issue; see Aloysius J. Wycislo, “The Refugee and United States Legislation,” The Catholic Lawyer, 4, no. 2 (1958), 133–51. 33. Morris J. MacGregor, Steadfast in the Faith: The Life of Patrick Cardinal O’Boyle (Washington, 2006), 88–89. 546 INVISIBLE UMBRELLA OF AMERICAN BISHOPS Aloysius Wycislo: front and back of a commemorative card, unknown author and photographer, 1960. Stored in Lublin in the collection of the University Archives of the Catholic University of Lublin. nerves. […] The impression felt by many behind the Curtain is that Communism is gaining and that the West is losing its political battles.”34 Other channels of information came from France, where Fr. Antoni Banaszak, rector of the Polish Seminary in Paris, had many opportunities to talk with priests and Catholics coming from Poland. But he also had an opportunity to talk directly to Archbishop Wyszyński during his stay in Rome in 1951. Banaszak paid attention primarily to the activities of the authorities that were likely to cause schism in the Polish Church. He also wrote: “The Archbishop Primate, with much gratitude, spoke of the aid of the American Catholics. He was well-informed and mentioned the deep gratitude of Catholic Poland for all that the American Catholics have done 34. Aloysius Wycislo, Memorandum: Conversation with his Eminence, Cardinal Sapieha, July 21, 1950, stored in Washington, D.C., ACUA-NCWC, box 25, fold. 13: Communism: Poland, 1945–1950. SŁAWOMIR ŁUKASIEWICZ 547 for Poles following the war.”35 The Apostolic Nuncio in the USA, Archbishop Amleto Giovanni Cicognani, also passed on the request to the Vatican Secretariat of State to send “books of religious culture into Poland and of radio broadcasts of programs designed to sustain Catholic Faith and the morale against systematic attacks of communistic propaganda.”36 When Primate Wyszyński was arrested in September 1953, the whole Catholic world was outraged. Pope Pius XII excommunicated everyone “who were in any way concerned with the suspension of Stefan Cardinal Wyszynski, Primate of Poland, from his ecclesiastical duties and his internment in a monastery.”37 The Apostolic Nuncio Cicognani this time asked the NCWC to disseminate information about the persecution of the Church in Poland.38 There are many examples of the outrage and protests that it caused in the USA. The then-Archbishop of Washington (D.C.), Patrick A. O’Boyle, issued on behalf of the American episcopate a special letter in which he emphasized Cardinal Wyszyński’s heroism and assured the Poles that he was praying for them. He also wrote: The Church in the United States, Bishops, clergy, and laity alike, embrace their fellow Catholics of Poland in the bonds of love and affection in this, one of the darkest hours of their history. We reassure them of our sympathy, and of our admiration for their courage, fidelity and Christian fortitude.39 Letters condemning the actions of the authorities in Poland were written, among others, by Secretary of State John Foster Dulles and Pres35. The quote comes from the letter of Bishop Edward Swanstrom to Prelate Howard J. Carroll, June 8, 1951, stored in Washington, D.C., ACUA-NCWC, box 25, fold. 14: Communism: Poland 1951–1955. 36. Translation of the letter of the Secretariat of State to Nuncio Cicognani (April 26, 1952), with his letter (May 10, 1952) to Paul Tanner, Deputy Secretary General of NCWC, stored in Washington, D.C., ACUA-NCWC, box 50, fold. International Affairs: Relief: Poland 1943–1952. 37. “Pope Excommunicates All Persons Who Acted Against Polish Primate,” New York Times, October 2, 1953, p. 7; “Vatican Decrees Excommunication for All Who ‘Raised Hands’ Against Polish Cardinal,” Washington Post, October 1, 1953, p. 5. 38. Letter of Archbishop Cicognani to Howard J. Carroll, December 18, 1953, stored in Washington, D.C., ACUA-NCWC, box 25, requesting distribution of the translated Italian article by Fiorello Ignazio Cavalli, S.J. entitled “Persecuzione religiosa in Polonia” [“The Religious Persecution in Poland,”] published in Italian in La Civiltà Cattolica, no. 2477, September 5, 1953, pp. 449–64. There is also a translation of the article. 39. Document dated September 29, 1953, stored in Washington, D.C., ACUANCWC, box 25. Published in “President Hits Reds On Ousted Cardinal,” Washington Post, October 1, 1953, p. 6. Cf. MacGregor, Steadfast in the Faith, 207–08. 548 INVISIBLE UMBRELLA OF AMERICAN BISHOPS ident Dwight Eisenhower himself.40 Alongside these extremely important symbolic gestures, new ways of effective support for the Church in Poland were looked for, although it became clear that any help would be increasingly difficult. Saving the Catholic University of Lublin Aid for the only Catholic university in postwar Poland was provided immediately after the war, thanks to numerous appeals also addressed to American bishops through, among others, the US Ambassador to Poland, Arthur Bliss-Lane. As early as the autumn of 1945, the vice-rector of KUL, Fr. Zdzisław Papierkowski, asked the ambassador for help, explaining the current needs of the university, impossible to satisfy in the university’s current situation—that is to say, having been destroyed during the war, operating in a country damaged by the war, and unable to count on either sufficient private subsidies or state support. Among the most urgent needs, the vice-rector mentioned the necessity of completing the library collection (which had been practically completely devastated during the war), of renovating the buildings, and of organizing apartments for the teachers and dormitories for students.41 Ambassador Lane, as promised, handed this memorandum to the NCWC.42 At the same time, a request for books by the then-English teacher also arrived there, which only served to more clearly reveal the real picture of the difficult conditions in which the university found itself.43 Both these requests met with understanding, although Cardinal Samuel A. Stritch, the Metropolitan of Chicago and the then-Chairman of the Bishops’ Committee for War Emergency and Relief, was worried about whether the book posting campaign made any sense at all if the university could be closed down at any time.44 It was also 40. Letter of President Eisenhower of October 30 and John F. Dulles of November 6, 1953, stored in Washington, D.C., ACUA-NCWC, box 25. 41. Letter of the vice-rector to ambassador Lane of October 4, 1945, with attached “Memorandum. The Catholic University of Lublin,” stored in Washington, D.C., ACUANCWC, box 50, fold. International Affairs: Relief: Poland 1943–1952. 42. Letter of ambassador Lane to Prelate Howard Carroll, October 23, 1945, stored in Washington, D.C., ACUA-NCWC, box 50, fold. International Affairs: Relief: Poland 1943–1952. 43. Two letters by Stella Pauli to NCWC, autumn 1945, and the copy of the answer sent on January 28, 1946, stored in Washington, D.C., ACUA-NCWC, box 50, fold. International Affairs: Relief: Poland 1943–1952. 44. Letter of Bishop Samuel Stritch to Prelate Howard Carroll, December 12, 1945, stored in Washington, D.C., ACUA-NCWC, box 50, fold. International Affairs: Relief: Poland 1943–1952. SŁAWOMIR ŁUKASIEWICZ 549 difficult to count on the help of the Jesuit Fordham University. Although it had symbolically “adopted” the Catholic University of Lublin back in 1943, it chose to provide material support first to the Jesuit Ateneo de Manila University in the Philippines destroyed during the war.45 In fact, there were similar situations all over the world and in this sense neither the case of KUL nor the Church in Poland was exceptional. That is why the bishops in the USA planned to treat such assistance as a whole, preparing for this purpose a coherent program and entrusting matters of assistance to Poland to the Bishops’ Committee for Polish Relief, whose treasurer was Bishop Stephen Woznicki. Within one year he managed to raise almost $312,000, which he then distributed to satisfy the needs of the Church in Poland and abroad. In the letter to Archbishop Stritch he wrote: Above all, and this gives me more satisfaction than anything else, we were able to get a considerable amount of funds into the country, without which the Church would find it almost impossible to operate some of its most necessary educational and charitable undertakings, such as the Catholic University of Lublin and the relief organization known as “Caritas.”46 The amounts that were supposed to go to KUL were hidden in the item entitled “to the Church in Poland—direct” with the following comment: “their distribution is left to responsible persons.” The lack of names even in such a document shows how far discretion went. It is confirmed by a similar document prepared for the years 1947–48, when the entire budget available to Bishop Woznicki was already $500,000. There, the amount of $183,000 allocated “directly” to the Church in Poland was commented on: “[we] will try to get more funds into hands of responsible clergymen and important institutions like [the] University in Lublin.”47 In a separate place, in an undated document prepared on NCWC letterhead, there are amounts that the Bishops’ Committee for Polish Relief was supposed to 45. Letter of the Rector of Fordham University, Father Robert I. Gannon, to Prelate Howard J. Carroll, January 4, 1946, stored in Washington, D.C., ACUA-NCWC, box 50, fold. International Affairs: Relief: Poland 1943–1952; John T. McGreevy, “Catholics, Democrats, and the GOP in Contemporary America,” American Quarterly, 59, no. 3 (2007), 179–209. 46. Letter of Bishop Stephen Stanislaus Woznicki to Cardinal Samuel Stritch, October 14, 1946, and the Report of the Bishops’ Committee for Polish Relief From October 1, 1945, to October 15, 1946, stored in Washington, D.C., ACUA-NCWC, box 50, fold. International Affairs: Relief: Poland 1943-1952. 47. Letter of Bishop Stephen Stanislaus Woznicki to Archbishop of Cincinnati, John T. McNicholas, March 27, 1947 with a document entitled “Polish Relief Committee Budget,” stored in Washington, D.C., ACUA-NCWC, box 50, fold. International Affairs: Relief: Poland 1943–1952. 550 INVISIBLE UMBRELLA OF AMERICAN BISHOPS Stephen Stanislaus Woznicki. Source: Jackowianin: Miesiecznik Parafii sw. Jacka [Saint Hyacinth Church Monthly], 26, no. 5: Farewell Edition, May 1950, p. 1. have at its disposal, including e.g. $10,000 for Bishop Gawlina for Polish seminaries or $20,000 for KUL.48 The literature confirms that the account of the university was in fact credited with such an amount as early as 1946, largely contributing to its budget in times when the economy was hit by inflation and exchange rates were artificially regulated by the state.49 Although in 1948 Bishop Woznicki continued to support the Polish Church and had $150,000 reserved for this aim, the structure of the budget changed. Anticipating, among other things, the possible liquidation of KUL, the funds were provided to support Polish priests who came to Rome to study and to support the Polish seminary opened in Paris.50 48. Ibid. 49. Janusz Wrona, “Katolicki Uniwersytet Lubelski w okresie urzędowania rektora ks. Antoniego Słomkowskiego (1944–1951)” [Catholic University of Lublin in the period of rector Fr. Antoni Słomkowski (1944–1951)], in: Katolicki Uniwersytet Lubelski 1918-2018, II, 13–110, here 32–33 and 105–06. 50. Letter of Bishop Stephen Stanislaus Woznicki to Archbishop of Cincinnati, John T. McNicholas, March 29, 1948, stored in Washington, D.C., ACUA-NCWC, box 50, fold. International Affairs: Relief: Poland 1943–1952. SŁAWOMIR ŁUKASIEWICZ 551 Cardinal Adam Sapieha, the most important hierarch in Poland and curator of Caritas, immediately after the war appreciated the enormous amount of support received by the Polish clergy and Catholics in this way. In a letter to Archbishop John T. McNicholas, the then-Chairman of the Bishops’ Committee for War Emergency and Relief wrote: “it is with deepest gratitude that—looking back at the past two difficult postwar years—we think of the magnanimous help of the American Catholics, who, through their unprecedented generosity, enabled the Catholic Church in Poland to accomplish [the] difficult task of saving hundreds of thousands of people who had nothing to eat nor to clothe themselves with.”51 In the case of KUL, the funds were indeed used for the development of the university, but this in turn aroused the suspicion of the authorities. Finally, in the fall of 1951, Fr. Antoni Słomkowski was deprived of his post as rector of KUL and then arrested and charged with economic crimes, but the charge was eventually withdrawn.52 Despite this help, the university’s situation was not easy. In the following years, the university was infiltrated by the communist agents,53 like other church institutions, deprived of its property, and had imposed on it a socalled “tax surcharge” that could not be paid without adequate income. There were many moments when the university was hanging by a thread. Moreover, before 1956 any help from the outer world was limited or simply blocked as Poland was relatively closed in terms of any contacts from abroad. 51. Letter of Cardinal Sapieha, Chairman of the “Caritas” in Poland to Bishop John T. McNicholas, October 30, 1947, stored in Washington, D.C., ACUA-NCWC, box 50, fold. International Affairs: Relief: Poland 1943–1952. 52. Jan Ziółek, “Podstawy egzystencji KUL” [Basis of KUL Existence], in: Katolicki Uniwersytet Lubelski: Wybrane zagadnienia w dziejów uczelni [Catholic University of Lublin: Selected Issues in the History of the University], Grażyna Karolewicz, Marek Zahajkiewicz, and Zygmunt Zieliński, eds. (Lublin, 1992), 109–10; id., “Katolicki Uniwersytet Lubelski w latach 1944–1992” [Catholic University of Lublin in the years 1944–1992], in: Księga pamiątkowa w 75-lecie Katolickiego Uniwersytetu Lubelskiego: Wkład w kulturę polską w latach 1968–1993 [A memorial book for the 75th anniversary of the Catholic University of Lublin: Contribution to Polish Culture 1968–1993], ed. Marian Rusecki, (Lublin, 1994), 37. This is also where one can find information about the arrest of Rector Słomkowski (41). About Słomkowski as rector of KUL, see the aforementioned chapter by Janusz Wrona, “Katolicki Uniwersytet Lubelski” [“Catholic University of Lublin”], 28–48. Files of investigation against Słomkowski are preserved in Warsaw in the Archives of the Institute of National Remembrance (hereafter AIPN), 3036, vol. 1–3, and AIPN 0445, vol. 1–3 53. One of the most important studies on this subject is the book by Maciej Sobieraj, “Między oporem a lojalnością: działania SB wobec KUL na przykładzie rozpracowania prof. Jerzego Kłoczowskiego” [Between Resistance and Loyalty: Security Service Actions Against the Catholic University of Lublin on the Example of the Investigation of Professor Jerzy Kłoczowski] (Lublin, 2015). 552 INVISIBLE UMBRELLA OF AMERICAN BISHOPS The year 1956, with the political changes it brought in Poland, opened new forms of exchange, such as aid. In the mid-1950s, the figure who was personally involved in appeals for help for KUL was Primate Stefan Wyszyński, a former student of the university.54 In the spring of 1946, Fr. Stefan Wyszyński had been appointed bishop of Lublin and became Grand Chancellor of KUL, giving lectures at the university. His ties to the university remained strong even in the following years. After taking up the position of Primate of Poland on January 8, 1949, he received his first visa to travel to Rome in 1951, where he spent almost the entire April.55 However, he was extremely busy with the fresh persecution of the Church in Poland, administrative issues, schism between the priests who decided to cooperate with communists, and the fallout of having finally signed an agreement between the Church and the authorities a year earlier. It was undoubtedly a great opportunity for the Primate to inform the community in the West about the difficult situation of the Polish Church. The years spent by the Primate in internment (1953–56) made it impossible for him to continue these contacts. Only after his release in 1956 and political changes in Poland did the new opportunities arise. In May and June 1957, the Primate stayed in Rome, during which time he not only received the dignity of cardinal (in fact he had been already made cardinal by Pope Pius XII in November 1952 during a secret consistory), but also had an opportunity to meet the priests in exile, including Archbishop Józef Gawlina.56 It was not a coincidence that shortly after this visit, Gawlina appealed to the NCWC to increase help for the Church in Poland.57 As early as in May 1957, he also sent letters to the rectors of the Polish Catholic Missions in Europe, forwarding a request of the Rectorate of KUL for support and the establishment of Friends of KUL Societies.58 Immediately after that letter he also sent the bylaws of such societies abroad, approved by Primate Wyszyński.59 54. Peter Raina, Stefan Kardynał Wyszyński: Prymas Tysiąclecia [Stefan Cardinal Wyszyński: Primate of the Millennium], 5 vols. (Wrocław, 2016), I, 26–27. 55. Jan Szułdrzyński, “Położenie Kościoła w Polsce” [“Position of Church in Poland”], Kultura, V-ty numer krajowy / special issue no. 5: Polish domestic affairs (1953), 25. The visit of the Primate in Rome is described in more detail by Raina, Stefan Kardynał Wyszyński, I, 203–08. 56. Peter Raina, Stefan Kardynał Wyszyński, I, 438. 57. Bednarski, 96. 58. Letter of Rector Marian Rechowicz to Archbishop Józef Gawlina, July 1, 1957, stored in Lublin, KUL Archives, no. 2332/57/R. 59. Letter of Archbishop Józef Gawlina to Prelate Władysław Staniszewski, May 22 and June 15, 1957, stored in London, the Polish Catholic Mission in London Archives, file: Towarzystwo Przyjaciół Katolickiego Uniwersytetu w Lublinie [Friends of KUL Society]. SŁAWOMIR ŁUKASIEWICZ 553 Wyszyński’s visit gave a strong incentive to create such societies across the globe, with the most active ones in the United Kingdom, France, Italy, and other countries in cooperation with Polish Catholic Missions in Europe and Catholics in other parts of the world. Once again aid for the scholars of Lublin University came in the forms of books for the library and offers of scholarships at Western universities, as well as other types of material and financial help. A similar appeal was directed to Catholic émigré communities in the USA. After the visits of professors from KUL to Canada and the USA, new initiatives appeared there too. As early as in September 1957, the Polish Catholic University Foundation was established in Montreal, Canada. In the USA, Friends of KUL Societies were formally established only in the 1970s, with branches in Chicago,60 New Haven,61 Brooklyn (parish of Stanislaus Kostka, Greenpoint), and some other places. Chicago in particular, with around sixty Polish parishes (according to the estimates by Dominik Pacyga), had especially good conditions for the organization of help for Lublin university. In 1976, Friends of KUL in Chicago had around a hundred members,62 and two years later as many as three hundred and fifty.63 Many friends of Lublin University and diaspora organizations like the Polish American Congress cooperated in similar actions.64 This variety of actions and the relatively late establishment of the Friends of KUL Societies were due to the specificity of the American region. The Bishops’ Committee for Polish Relief still existed there. In the late 1950s it had at its disposal $90,000 a year, which it donated for the purposes of the Church’s activity in exile, according to the recommen60. Letter of Jan Jaworski to Rector Mieczysław Albert Krąpiec January 19, 1978, stored in Lublin, KUL Archives, Dział Współpracy z Zagranicą [Department of International Cooperation] (hereinafter DWZ), Jan Jaworski’s file. 61. For example, in 1985 Jan Janiec on behalf of the Board of Directors of Society transferred $3,000 to KUL. See correspondence of Bishop Szczepan Wesoły containing a list of KUL donors, February 10, 1985, stored in Lublin, KUL Archives, Rector’s office. 62. Letter of Jan Jaworski to Rector Mieczysław Krąpiec, February 23, 1976, stored in Lublin, KUL Archives, DWZ, Jan Jaworski’s file. 63. Letter of Sister M. Angela Santor, S.S.J., to Rector Mieczysław Krąpiec, September 11, 1978, stored in Lublin, KUL Archives, DWZ, files of the Friends of the Catholic University in Lublin, USA. (Sister Santor’s first name cannot be verified from the available documents; it is known, however, that she was earlier a treasurer of the Friends of the Catholic University of Lublin in Chicago, and that she belonged to the Sisters of St. Joseph). 64. Documentation of the ceremony of awarding the medals “For Merit to the Catholic University of Lublin” on 10 June, 1987, stored in Lublin, KUL Archives, DWZ, files of the Friends of the Catholic University in Lublin, USA. 554 INVISIBLE UMBRELLA OF AMERICAN BISHOPS dations of Archbishop Gawlina. Only small sums of money were sent to Poland into the hands of individual priests, and even combined these sums were significantly smaller than those transferred immediately after the war.65 As early as in 1957, Cardinal Stefan Wyszyński ordered Bishop Karol Pękała—the Head of Caritas in Poland, 1945–48—to report the affairs of the whole Polish Church to Prelate Aloysius Wycislo, who represented the National Catholic Welfare Conference.66 Bishop Pękała, during his two month-long trip in the fall of 1957, met with the Apostolic Nuncio in the USA and was able to gain financial support from the NCWC, probably in the amount of $40 million.67 But the imposition of heavy tariffs by the Polish Communist state halted any direct transfer of this help to Poland.68 A portion of this lost aid had been designated for KUL as well. As the transfer of larger funds directly to Poland was encountering logistical difficulties, alternative channels for reaching Poland were sought. Among others, help from Fr. Antoni Banaszak (the previously-mentioned rector of the Polish Seminary in Paris) was of use and was approved by the Polish episcopate.69 Via that route, the donation of such goods as carpets or equipment for university kitchens were sent in the 1960s.70 Protectors of Polish Emigration, i.e. bishop Gawlina and his successors, also participated in unofficial transfers of funds to Lublin. There are many examples of such transfers, from $300 collected during the gathering of the Catholic 65. Letter of Bishop S. Woznicki to Bishop Francis P. Keough, Chairman of Bishops’ Welfare and Emergency Fund, September 30, 1958, stored in Washington, D.C., ACUANCWC, box. 50, fold. International Affairs: Relief: Poland 1958–1966. 66. That information was included in the letter of Rector Marian Rechowicz to Józef Minkiewicz, President of the Polish Catholic University Foundation, November 15, 1957, stored in Lublin, KUL Archives, DWZ, files of the Friends of KUL, Canada 1957–1979. A detailed description of this trip can be found at http://dziennikzwiazkowy.com/c14wsp/biskup-karol-pkala/ (accessed on October 21, 2016). 67. Copy of the letter of Ambassador Papée to Minister Jan Starzewski, Rome, February 21, 1958, stored in the Polish Library in Paris, Papers of Kajetan Dzierżykraj Morawski. 68. Interview [of Ambassador Papée] with Msgr. Dell’Acqua [deputy of Mons. Tardiniegio at the Vatican State Secretariat] on July 10, 1958, stored in the Polish Library in Paris, Papers of Kajetan Dzierżykraj Morawski, note no. 122/54. 69. Letter of Marian Rechowicz, May 26, 1969, stored in the Polish Seminary in Paris Archives [no number assigned]. 70. Letter of Antoni Banaszak to Józef Minkiewicz, President of the Friends of Catholic University of Poland Inc., February 22, 1960, Polish Seminary in Paris Archives [no number assigned]. Incidentally, the cost of purchasing the runners was $800 (almost Fr 4,000 at the time). SŁAWOMIR ŁUKASIEWICZ 555 League of America71 to money sent to the Lublin bishop to cover the costs of printers for KUL,72 until a special fund of around $150,000 was established in 1976 to cover the costs of a roof plate for a new university building.73 Generally, it is very difficult to estimate how much aid was sent to Poland during the Cold War years. There are estimations that Polish Americans had been sending annual packages worth $3 million to Poland, amounting to about $12 million in total.74 But material and financial help for KUL is only one side of the story. The real struggle was over minds. The university required not only financial and material support, but also help in reaching western scientific and intellectual centers. For this purpose there were special exchange programs launched, which would have been completely unfeasible without the involvement of Western Catholics and, again, the American bishops. After the first scholarships of American foundations were granted to, among others, scientists from KUL, some decided to stay in the West (e.g. Jerzy Łukaszewski) while others, after returning to Poland, found out that their faculty was being closed down (such as the English Studies) and had to look for employment at other secular universities. This exchange was supposed to ensure that the Catholic University of Lublin did not lose its academic attractiveness and contact with Western science. After all, the university could not count on exchanges organized through official state channels, for, as Professor James J. Zatko from the University of Notre Dame has written: “More disastrous has been the Catholic University of Lublin’s exclusion from an exchange program sponsored by the governments of the United States and Poland. This deprives the university of significant contacts with American universities; such contacts are important in present-day Poland for education as well as for morale.”75 Such support required new channels, and this time the so-called Catholic Relief Services (CRS), also associated with the NCWC, was 71. Letter of Jan Jaworski to Rector Fr. Mieczysław Krąpiec, November 16, 1975, stored in Lublin, KUL Archives, DWZ, Jan Jaworski’s file. 72. Letter from Władysław Rubin to Prof. Mieczysław Krąpiec, Rector of KUL, August 16, 1972, stored in Lublin, KUL Archives, Rector’s office, correspondence with Władysław Rubin. 73. “Conversation between Mieczysław Albert Krąpiec and Fr. Szczepan Bober,” Nasza Rodzina, No. 3 [378], March 1976, p. 7. 74. Walerian Jasiński, “Rola polskiej parafii” [The role of the Polish parish], Sodalis Polonia, 52, no. 5 (1972), 142. 75. James J. Zatko, “History at the Catholic University of Lublin,” The Catholic Historical Review, 47, no. 2 (July 1961), 199–205. 556 INVISIBLE UMBRELLA OF AMERICAN BISHOPS involved.76 It was headed by Bishop Edward E. Swanstrom and, until 1959, the Assistant Director was Prelate Aloisius Wycislo (the later Auxiliary Bishop of Chicago and eventual Bishop of Green Bay [1968–83], and one of the Second Vatican Ecumenical Council fathers). This ecclesiastical institution was dedicated to helping the Catholic community in many places around the world, including Poland. CRS was also one of the largest “private voluntary organizations” in the USA (PVO), i.e. private social organizations that provided assistance in the world. Therefore, CRS’s activities should be viewed in the context of the US global humanitarian aid policy. It was related to the fact that the funds that CRS had at its disposal were often 60–70% of those of the American government.77 The relationship between the US administration and this Catholic organization was obvious. Furthermore, Wycislo himself—being, as one of the heads of CRS, a representative of one of the religious aid organizations— was consulted by Gen. Eisenhower in humanitarian aid matters. It was CRS’s agency that made it possible to provide scholarship assistance for KUL researchers. Swanstrom was determined to start a new program for Poland already in 1959. He wrote to Woznicki: “I am planning to ask the Board at the November meeting to appropriate at least $100,000 next year to meet some of the requests of Cardinal Wyszynski. I also am trying to find a suitable representative to send to Poland to explore the possibility of our reestablishing an on-going relief program in that country.”78 Bishop Woznicki agreed that this aid should go through official channels, but warned against using a special state financial institution for this purpose, explaining that he was unable to send even $500 to one of the bishops through this route. He also wrote that apparently the Russians had too many spies in this place.79 Nevertheless, the financial injection came from an unusual source, and was the result of the efforts of Prof. Jerzy Łukaszewski, Ford Foundation grantee. In the early 1950s he was a professor at KUL. In late 1957 he was 76. The conference was established during World War II as the National Catholic War Council, and with time it was renamed the National Catholic Welfare Conference and functioned under this name during the period of interest to this paper. John T. Donovan, Crusader in the Cold War: A Biography of Fr. John F. Cronin, S.S. (1908–1994) (New York, 2005), 55. 77. These relationships are described substantially by Rachel M. McCleary, Global compassion: Private voluntary organizations and U.S. foreign policy since 1939 (Oxford, 2009). 78. Letter of Edward Swanstrom to Stanislaus Woznicki, November 9, 1959, stored in Washington, D.C., ACUA-NCWC, box 46, fold. International Affairs: Poland 1956–1966. 79. Letter of Stanislaus Woznicki to Edward Swanstrom, November 13, 1959, stored in Washington, D.C., ACUA-NCWC, box 46, fold. International Affairs: Poland 1956–1966. SŁAWOMIR ŁUKASIEWICZ 557 awarded a scholarship from the Ford Foundation and came to Harvard University, where he spent two years. It was also during this time that he met American businessman and philanthropist Charles Merrill. After several conversations about Poland, communism, and KUL, Merrill decided to grant Lublin university the funds necessary for foreign exchange. In March 1959, Merrill wrote to Łukaszewski: “The money would be available for Lublin if it could be clearly described [as] a Catholic charity and not as educational. This means that it should be transferred through a Catholic religious group such as the Jesuits […].”80 Eventually, Charles Merrill Trust transferred around $30,000 to the account of CRS. Aloysius Wycislo was to administer this amount, while Łukaszewski had the right to indicate persons eligible to receive the money from this source. He did it throughout the next decade, in cooperation with the rectors of KUL, and was greatly indebted to the long-time experience of Wycislo. Thanks to this action, over forty professors and lecturers from KUL were able to visit Western universities and research centers, which surely developed the scientific potential of the university in ways impossible to evaluate. Some of the scholars received grants multiple times and could stay at their foreign universities for a year. Łukaszewski made sure that every research project had ample justification. Money administered by CRS was also used to purchase books for the university library.81 The whole operation ended in the early 1970s when the funds ran out and Łukaszewski became Rector of the College of Europe in Bruges.82 His efforts were one of the first of such a character and scale. Later on, many other centers offered scholarships for scientists from KUL.83 In the spring of 1981, at a time when the “Solidarność” movement was flourishing, CRS again got involved in helping Poland and Cardinal John 80. Jerzy Łukaszewski Papers, letter of March 30, 1959 (the author has had a chance to see these papers in the private house of late prof. Łukaszewski in Brussels, and has made copies). 81. Jerzy Łukaszewski, “KUL z perspektywy pół wieku” [The Catholic University of Lublin from the perspective of half a century], in: Przestrzeń wolności i prawdy: Katolicki Uniwersytet Lubelski w latach 1944–1989 [Space of Freedom and Truth: Catholic University of Lublin in the years 1944–1989], ed. Józef Fert (Lublin, 2008), 88–89. 82. Jerzy Łukaszewski, Iść jak prowadzi busola: W europejskim kręgu nauki i dyplomacji: Wspomnienia [Going as the compass leads: In the European field of science and diplomacy: Memories] (Kraków, 2018), 100–01. 83. Sławomir Łukasiewicz, “Instytut Literacki i Katolicki Uniwersytet Lubelski—mało znane wątki kontaktów okresu zimnej wojny” [The Literary Institute and the Catholic University of Lublin—little known threads of contacts during the Cold War], Rocznik Instytutu Europy Środkowo-Wschodniej [Yearbook of the Institute of East-Central Europe], 15 (2017), 69–87. 558 INVISIBLE UMBRELLA OF AMERICAN BISHOPS Krol became the head of the program entitled “CRS/Poland.” With the approval of the authorities in Poland, with the blessing of John Paul II, and in coordination with the Polish Episcopal Charity Commission headed by Bishop Czesław Domin, help was to come again from the USA84—but this is a topic for another article. Conclusion For the Church in Poland, the Cold War meant not only repressions in the country, but also dispersion of a huge émigré community. Paradoxically, this very dispersion, reinforced by the cooperation with local Catholic communities, proved to be extremely effective in the arrangement of various aid campaigns for Catholics in Poland. The division of the world into two warring blocs, and the repressions to which the Church was subjected in the countries of the Soviet bloc, caused the Church in the West to try to support both émigré Catholics and Catholics in Poland. An important role in this policy was played both by ecclesiastical structures created specifically to care for the emigrants and by the structures of local churches, as the example of American hierarchy shows. A global network of hierarchs, parishes, and individuals created unique conditions for different types of aid to reach Catholics in Poland. Catholics in exile, together with the faithful and the hierarchy in the West, were engaged in numerous activities to defend the Church in Poland and supported it in various ways throughout the communist period. The mobilization of Catholics was widespread. The activities of the Aid to the Church in Need (German: Kirche im Not) and the aid that went through the American bishops and the NCWC or CRS illustrate this phenomenon perfectly. These examples also show how important discretion and mutual trust were. Had it not been for such help, the survival of the Church itself in Poland, its relative independence from the communist authorities gained over time, and the preservation and strengthening of the only Catholic university that remained in the entire Soviet bloc for many years would not have been possible. To paraphrase the title of John Connelly’s book, it was thanks to such help that KUL—in comparison with other universities—was not such a “captive university.”85 An even clearer picture 84. The documents certifying such help can be found in the Archives of the Catholic University of America, box 121. 85. John Connelly, Captive University: the Sovietization of East German, Czech and Polish Higher Education, 1945–1956 (Chapel Hill, 2000). SŁAWOMIR ŁUKASIEWICZ 559 emerges when one juxtaposes it with the history of the Church in other countries of the region such as in Czechoslovakia, Hungary, and Romania.86 In those nations the brutal repression and atheization of social life led to a significant erosion of church structures and negatively affected the state of society’s spirituality. However, there remains an open question about the extent to which these Churches were able to count on the help from their own emigrants and Catholics across the world. Undoubtedly, the example of Poland—with a predominance of Catholics in society, a large group of Catholics who organized communities in exile and, finally, the election of Karol Wojtyła as pope—compels such questions and further comparative research in this area. 86. Chamedes, A Twentieth-Century Crusade, 244–45; von Klimó, “Central Europe”; Kent, The Lonely Cold War of Pope Pius XII. Priests without Ordination: Catechists in Villages beyond Missions, Western Tanzania, 1948–1978 SALVATORY S. NYANTO* The growth of Christianity in mid-twentieth-century western Tanzania depended on the activities of African catechists (both men and women) and teachers. These catechists lived in villages beyond the mission stations, administering catechesis to youth and adult catechumens in preparation for baptism, leading the congregation on Sunday services, and translating religious texts into the indigenous languages, to mention just a few preoccupations. Their work subsequently increased the number of Christians in village outstations (vigango). Despite their contribution to shaping the course of Christianity throughout the twentieth century, catechists have remained in the margins of the missionary enterprise, depicted simply as “examples of successful mission work.” This paper brings to prominence the hitherto-muted role of catechists in shaping the development of African Christianity in western Tanzania, in order to demonstrate that they were as important as missionaries. Furthermore, the paper intends to show that as life in villages became untenable, catechists ultimately mounted a rebellion against church authority. Nevertheless, the ideals of socialism (ujamaa), which had dominated religious and political discourse of 1960s Tanzania, divided the Catholic clergy on sustaining catechists in villages. Keywords: catechists, catechetical instruction, Christianity, dissent, Western Tanzania * Salvatory S. Nyanto is a senior lecturer in the Department of History, University of Dar es Salaam. (P.O. Box 35031, Dar es Salaam). Research areas include religion and empire, slavery and missionaries, and Christian-Muslim relations. Email address: ssnyanto@gmail.com. The author is grateful to the three anonymous evaluators, whose comments and suggestions have shaped the paper’s arguments regarding the subject matter. 560 SALVATORY S. NYANTO 561 Catechists as Priests without Ordination: Context, Argument, and Sources The catechists must receive such a training that they will be a kind of ‘priests without ordination;’ or in the case of women that they may be a sort of substitutes for Sisters.1 This excerpt by Rt. Rev. Msgr. H. Goertz, Secretary General of the Pontifical Society for the Propagation of the Faith (Latin: Propaganda Fide, currently referred to as Congregatio pro Gentium Evangelizatione) in Rome was one of the three conditions for sponsoring catechists in western Tanzania. He issued the statement on July 4, 1962, in response to a letter from the Vicar General, Father Roger Fouquer WF/M.Afr., who had written on behalf of Archbishop of Tabora, Marco Mihayo, asking the Society for financial aid for eleven catechists who were already “in action,” meaning that they had already been working in villages.2 Monsignor Goertz outlined conditions for financial aid to catechists: there had to be a real catechist school, training had to last for two years, and the scholarships had to be used for the students’ board, lodging, and study materials, and anyone who would use the money for other purposes “[would] offend against the benefactor’s intention.”3 By the second half of the twentieth century, a sizable number of catechists had been working in villages, some of them as residents and others as volunteer catechists. Both resident and volunteer catechists began working in villages after a two-year course at Ndala Catechetical School. The Ndala School also organized special courses for the wives of catechists, especially in Homecraft and rudimentary Social Sciences. Church authorities believed that the wives of catechists ought to be worthy partners to their husbands and therefore their level of education could not be too far 1. Rt. Rev. Msgr. H. Goertz, Society for the Propagation of the Faith, to His Excellency Archbishop Marc Mihayo, July 4, 1962, stored in Tabora Town, Archives of the Archdiocese of Tabora [hereafter AAT], Box 325, fol. 299. (An exact spelling of Msgr. Goertz’s given name could not be confirmed, but the Annuario pontificio, vol. 1964, transliterates the name as “Enrico,” see pp. 1252 and 1694. Throughout this paper he will be referred to simply as “Rt. Rev. Msgr. H. Goertz.” Additionally, Archbishop Marcus Mihayo’s name is spelled with multiple alternate transliterations, including “Marc,” “Mark,” “Marko,” and “Marco” across the sources referenced in this paper.) 2. Rt. Rev. Msgr. H. Goertz to Archbishop Marcus (alias Marko) Mihayo, July 4, 1962, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299. 3. Rt. Rev. Msgr. H. Goertz, Secretary General, Central Office of the Pontifical Society for the Propagation of the Faith, Aachen, Hermannstrasze, to Archbishop Mark Mihayo, July 4, 1962, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299. 562 PRIESTS WITHOUT ORDINATION below their husbands. By educating the wives of catechists, insisted the church authorities, they would have a “wholesome influence on their environment, especially on the women of the place where they [would be] stationed.”4 Unfortunately, as the eleven catechists were already in action, like their contemporaries, the Society for the Propagation of the Faith could not help the Archbishop in that matter. Instead, it initiated a program for the education of catechists (men and women) who aspired to work in the villages. The Society therefore, insisted Msgr. Goertz, “[took] over the sponsorships for catechists who enter[ed] training school.”5 In addition to outlining the training and what catechists ought to do, the Society put in place two other conditions for participating in the sponsorship of catechists in the archdiocese of Tabora. First, the Society insisted that the diocese had to either establish its own catechetical school or find the means for the archdiocese to send its catechist-students to neighboring dioceses for training. Second, it urged the archbishop that all student-catechists ought to undergo a two-year systematic instruction, rather than a temporary course of two months, insisting that “the time of half-educated catechists [was] gone.”6 In his letter to the Archbishop, the vicar general, Father Roger Fouquer, told him in response to Msgr. Goertz’s letter that two of the three conditions had already been implemented: the Catechists’ School at Ndala was in operation and catechists underwent a formation of two years. However, he doubted whether the two-year training would make male catechists become “priests without ordination” and women catechists “substitutes for Sisters.”7 Notwithstanding the vicar general’s reluctance, which was evident also among his contemporaries regarding the marginal position of catechists, Msgr. Goertz’s claim that male catechists would essentially become as priests without ordination and female catechists as substitutes for sisters was worthwhile in the evangelization of western Tanzania. Christian evangelization in villages beyond the missions, despite the contribution made by the White Fathers and White Sisters, would have been unsuccessful had 4. Archbishop, Marcus Mihayo, Tabora, to Rt. Rev. Msgr. H. Goertz, Gen. Sekr. Papstliches Werk der Glaubensverbreitung, Hermannstrasze, March 27, 1967, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299. 5. Rt. Rev. Msgr. H. Goertz to Archbishop Marcus Mihayo, July 4, 1962, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299. 6. Rt. Rev. Msgr. H. Goertz to Archbishop Marcus Mihayo, July 4, 1962, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299. 7. Fr. Roger Fouquer, Vicar General to Archbishop Marcus Mihayo, July 11, 1962, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299. SALVATORY S. NYANTO 563 Ndala Catechist School. Photograph, taken by the author, November 23, 2016. Each student-catechist, together with his family, lived in one of these houses for two years until the end of the course. The nature of the compound of these houses enabled student-catechists and their families to build a community based on mission experience. catechists taken merely a passive role. Indeed, the work of catechists (both men and women) and of wives of catechists in these villages significantly contributed to the evangelization of western Tanzania. Catechists and teachers taught catechumens in village outstations in preparation for baptism, making sure that the pupils had memorized the answers from the catechism before they were allowed to take an entry examination for baptism. To help students remember the answers, catechists would set the answers to simple tunes and teach these songs to the students to simplify memorization of the catechism.8 In addition to religious instruction, catechists visited Christians in villages, taught the fundamental doctrines of the Catholic Church, and led congregants during Sunday services. In areas where the influence of chiefs remained potent against Christianity, the visits of catechists “would make friendly relations [between chiefs and missionaries] possible.”9 8. Francis P. Nolan, W.F., “The Changing Role of the Catechist in the Archdiocese of Tabora, 1879–1967” (unpublished paper), August 31, 1967, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 297. 9. Nolan, “Changing Role,” August 31, 1967, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 297. 564 PRIESTS WITHOUT ORDINATION Catechists’ agency in evangelization also proved invaluable in the translation of religious texts (hymnodies, the Bible, prayer books, and songs).10 Because most missionaries were relatively unversed in the Kinyamwezi language and culture, translation was made effective through the medium of catechists because they knew well their own indigenous languages and culture. With their mastery of the Kinyamwezi languages, these African catechists interpreted the scripture in their own ways, appropriated Christianity, and became “masters of new ways” in the villages because they could read and write, and were well-immersed in their own culture with which they were working.11 Employing the linguistic skills and some rudimentary training from the mission schools, catechists “crossed linguistic and cultural boundaries to [preach, teach,] and spread the faith” in villages beyond the missions.12 Wives of student catechists, too, were instrumental in shaping the nature and character of Christianity because they attended three classes of catechism every week, as well as courses on home crafts, cooking, and handicrafts. Women who had never been to school also attended classes in reading and writing to form part of the new identity of the literate Christian community.13 Although missionaries relegated catechists to the margins of the missionary enterprise, their immeasurable contribution to the shaping of the course of Christianity in twentieth-century western Tanzania is worth acknowledging. This paper, therefore, fills this void by examining the place of unordained catechists to the growth of Christianity in villages where the influence of missionaries was almost negligible. Because of the geography of the archdiocese of Tabora, the limited number of missionaries rarely visited the village outstations; some were visited only once in a year, leaving catechists to shoulder the mission work.14 Finally, this paper seeks to show 10. Richard Hölzl, “Educating Missions: Teachers and Catechists in Southern Tanganyika, 1890s–1940s,” Itenerario, 40, no. 3 (2016), 405–28, here 405. For details about the African agency in the growth of African Christianity, see Thomas Spear and Isaria N. Kimambo, eds., East African Expressions of Christianity (London, 1999); and Godson S. Maanga, Church Growth in Tanzania: The Role of Chagga Migrants within the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Tanzania (Makumira, 2012). 11. John D. Y. Peel, Religious Encounter and the Making of the Yoruba (Bloomington, 2000), 156–61. 12. Paul Kollman and Cynthia Toms Smedley, eds., Understanding World Christianity: Eastern Africa (Minneapolis, 2018), 34 and 41. 13. School for Catechists at Ndala, July 11, 1962, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299. 14. See, for instance, Francis P. Nolan, “Christianity in Unyamwezi, 1878–1928” (Doctoral thesis, Cambridge University, 1978), 316. SALVATORY S. NYANTO 565 The Catechist and his Family at Ndala School. Photograph, unknown date, unknown photographer. Image is courtesy of the Archdiocese of Tabora. that Tanzania’s policy on socialism—in particular, on socialism and selfreliance (ujamaa na kujitegemea)—had bearing on shaping the course of Christianity because its ideals filtered into rural areas, and, thus, dominated the religious and public spheres. As life in the villages became indefensible for catechists, they mounted rebellion against church authority, calling for recognition and remuneration to sustain their living. Sustaining catechists, in consequence, divided the clergy in the archdiocese of Tabora between the White Fathers, who thought that the demands of catechists were worth handling, and African priests, who objected to the proposition in favor of the nation’s policy of socialism and self-reliance. To tell this story of catechists and their contributions to shaping the growth of Christianity in the villages, this study relies on primary sources deposited in the archives of the archdiocese of Tabora, covering the period between post-Second World War Tanzania and 1978, when the White Fathers (and the Church in general) celebrated the hundredth anniversary of evangelization in western Tanzania. The archives contain correspondences between the clergy in the archdiocese of Tabora and church authorities in the Society for the Propagation of the Faith in Rome. They also include correspondence between catechists and the clergy in Tabora and 566 PRIESTS WITHOUT ORDINATION general correspondence and reports about the development of the Ndala Catechist School. These sources encompass several issues, ranging from the nature and character of the religious instruction offered to catechists in the School, timetables, letters of support to catechists, reports about catechetical training in missions and village outstations, and letters about catechists’ dissent in pursuit of equality and recognition in the Church. The varied experiences of catechists in villages undoubtedly suggest that the growth and consolidation of Christianity in twentieth-century western Tanzania was inextricably linked to the zealous efforts of catechists. This study supplements information from primary sources with secondary sources about the missionary enterprise, Christianity, and communitybuilding in East Africa. Catechists and Evangelization: Historical, Anthropological, and Theological Discourses For the most part, scholarship on the expansion and rapid spread of Christianity neglected the place of catechists and, instead, “described it almost entirely as a spiritual phenomenon.”15 Some studies, however, have demonstrated the centrality of catechists in creating “local theologies” by acting as “community-based agents of evangelization.”16 Some studies have extended the discussion on local theologies by examining how catechists became instrumental in “domesticating a religious import” through inculturation and reinforcing mutual relationships between the evangelized and missionaries across time and space.17 Studies of this sort show the prominence of catechists in the missionary enterprise by establishing themselves among the evangelized and becoming part of the “long conversation” between missionaries and people. Because of their mastery of the culture, studies show that catechists helped Christianity establish a “local setting for itself” by shaping interdependence between missionaries and the society.18 15. Margaret Mary Louise Pirouet, Black Evangelists: The Spread of Christianity in Uganda, 1891– 1914 (London, 1978), 2. 16. Andrew Orta, “Converting Difference: Metaculture, Missionaries, and Politics of Locality,” Ethnology, 37, no. 2 (Spring, 1998), 165– 85, here 167; and id., “Syncretic Subjects and Body Politics: Doubleness, Personhood and Aymara Catechists,” American Ethnologist, 26, no. 4 (2000), 864– 89, here 864. 17. See for instance Nicholas M. Creary, Domesticating a Religious Import: The Jesuits and the Inculturation of the Catholic Church in Zimbabwe, 1879– 1980 (Washington, 2011). 18. Peel, Religious Encounter, 123; Anne Beuttler “Church Discipline Chronicled: A New Source for Basel Mission Historiography,” History in Africa, 42 (2015), 109– 38, here 110. In formulating and arguing about “long conversation” to explain the encounter between missionaries and the Nyamwezi people, the author is indebted to Jean and John Comaroff, SALVATORY S. NYANTO 567 Spread of Catechists in Villages in Twentieth-Century Western Tanzania. Some studies centering on translation and the dialectics of conversion have demonstrated the place of catechists in the translation of religious texts into their own languages.19 Studies have demonstrated that the mastery of culture and language enabled catechists to form “the basis for the modern intelligentsia” by becoming “mission agents” and “scripture readers,”20 and that the readership culture made catechists become independent interpreters and intellectuals in shaping an African interpretation of Christianity as they helped people read and understand the Of Revelation and Revolution, 2 vols. (Chicago, 1991–1997, here 1991), here I: Christianity, Colonialism and Consciousness in South Africa 243. 19. Peel, Religious Encounter, 11; and Lamin Sanneh, Translating the Message: The Missionary Impact on Culture (New York, 2009), 51. 20. Peel, Religious Encounter, 156–61. 568 PRIESTS WITHOUT ORDINATION scriptures.21 Some studies concentrating on texts have revealed ways in which translation not only created “textual communities,” but also created entanglements between missionaries and catechists, leading to a particular Christianity which was “historically contingent” and “distinctively [African].”22 Of course, the centrality of catechists has prompted studies to examine the place of gender in translation and evangelization. Studies of this category argue that women, as evangelists, worked side by side with men in spreading the Christian faith.23 In addition to translation, while some studies show that missionaries regarded catechists as “filial adjunct[s]” to the missionary enterprise in Africa and beyond, others show, instead, that catechists made significant contributions as “self-reliant missionary activists.”24 The contributions made to evangelization by catechists as self-reliant missionaries have inspired studies to examine ways in which the learning and experience of missionaries who were returning from Africa and other parts of the world offered an important contribution to the development of Christian communities which honored the abilities of the laity.25 That catechists became a model for reinforcing Christian communities at home seems to suggest what studies in church history have regarded as “bringing it all back home.”26 The influence of catechists and teachers in Africa and other parts of the world on the missionaries at home is suggestive of what imperial historians have long regarded as “empire coming home.”27 21. Elizabeth Elbourne, Blood Ground: Colonialism, Missions, and the Contest for Christianity in the Cape Colony and Britain, 1799–1853 (Montreal, 2002). 22. Ruth Chojnacki “Religion, Autonomy, and the Priority of Place in Mexico’s Maya Highlands,” Latin American Perspectives, 43, no. 3 (2016), 31–50, here 34; and Saraubh Dube, “Colonial Registers of a Vernacular Christianity: Conversion to Translation,” Economic and Political Weekly, 39, no. 3 (Jan. 10–16, 2004), 161–71. 23. Hölzl, “Educating Missions,” 405; and Chiedozie Obia, “A Re-Appraisal of the Role of Women in Church Missions in Africa,” Journal of the Historical Society of Nigeria, 27 (2018), 48–63. 24. Hölzl, “Educating Missions,” 405; and Anita de Luna, “Evangelizadoras del Barrio: The Rise of the Missionary Catechists of Divine Providence,” U.S. Catholic Historian, 21, no. 1 (Winter 2003), 53–71, here 53. See also Aylward Shorter and Eugene Kataza, eds. Missionaries to Yourselves: African Catechists Today (New York, 1972). 25. Dympna Mallon, “Bringing it all Back Home—An untapped resource,” The Furrow, 67, no. 10 (October 2016), 551–55, here 551. 26. Mallon, “Bringing it all Back Home,” 551–55. 27. Andrew Thompson, “Afterword: The Imprint of the Empire,” in: Britain’s Experience of Empire in the Twentieth Century, ed. Andrew Thompson (Oxford, 2011), 331–32; and Wendy Webster, “The Empire Comes Home: Commonwealth Migration to Britain,” in: Britain’s Experience of Empire in the Twentieth Century, 123–60. SALVATORY S. NYANTO 569 In recent decades, however, studies centering on catechesis as an essential facet of evangelization have demonstrated the place of catechists in laying the groundwork for Christian communities in villages. They show that regular instruction administered by catechists became an “enriching category for religious education” because they provided converts with glimpses into the Christian faith.28 Others have demonstrated how catechesis influenced catechists’ practices, religious lives, and catechetical learning environments, arguing in favor of mutual learning during instruction. They believe that as catechists taught converts and catechumens, they were also nourished by the teachings.29 Yet, other studies show that, although catechists remained a marginal group of actors in the historiography of the colonial and missionary enterprise, their contribution to the development of the early colonial education system affected the growth of African Christianity, social change, and the newly emerging class of educated Africans in the colonies.30 This study tells the story of catechists in order to show their contribution as “self-reliant missionaries” to the growth of Christianity in twentieth-century western Tanzania. It begins the narrative from the postSecond World War period, where decolonization, which included such ideals as independence and Africanization, became an important force to reckon with. Because catechists worked in village outstations far from the centers of mission stations, they used their intellectual and cultural creativity to teach prayers and songs and lead the congregants on Sundays. They became intellectuals who were influential in shaping congregants’ interpretation of Christianity as they appropriated Christianity within the realm of Unyamwezi culture. The daily interactions at Ndala Catechist School helped catechists to create an idealized Christian community based on mission experience, and to maintain relationships as they worked in the village outstations. This study departs from the linear outlook of catechists as passive actors in the missionary enterprise. Instead, it treats them as active participants who sometimes challenged the clergy over matters that affected their wellbeing and mission work in the villages. As life increasingly became untenable in the village outstations, some catechists gave up 28. Michael Warren “Catechesis: An Enriching Category of Religious Education,” Religious Education, 76, no. 2 (1981), 115–27; and Maria Harris and Gabriel Moran, “Catechetical Language and Religious Education,” Theology Today, 49, no. 1 (1992), 21–30. 29. A (Jos) de Kock, “Catechists’ conceptions of their catechetical learning environments,” International Journal for the Study of the Christian Church, 14, no. 1 (2014), 54–70, here 54. 30. Hölzl, “Educating Missions,” 405. 570 PRIESTS WITHOUT ORDINATION the work and relocated to larger towns to make ends meet. However, others relied on their pre-existing networks and mission experience at the Ndala Catechist School to organize rebellion against the clergy over remuneration, equality, and recognition of their work in the villages. This rebellion not only caused evangelization in some village outstations to remain at a standstill, but also divided the clergy in its attempt to find workable solutions to their demands. Catechists in Need: Tensions of Empire, Decolonization, and Vatican II: The 1 9 5 0 s– 1 9 6 0 s The need for catechists in villages in post-war Tabora stemmed from the socio-political and religious contexts of the 1950s and 1960s in western Tanzania and the British Empire. The end of the Second World War ushered in a new era of intensive exploitation to revamp the dilapidated British economy. Following the Second World War, British colonial authorities increased the exploitation of colonial resources to rebuild the empire through what has been called the “second colonial occupation.”31 The war’s course coincided with severe drought as poor rainfall resulted in a shortage of food crops in the Tabora, Nzega, and Kahama districts. After the war, sleeping sickness, rinderpest virus, drought, and famine lingered in many parts of Unyamwezi.32 Besides deaths, the outbreak of sleeping sickness caused a scarcity of cattle and, subsequently, increased the price of meat in Unyamwezi. The glaring shortage of cattle became evident between the 1940s and 1950s in Ussoke, Ndono, Kitunda, Tabora, Kahama, and Nzega. In Ussoke and Ndono alone, the number of cattle declined from 6,689 to 2,093 between 1952 and 1954 due to the rising tide of sleeping sickness in the area.33 The persistence of tsetse flies in various parts of Unyamwezi dis- 31. Donald A. Low and John Lonsdale, “Introduction: Towards the New Order 1945– 1963,” in: Oxford History of East Africa, Volume Three, eds. Donald A. Low and Alison Smith, (Oxford, 1976), 1–64. See also John Iliffe, A Modern History of Tanganyika (Cambridge, 1979), 342. 32. Annual Reports for the Provincial Commissioners for the Year 1941 [Western Province], 81–82, and Annual Reports for the Provincial Commissioners on Native Administration for the Year 1949, both stored in Dar es Salaam, University of Dar es Salaam East Africana Collection (hereafter, UDSM EAF), (no folio numbers available). 33. Report on Ndono-Ussoke Sleeping Sickness Settlement, September 30, 1955, stored in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania National Archives [hereafter TNA], Accession number 63/P4/66/Vol. IV/708-13; Cattle Census 1952–1954, September 30, 1955, stored in Dar es Salaam, TNA, Acc. No. 47/M1/5D/11; and District Commissioner’s Safari Report: Ussoke/Ndono Settlement Area, October 12–15, 1955, stored in Dar es Salaam, TNA, Acc. No. 47/M1/5D/19. SALVATORY S. NYANTO 571 couraged settlement and agriculture. Areas such as Ilalangulu, Kaliua, Urambo, Ndono, Ussoke, Mabama, Loya, Ntankwa, and Ussangu II remained mostly uninhabited and uncultivated due to limited migration into the region, causing suffering, disturbances, and complaints among families.34 In the Nzega district, however, the tsetse fly areas of Mambali, Wembere in the southeast, parts of the north and west of the Iborogero-Igurubi road up to the Manonga river, and the west of Bukene, the area had become clear of the tsetse fly, and people could settle in villages.35 The depopulation of villages as well as compulsory resettlement caused Christians to relocate to other village outstations. Christians joined churches in the resettled villages and carried with them the ethos of the Christian community from their old missions and villages. The growing number of Christians increased the need for catechists and teachers in the villages.36 Further, the Second World War affected crop production, making exports a more formidable challenge. In addition to economic difficulty, rinderpest virus broke out in the districts of Unyamwezi, and the export of cattle was almost negligible. Locusts were spread over the country in great proportions, halting farmers’ prospects, and prolonged drought affected various parts of Unyamwezi.37 By the mid-1950s, as the crisis deepened, decolonization in Tanganyika seemed an ideal solution to curb increased colonial exploitation. As in other parts of Tanganyika, Unyamwezi residents expressed their dis34. Minutes of a meeting held in the Provincial Office, January 22, 1952, stored in Dar es Salaam, TNA, Acc. No. 47/T5/5; D. W. Freeman to the District Commissioner, February 10, 1953, stored in Dar es Salaam, TNA, Acc. No. 63/P4/66/Vol. III/595; Settlement Officer, Nguruka, to the District Commissioner, August 9, 1954, stored in Dar es Salaam, TNA, Acc. No. 63/P4/66/Vol. III/656; District Commissioner to the Provincial Commissioner, December 13, 1954, stored in Dar es Salaam, TNA, Acc. No. 47/T5/50; Colin Maher to the District Commissioner, July 12, 1954, stored in Dar es Salaam, TNA, Acc. No. 47/T5/40; A.T.P. Seabrook, General Manager, Overseas Food Corporation, to the District Commissioner, October 25, 1954, stored in Dar es Salaam, TNA, Acc. No. 47/T5/47; and Barua ya Mtemi Nguruwe bin Kalele wa Usangi Igwisi kwenda kwa Bwana Provincial Commissioner [Letter from Chief Nguruwe bin Kalele of Usangi Igwisi to the Provincial Commissioner], August 21, 1953, stored in Dar es Salaam, TNA, Acc. No. 63/P4/66/Vol. III/613. 35. Tabora Provincial Book, November 19, 1955, Nzega District Book, Volume I, February 28, 1946, stored in Dar es Salaam, TNA, Acc. No. 63. 36. See for instance Kisanji, Historia Fupi, 30–44. 37. Tabora District Book, Volume I, “Movement of Produce by Rail in Tabora District in Tons,” 1929–1943, stored in Dar es Salaam, TNA, Acc. No. 63; Colin Maher to the District Commissioner, July 12, 1954, stored in Dar es Salaam, TNA, Acc. No 47/T5/40; and A.T.P. Seabrook to the District Commissioner, October 25, 1954, stored in Dar es Salaam, TNA, Acc. No. 47/T5/47. 572 PRIESTS WITHOUT ORDINATION content through strikes and the formation of political parties. For instance, Christopher Kasanga Tumbo, a Nyamwezi from Usoke, who was working as the general secretary of the Tanganyika Railway Workers’ Union between 1960 and 1962, made the “strike inevitable” because he did not consent to “sell the independence of workers’ unions in the country.”38 He mobilized African railway workers to mount a rebellion against the authorities in demand of better wages and good working conditions until officials of the international trade union in Dar es Salaam asked the railway workers for mediation.39 In due course, ideas of independence spread in rural and urban Unyamwezi under the party’s patronage, the Tanganyika African National Union (TANU), and dominated political and religious spheres such that “even in churches, Christians began talking about independence.”40 These events, to borrow a leaf from Ann Laura Stoler and Frederick Cooper, demonstrated the “tensions of empire” and, thus, inspired the White Fathers and White Sisters to “examine their own hegemony” and “[alter] their visions when faced with the challenges from the people they were trying to [convert].”41 These changes, writes Elizabeth Foster, also marked “a critical historical juncture” that “change[d] perceptions of colonizers and the colonized regarding the empire.”42 Amidst decolonization, people found themselves in a “spiritual crisis” as they reconciled their Catholicism with the political and cultural shifts of 38. “Nitayari kutembea hata uchi kuliko kukubali senti kuuza uhuru wa vyama-Tumbo” [“I am ready to walk naked rather than accepting even a cent to betray the independence of trade unions”], Ngurumo, Saturday, October 21, 1961, p. 1; “Sitaki kutishwa kwa migomo: mtumishi serkalini akigoma namfukuza-Nyerere” [“I do not want to be intimidated by riots: if a public servant riots I expel [him/her]”], Ngurumo, Monday, November 20, 1961, p. 1; “Wafuasi 16 elfu pamoja na Tumbo wajengewe jela serkali isipowaonya matajiri” [“The special jail should be built for sixteen supporters and Tumbo (Kasanga Tumbo) if the government doesn’t warn affluent persons”], Ngurumo, Thursday, November 23, 1961, p. 1; and “Strike almost inevitable on railway: union chief is pessimistic about talks,” Tanganyika Standard, Monday, January 4, 1960, p. 1. 39. “We go ahead—Tumbo,” Tanganyika Standard, Tuesday, February 9, 1960, p. 1; “African rail workers start strike: services not seriously crippled—Leverett,” Tanganyika Standard, Wednesday, February 10, 1960, p. 1; and “Rail strike: Tumbo hands over,” Tanganyika Standard, Friday, April 15, 1960, p. 1. 40. Salvatory Nyanto, interview with Oscar E. Kisanji, Tabora, March 4, 2020, stored in Tabora Town, AAT (accession numbers not yet available). 41. Ann Laura Stoler and Frederick Cooper, “Between Metropole and Colony: Rethinking a Research Agenda,” in: Tensions of Empire: Colonial Cultures in a Bourgeois World, eds. Frederick Cooper and Ann Laura Stoler (Berkeley, 1997), 6. 42. Giuliana Chamedes and Elizabeth A. Foster, “Introduction: Decolonization and Religion in the French Empire,” French Politics, Culture and Society, 33, no. 2, Special Issue: Decolonization and Religion in the French Empire (2015), 1–10, here 1–2. SALVATORY S. NYANTO 573 1950s Tanganyika. These dilemmas put the Catholic Church “at [a] crossroads in the postwar period” as Africans began to question European political and cultural hegemony. The Second Vatican Council “read the signs of times” in “negotiating decolonization” of the twentieth century and subsequently became instrumental in shaping the course of African Christianity.43 The Sacrosanctum Concilium (The Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy), which Pope VI issued on December 4, 1963, outlined the main goals of the Council: to impart an ever-increasing vigor to the Christian life of the faithful; to adapt more suitably to the needs of our own times those institutions which are subject to change; to foster whatever can promote union among all who believe in Christ and to strengthen whatever could help to call the whole of humankind into the household of the Church.44 Further, in his Evangelii Nuntiandi (On Evangelization to the Modern World) to mark the tenth anniversary of the closing of the Second Vatican Council, Pope Paul VI called the Church to adapt to diverse cultures of the evangelized to “make the Church of the twentieth century ever better fitted for proclaiming the Gospel.”45 To show the importance of culture to the evangelization in the twentieth century, Pope VI reiterated the statement he had made before the Sacred College of Cardinals on June 22, 1973 that “the conditions of the society in which we live oblige all of us therefore to revise methods, to seek by every means to study how we can bring the Christian message to modern [human beings].”46 Fr. Marko (alias Marcus) Mihayo, who was appointed Archbishop of Tabora in 1960, attended the Council, and, upon his return, he commissioned two priests (Fr. Grondin Eloi and Fr. John Kabeya) to translate the decrees of the Council into Kiswahili “for the doctrines to penetrate the life of the Church, to bring health and new life in the souls of Christians.”47 43. Elizabeth A. Foster, African Catholic: Decolonization and the Transformation of the Church (Cambridge, MA, 2019), 5, 6, and 16. For details about “reading the signs of times,” see “Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World Gaudium et Spes Promulgated By His Holiness, Pope Paul VI” (Rome, December 7, 1965), 4. 44. “Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy Sacrosanctum Concilium Solemnly Promulgated by His Holiness Pope Paul VI” (Rome, December 4, 1963), 1. 45. “Evangelii Nuntiandi: Apostolic Exhortation of His Holiness Pope Paul VI to the Episcopate, to the Clergy and to all the Faithful of the entire World” (Rome, December 8, 1975), 1–2. 46. “Evangelii Nuntiandi,” 2. 47. Marko Mihayo, “Barua ya Baba Arkiaskofu wa Tabora” [“The letter of the Archbishop of Tabora”], in: Mtaguso Mkuu: Maelezo ya Hati 16 za Vatican II [The Vatican Council: 16 encyclicals of Vatican II] (Tabora,1969), 1–269, here 3; and Focus S. S. Ruzoka, “A Hidden Treasure: Archbishop Marko Mihayo 1960–1985” (Tabora, 2020), 104. 574 PRIESTS WITHOUT ORDINATION Archbishop Mihayo called for more catechists to work in villages because he was also concerned with catechetical matters in his diocese. He labored to produce a small catechism known as Katekisimu Yetu, which could be used as a tool in catechizing.48 He hoped that catechists would make use of the catechism because they were better placed to accommodate these changes as they interacted with Christians in villages and knew well the culture of the people to whom they evangelized. He also saw catechists as pillars of the parishes in his archdiocese because they were “successors of the seventy disciples who [worked in places] where he himself would go forward.”49 Before he sent priests to parishes and villages, added Archbishop Mihayo, “catechists [would be] sent to evangelize and to dispose the local people to receive the priest . . . [and to prepare] them religiously in mind and heart.”50 Political and economic changes that shaped mid-twentieth-century western Tanzania and Tanganyika corresponded to the decline in vocations in Europe. They affected many missionary activities in western Tanzania. For the most part, missionaries could not administer all mission stations, and African clergy were considerably few. Many mission stations were understaffed, and for the most part, catechists shouldered the responsibilities in missions and village outstations. With an increasing shortage of religious men and women to coordinate all pastoral and social services in Tabora, the White Fathers and White Sisters revised the management of parishes in western Tanzania. They toured villages, asking catechists to conscript the young to join seminaries and religious communities. To cater to the increased demand for catechists, the White Fathers made frequent visits to the village outstations of Ndala, Kahama, and Tabora, the priests looking for young men who aspired to become catechists. In conjunction, the Archbishop made frequent requests to the Propaganda Fide for financial support for their training.51 In 1967 the nationalist government launched the Arusha Declaration, which delineated the policies of “Socialism and Self-Reliance” and “Social48. Ruzoka, A Hidden Treasure, 152. 49. Marko Mihayo, A Talk to the Catechists at Castelgandolfo Catechetical Center,” September 24, 1981, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 303, fol. 004. 50. Marko Mihayo, A Talk to the Catechists, September 24, 1981, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 303, fol. 004. 51. See for instance Rt. Rev. Msgr. H. Goertz to Archbishop Marcus (alias Marko) Mihayo, July 4, 1962, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299; and Vicar General to Archbishop Marcus Mihayo, Tabora, July 11, 1962, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299. SALVATORY S. NYANTO 575 ism and Rural Development” to promote people-centered development. The policies advocated egalitarianism, social and spatial equalities, and communal life and production in settled ujamaa villages.52 By living together in ujamaa villages, Nyerere envisioned, people “would live and work together for the benefit of all.”53 Nyerere’s conviction on communal life and distribution of resources stemmed from his belief that “every human being is equal” and that “equality in human dignity and status” is vital for achieving “economic equality.”54 The Church responded to the policy of Socialism and Self-Reliance by establishing Small Christian Communities (Jumuiya Ndogo Ndogo), interpreting Ujamaa to mean familyhood.55 Ideas of Ujamaa (familyhood) attracted the attention of authorities of the Church. They corresponded with the decree of Vatican II, the Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World (Gaudium et spes), which stressed solidarity in families, clans, communities and villages. Increasingly, the Church in Tanzania regarded both Ujamaa and Gaudium et Spes as integral to human development because they prioritized human dignity, development, and peace.56 Catechists, Training, and Everyday Life at Ndala Catechist School: 1948–1978 In the early decades of the twentieth century, missionaries relied on the formerly enslaved men and women to work as resident catechists in the missions. These people were among the slaves from various parts of the East African interior who had joined mission communities at the turn of the twentieth century. At the Catholic mission station of Ndala, Leo Kalenga, a former slave from the Congo, taught catechumens in preparation for baptism and confirmation.57 At the Ushirombo mission, the formerly-enslaved Gerado Kazoza and Matorino Mulindwa worked as cate- 52. Julius K. Nyerere, “Socialism and Rural Development,” in: Freedom and Socialism, Selection from Writings and Speeches (Dar es Salaam, 1973), 1-58, here 7–9. 53. Julius K. Nyerere, “Kuishi Pamoja” [“Communal Life”], in: Insha Tatu za Kifalsafa [Kavazi Occasional Papers, No. 3] (2016), 34. 54. Julius K. Nyerere, “Watu wote ni sawa?” [“Are all people the same?”], in: Insha Tatu za Kifalsafa, 1; Tanganyika African National Union (hereafter TANU), The Arusha Declaration and TANU’S Policy on Socialism and Self-Reliance (Dodoma, 1967), 10–11; and TANU, Azimio la Arusha Baada ya Miaka Kumi (Dar es Salaam, 1977), 11–12. 55. Joseph G. Healey, A Fifth Gospel: The Experience of Black Christian Values (Maryknoll, 1981), 62–63. 56. Juvenalis B. Rwelamira, Tanzanian Socialism-Ujamaa and Gaudium et Spes: Two Convergent Designs of Integral Human Development (Rome, 1988), 60. 57. Salvatory Nyanto, interview with Maria Nyamizi Kalenga, Ndala, January 7, 2016, stored in Tabora Town, AAT (accession numbers not yet available). 576 PRIESTS WITHOUT ORDINATION Catechetical Instruction in Progress at Ndala Catechetical School. Photograph, unknown date, unknown photographer. Image is courtesy of the Archdiocese of Tabora. chists of the Ilyambamgongo and Namabuye villages.58 The “resident catechists” did not have formal training. They were few in number and were mostly confined to the missions and villages near the missions. Although resident catechists had become part of the mission community, their slave status lingered for the most part and considerably affected their work, as most of them could not command respect from the Christians.59 Despite the challenges rooted in slavery, early “resident catechists” were still regarded as “masters of the new ways” because they were closer to the alien missionary mode; they attended mission schools which inspired them to read, write, and prepare children and adults for baptism.60 58. Salvatory Nyanto, interview with Emmanuel Ndekanilo, Ushirombo, December 5, 2016, Maturino Mulindwa, Ushirombo, December 5, 2016, stored in Tabora Town, AAT (accession numbers not yet available). 59. Ndala Diary, December 1, 1906, Ndala, April 4, 1897, stored in White Fathers Archives in Dar es Salaam (hereafter WFA), Box 01, fol. 43; and Salvatory Nyanto, interview with Fr. Arnold Malambwa, Bussondo, November 24, 2016, stored in the Archives of the Archdiocese of Tabora in Tabora Town (accession numbers not yet available). 60. “The Origins and Role of Catechists in the Archdiocese of Tabora, 1879–1967,” August 31, 1967, pp. 12–13, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 297. SALVATORY S. NYANTO 577 The number of Christians increased in the first half of the twentieth century, which posed a more formidable challenge to handle due to the limited number of missionaries in western Tanzania. For the most part, many village outstations that were far from the missions remained closed, leaving congregants stranded because missionaries could not regularly visit them. Because “resident catechists” were alien to the culture of the people in the villages, they were confined to the premises of mission stations. To meet the demands of the increasing number of Christians in the villages, the Catholic White Fathers found it imperative to establish a school (famously called Misongeni) for training catechists who would work in the villages as cultural brokers. The school opened in Ndala in 1928, becoming the center for the everyday life of catechists at Ndala, who extended networks of friendship and support to residents of the mission as well as villagers. The euphoria that became a characteristic feature of the Ndala Catechist School was short-lived. No sooner had it become an important force to reckon with the growth of Christian culture than it was closed for a while before the Second World War. The school was closed as people abandoned villages for the fear of the war, but it was reopened immediately after the war in 1948. The school admitted those who had worked as catechists but needed further training. There was neither an age limit nor an entrance fee; married men with families, unmarried men, and those who volunteered to work as catechists could all attend the school. The only criterion was that they should have reached a standard of education sufficient to teach children in the village outstations, and to teach religion classes in primary and secondary schools.61 The course lasted for two years and Kiswahili was used throughout as a medium of instruction. In the villages, however, catechists used both the Kiswahili and Kinyamwezi languages to teach children about baptism and lead prayers. The school capped the maximum number of student-catechists at twenty-eight per intake to limit 61. Joseph Georges Edouard Michaud, Administrateur Apostolique, Tabora, Liste des Catéchistes, March 1–May 31, 1928, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299; Joseph Georges Edouard Michaud, Les Catéchistes, April 10, 1930, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299; P. Verhoeven, Rapport de l’école des Catéchistes (Ndala), August 10, 1949, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299; School for Catechists at Ndala, July 11, 1962, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299; Archbishop Marcus Mihayo, Tabora, Application for Assistance to Swiss Catholic Lenten Appeal, April 4, 1963, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299; Marcus Mihayo, Tabora, to Rt. Rev. Msgr. H. Goertz, March 27, 1963, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299; and The Pastoral Institute of Ndala, Archdiocese of Tabora, January 28, 1964, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299. 578 PRIESTS WITHOUT ORDINATION costs. Student-catechists earned a salary, though it remained below twenty shillings per month. Finding the salary insufficient, catechists made frequent requests for raises.62 Mission culture coupled with a tight schedule dominated the daily undertakings of student-catechists at Ndala. They attended thirty classes per week, of which eight classes were devoted to learning about the catechism. Catechists devoted other classes to learning Bible Knowledge, Church history, Mathematics, Liturgy, Hygiene, Music, and the Kiswahili language. They took written examinations in all subjects at the end of each month.63 In addition to studying, catechists had an hour of manual labor each day after classes, working in the field and growing various crops. Every Thursday in the afternoon, they went into the bush to collect firewood. Every Saturday in the afternoon, catechists were occupied with cleanliness and the rehearsal of songs for Sunday masses. They spent their leisure hours listening to the radio, playing cards, and playing soccer matches with the villagers of Ndala.64 The range of activities in the mission helped catechists extend networks of friendship among themselves and with the villagers of Ndala through these soccer matches, as well as into the villages after the two-year course at the Ndala mission.65 The mission culture integrated the wives of the student-catechists as part of the community in the school. Like their husbands, the time table and the range of activities not only shaped their lives but they also determined what they could do at the school. As part of the community, the 62. Barua toka kwa Walimu Wote wa Ndala kwenda kwa Arkiaskofu Cornelius Bronsveld [Letter from all catechists of Ndala to the Archbishop Cornelius Bronsveld], February 7, 1954, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299; School for Catechists at Ndala, July 11, 1962, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299; and The Pastoral Institute, January 28, 1964, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299. The archdiocese stopped paying student-catechists a salary in 1960 as it could not shoulder the heavy financial burden. 63. Kawaida ya Shule ya Walimu-Ndala [Daily time table for catechists at Ndala], November 8, 1948, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299; School for Catechists at Ndala, July 11, 1962, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299; Kawaida ya Walimu [Daily time table for catechists], Novemba 19, 1949, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol 299; and Ndala Walimu-School, Time Table, November 19, 1949, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299. 64. The Pastoral Institute, January 28, 1964, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299; and Kawaida ya Walimu [Time table for catechists], November 19, 1949, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299. 65. See for instance Ndala Diary, July 31, 1960, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299. SALVATORY S. NYANTO 579 clergy ensured that wives of student-catechists attend three classes of catechism every week as well as courses on home craft, cooking, and handicrafts. Women who had never been to school also attended classes for reading and writing. In this way, they formed part of the new identity of the literate Christian community. European missionaries at the school and of course during the sermons referred to the literate Christian community as vasomi (literate people) because they could read religious texts and write. Wives of student-catechists spent most of their free time on handicrafts.66 These activities provided them with opportunities to establish friendships with women in the mission and those living in the village of Ndala, who were not part of the mission community. They also rehearsed songs with the men on Saturday evenings in preparation for Sunday masses. In addition to studying, wives of student-catechists also shouldered the responsibility of child care.67 The classes for wives of student-catechists were not meant to train them to work as catechists in villages. This view, however, does not imply that women never worked as catechists. For instance, until 1930 about twelve women had been working as “lay catechists” in Tabora. Some joined the congregation of the Daughters of Mary, becoming the first lay sisters in the region.68 But for wives of student catechists, European missionaries intended to prepare them to demonstrate a model Christian family. Missionaries hoped they would provide an example of how Christian women should manage their domestic responsibilities, prepare food for the family and take care of children.69 Yet at the same time, the range of activities per66. School for Catechists at Ndala, July 11, 1962, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299. 67. School for Catechists at Ndala, July 11, 1962, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299; The Pastoral Institute, January 28, 1964, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299; The Pastoral Institute, January 28, 1964, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299; Marcus Mihayo, Tabora, to Rt. Rev. Msgr. H. Goertz, March 27, 1963, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299; and The Pastoral Institute of Ndala, January 28, 1964, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299. 68. Francis P. Nolan, “The Origins and Role of Catechists in the Archdiocese of Tabora, 1879–1967,” August 31 1967, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 297; and Salvatory S. Nyanto, “Signa temporum: Religious Health Care, Empire, and ChristianMuslim Relations in Western Tanzania, 1920s–1960,” The Catholic Historical Review, 104, no. 1 (2018), 113–36, here 119 and 121. 69. School for Catechists, July 11, 1962, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299; The Pastoral Institute, January 28, 1964, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299; Marcus Mihayo, Tabora, to Rt. Rev. Msgr. H. Goertz, March 27, 1963, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299; and The Pastoral Institute of Ndala, January 28, 1964, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299. 580 PRIESTS WITHOUT ORDINATION The Catechist and his Wife after Two-Year Training at Ndala School. Photograph, unknown date, unknown photographer. Image is courtesy of the Archdiocese of Tabora. formed by catechists and their wives in the mission helped them to extend their “fictive kinship” or “networked kin” beyond their blood relations in the villages where they worked after the two-year course at Ndala.70 Their mission experience further inspired catechists and their wives to build an “affective community” of Christians in the villages which was not based on family connections but rather on spiritual connection.71 At the end of the two-year course at Ndala, catechists and their families returned to the village outstations to take up their duties. In the outstations, catechists taught the rudiments of religion to beginners, prepared catechumens for baptism, and instructed all of the Christians in the villages. Other responsibilities included leading prayers on Sundays and festivals, visiting families in the villages at least once in a week, holding periods of instruction every evening, and teaching religious classes in nearby 70. Elisabeth McMahon, Slavery and Emancipation in Islamic East Africa: From Honor to Respectability (Cambridge, UK, 2013), 196. 71. Andreana C. Prichard, Sisters in Spirit: Christianity, Affect, and Community Building in East Africa, 1860–1970 (East Lansing, MI, 2017), 4. SALVATORY S. NYANTO 581 schools.72 All catechists earned a minimum salary, but most catechists farmed to ameliorate their financial situation. Some had to leave their outstations and villages from time to time to take temporary jobs or to collect wild honey in the forests.73 Initially, the catechetical committee held that catechists should not necessarily go back to their natal parishes unless needed. Nonetheless, many catechists returned to work in their home villages which had no catechists. For instance, after completing his studies, Tito Nsimbila returned to his village, Kaguwa, to work as a catechist; and Philipo Manyelo from Iyombo returned to work in his village as a catechist. Similarly, Gaspali Sunhwa returned to work at Puge after he completed the course.74 In all these areas, catechists led the people in prayer during Sunday services, prepared children for baptism, and taught religion in schools. Prayers and the liturgy in general were in Latin and Kinyamwezi. Although catechists were unfamiliar with Latin, they relied on the catechism, which was written in Kinyamwezi. They occasionally used Kiswahili, as it was well-known in the region. By teaching children and adults, and by leading Christians to pray, they contributed to the growth of Christianity in their villages. In this way, male catechists in villages worked as “priests without ordination” and female catechists as “substitutes for sisters.”75 In addition to official catechists in mission and village outstations, a sizable number of volunteer catechists and lay Christians bought books to learn to read, and some catechists in villages established their own schools, teaching methods, and ways of obtaining pupils for instruction. Others volunteered to teach catechism in the missions and outstations without pay. The sources do not inform the reader about volunteer catechists; the only clue available is that they were very few in comparison to the 72. School for Catechists, July 11, 1962, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299; and The Pastoral Institute, January 28, 1964, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299. 73. The Pastoral Institute, January 28, 1964, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299. 74. Salvatory Nyanto, Interview with Felista Lonjini, Ndala, September 6, 2016, deposited in Tabora Town, AAT (accession numbers not yet available). 75. Rt. Rev. Msgr. Goertz, Päpstliches Werk der Glaubensverbreitung [The Pontifical Society for the Propagation of Faith], to Archbishop Marc Mihayo, July 4, 1962, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299; Salvatory Nyanto, Interview with Joakimu Soteri Lusalago, Mabisilo, September 6, 2016, and interview with Merkiori Maganga, Magreti Machibya, and Magdalena Filipo Milembe, Usongo, November 16, 2016, both deposited in Tabora Town, AAT (accession numbers not yet available). 582 PRIESTS WITHOUT ORDINATION employed catechists, commonly referred to as resident catechists, in the villages. Some volunteer catechists attended the Ndala School, while others did not attend the school but volunteered to work as catechists because they had attended mission schools and understood the rudiments of the religion. However, it is evident from sources that around Tabora, some people wanted to learn to read and write, and for that purpose they bought books from the mission and studied them by themselves. Some succeeded in teaching themselves how to read and write and established their own schools to teach pupils and adults in the villages.76 Mlewa was one of the catechists who established his own village school. He attended the Usoke Moravian mission school, acquiring knowledge there that increased his desire to establish his own school. Therefore he went to the Catholic mission at Tabora to obtain books and enrolled groups of pupils into his school at Usungu village.77 In 1929, at his own expense, Mlewa built a classroom to accommodate pupils in the village. In 1931, catechist Mlewa completed the first year’s instruction with 150 pupils. On visiting the village of Usungu, one priest reported that Mlewa’s class was “in progress . . . most [pupils] knew the first part of catechism and had learnt the prayers too.”78 The volunteer catechists’ schools preserved an informality that permitted some adaptation to the indigenous culture. The growth of schools in villages that were run by volunteer catechists, including Mlewa’s school, fit easily into the school system of the missions. Volunteer catechists built classrooms at their own expense with assistance from pupils, designed writing tables to facilitate learning to read and write, and attracted both the young and the adults of the villages to come and learn.79 In addition to teaching catechism, a group of catechists trained at Ndala designed a simple method of reading and writing alphabets on the writing tables. Francis Nolan argues that they even “designed their own alphabet by means of which they corresponded with each other in a quite original script.”80 However, the absence of written records of these catechists makes it challenging to dig deeper into the methods of teaching and what Nolan regards as “new alphabets.” By virtue of such initiatives, these volunteer 76. Nolan, “Changing Role,” 12–13, August 31, 1967, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 297. 77. Nolan, “Christianity,” 315. 78. Nolan, “Changing Role,” 1967, 12, August 31, 1967, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 297. 79. Nolan, “Christianity,” 315. 80. Ibid. SALVATORY S. NYANTO 583 catechists fit into the category of “peasant intellectuals” or “local intellectuals,” because they designed teaching aids to suit the needs of pupils and the milieu of village life.81 Like employed catechists, volunteer catechists in the villages assessed their pupils with regular examinations and tried to place their students on the same footing as students of employed catechists.82 In addition, volunteer catechists invited bishops and priests to visit them, built chapels, and organized Christians to construct paths to facilitate communication between villages and missions. Having worked for a considerable period, some volunteer catechists came to be considered “official mission catechists,” but the majority continued to work without pay to “save the honor of being a mwalimu” (teacher).83 At the Mwale village outstation, which was located some twenty miles to the south of Tabora, no missionary visited the outstation for four years, but the volunteer catechist continued his classes with a sizable number of catechumens. At Igalula, to the east of Tabora, five volunteer catechists organized classes with catechumens from the village outstation.84 The work of catechists (both volunteer and employed catechists) in villages increased the importance of schools as a means of attracting children and catechumens to Christianity. At Ushirombo, one diarist commented, “the wind is blowing towards the school; people speak only of schools; there is no salvation outside school,” implying a growing interest in schools among the Nyamwezi young men, adults, and children.85 With increasing interest in schooling, catechists gradually became figures of considerable prestige and influence in Unyamwezi. The influence of catechists undermined the authority of chiefs in Unyamwezi, and, accordingly, became a source of contention between chiefs and catechists. On occasion, chiefs complained that catechists used their position to prevent their pupils from working for them.86 At Ndala, the catechist Anthony Nkisa led the Christians to rebel against the imposition by the chief of thirty days of forced 81. Ibid. For details about intellectuals (used in this context to mean Nyamwezi Christian intellectuals), see Steven Feierman, Peasant Intellectuals: Anthropology and History in Tanzania (Madison, WI, 1990); and Emma Hunter, Political Thought and the Public Sphere in Tanzania: Freedom, Democracy and Citizenship in the Era of Decolonization (Cambridge, UK, 2015). 82. Nolan, “Christianity,” 315. 83. Nolan, “Christianity,” 314 and 316. 84. Nolan, “Christianity,” 316. 85. Nolan, “Christianity,” 316; Ushirombo Diary, January 11, 1928, stored in Dar es Salaam, WFA, Box 01, fol. 43. 86. Nolan, “Christianity,” 317. 584 PRIESTS WITHOUT ORDINATION labor instead of the customary one or two days a month.87 The movement against the chief of Ndala demonstrates the declining authority and influence of chiefs over the people as some missions and outstations grew to become centers of dissent in the region. With the increasing number of Christians, including both volunteer and ‘official’ catechists working in villages, dependent outstations grew to become independent parishes in areas beyond Ndala parish. The Catholic parish of Usongo was founded in 1930, while Kitangiri, Mwisi, and Puge became parishes in 1949.88 By 1950, catechists completing the training at Ndala worked in villages of many parishes in Unyamwezi. They included Ushirombo, Lububu, Ndala, Tabora, Kaniha, and Ngaya parishes. Other parishes included Kitangiri, Bulungwa, Kahama, and Usongo.89 The work of catechists influenced other men to join the college at Ndala to work as catechists after completion. Joakimu Soteri is an example of a man who became motivated by the work of catechists and joined the school to work as a catechist. He began work as a catechist in 1952 and was heavily influenced by his brother-in-law, who was also a catechist. Soteri’s first outstation was at Chapela in Uyui where he worked between 1952 and 1957 before relocating to Mabisilo. He used Kinyamwezi in worship and daily communication, a practice which enabled the Nyamwezi Christians to understand the liturgy better than the Latin version.90 Similarly, the lives of the wives of catechists influenced women in villages where their husbands worked. Village women learned from the wives of catechists the skills, including handicraft and reading and writing, that they had acquired throughout the two years of their stay at the Ndala mission.91 Apart from attracting the Nyamwezi villagers to Christianity, catechists encouraged some of their sons and daughters to become teachers, 87. Nolan, “Changing Role,” 1967, 12–13, August 31, 1967, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 297. 88. Annual Report, Nzega District, for the year 1930–1931, stored in Dar es Salaam, TNA, Acc. No. 967/823; Annual Report on Native Affairs, Nzega District, for the year 1949, stored in Dar es Salaam, TNA, Acc. No. 967/823; and Jubilee Usongo na Igumo, Matukio ya Kila Siku, year 1980, stored in Dar es Salaam, WFA, Box 01, fol. 74. 89. Catéchistes, November, 12, 1952, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299. 90. Interview with Joakimu Soteri Lusalago, Mabisilo, September 6, 2016. Soteri insisted that “nilitumia Kinyamwezi kuanzia mwanzo hadi mwisho wa ibada.” 91. School for Catechists, July 11, 1962, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299; The Pastoral Institute of Ndala, January 28, 1964, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299; and Marcus Mihayo, Tabora, to Rt. Rev. Msgr. H. Goertz, March 27, 1963, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299. SALVATORY S. NYANTO 585 nuns, and priests. For example, Adelado Nkunde, a catechist who worked at various outstations, was a brother of another catechist and a father of priests. Adelado worked at the Catholic mission of Ndala while his brother, Benedicto Inega, served in the parishes of Lububu and Kitangiri.92 Adelado’s sons, John Kabeya and Ambrose Mhaliga, were ordained priests and played important roles in shaping the course of Catholicism in Unyamwezi. Father Kabeya wrote a well-known history of Mirambo, Mtemi Mirambo, while Fr. Mhaliga composed Kinyamwezi songs for use in the liturgy. His songs were widely used in Unyamwezi, as they departed from Latin and used Kinyamwezi idioms and references to Nyamwezi culture. Several daughters of catechists attended mission schools and worked as teachers, while others formed the basis for the first generation of indigenous nuns in Unyamwezi. By the 1940s, the Society of Daughters of Mary (Kiswahili: Mabinti wa Maria) had incorporated twelve women into the congregation, some working as lay catechists and others becoming nuns. The included Mama Odilia, Maria Mukola, Agnesi Balakatunga, Anna Nakatoto (Doto), Katharian Ifunzya, Virginia, Paulina, Magdalena, Getruda Shilambele, Priscila, Martha Nyamizi, and Josepha.93 The growth of Christianity in the first half of the twentieth century was due in good part to the zealous works of catechists, and indeed, the sources are indicative of their contribution. One learns from the sources that catechists in the Catholic missions of Unyamwezi increased after the establishment of the Ndala Catechist School. By December 1966, there were twenty-three parishes with 464 catechists working in missions and village outstations.94 The increase in the number of catechists permitted an increase in village outstations. Consequently, the Catholic population increased from 17,697 in 1948 to 27,800 in 1956.95 The increase in the 92. Catechist Benedicto Inega, Kitangili Mission, October 25, 1956, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 297. 93. John B. Kabeya, Mtemi Mirambo: Mtawala Shujaa wa Kinyamwezi [Chief Mirambo: A Nyamwezi Hero] (Dar es Salaam, 1971); Eustella Josephat, Constitution of the Daughters of Mary-Tabora (Kipalapala, 2011); Salvatory Nyanto, interview with Theodori Kulinduka, Gaspali Bundala, and Mikaeli Katabi, Ndala, September 8, 2016; Salvatory Nayanto, interview with Theodori Kulinduka, Ndala, January 7, 2016; and Salvatory Nyanto, interview with Felista Lonjini Namna, Uhemeli, September 6, 2016. These interviews are deposited in the archives of the archdiocese of Tabora. 94. Nolan, “Changing Role,” August 31, 1967, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 297. 95. Statistics, Tabora Archdiocese, 1930-1950, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 322, fol. 399; Statistics, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 297; Statistiques des missions 1937–1948, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 350, fol. 002; and Statistiques annuelles, 1938–1957, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 350, fol. 002. PRIESTS WITHOUT ORDINATION 586 Number of Baptized Christians in the Missions and Villages, 1948–1956 YEAR 1948 1949 1950 1951 1952 1953 1954 1955 1956 Tabora Itaga Ndonno Ndala Ussongo Lububu Ushirombo Bulungwa Itamuka Mbulu-Kahama Makiungu Ngaya Kipalapala Kaniha Bussanda Lukula Igalula Kitangili Urambo Igumo 1251 2797 1451 1800 4661 1600 1320 1089 870 1283 1500 3500 4864 1625 1700 1141 785 4900 1352 942 1141 821 1300 2217 1600 4500 1380 973 1224 958 1345 2285 600 4728 2150 1021 1306 1006 1424 2290 675 6023 2400 1057 1414 1093 1554 2137 1007 6208 1705 968 1541 1057 2179 2213 856 6468 1799 1060 1619 1127 2137 2374 917 6943 752 1096 1470 1248 1614 1806 1888 1952 2025 2100 2450 2500 2500 800 810 840 420 934 774 420 1007 800 403 1158 880 400 1061 998 400 1135 1250 368 1505 950 392 1555 985 402 1549 1346 409 1337 409 1385 450 817 1418 450 905 1527 445 919 4050 1513 465 874 2160 1453 465 926 1363 1508 442 853 1245 1680 480 864 1388 1015 TOTAL 17,697 22,144 18,169 21,238 25,748 26,021 25,957 26,766 27,800 number of Christians corresponded to the steady increase in the number of baptized Christians in postwar Tabora’s missions and village outstations. One learns, for instance, that the number of baptized Christians at the Ndala mission (including its village outstations) increased from 4,661 in 1948 to 6,943, while the number of Christians in the Tabora mission increased from 1,251 to 1,948. Similarly, the number of baptized Christians in Mbulu increased from 1,614 in 1948 to 2,500 in 1956, and the number of Christians in Lukula increased from 1,346 to 1,680.96 Indeed, the expansion and growth of Christianity can be attributed to the works of unordained catechists whose two year-course at the Ndala Catechist School helped them carry the ethos of Christianity into villages beyond the mission stations. 96. Statistiques annuelles, 1938–1957, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 350, fol. 002. SALVATORY S. NYANTO 587 Line Graph on Baptized Christians in the Missions and Villages, 1948–1956. Catechesis, Religious Instruction, and Christianity in Villages: The 1950s–1975 Catechetical instruction dominated the daily routine of catechists in twentieth-century western Tanzania. In addition to leading services on Sundays, catechists were preoccupied with teaching catechism to youth and adult catechumens in preparation for baptism and confirmation. The Kiswahili catechism, Katekismu Yetu (literally, Our Catechism), which had the imprimatur of the archbishopric, became the “proper tool for catechetical instructions” across parishes and outstations.97 In teaching catechism, catechists made pupils (wanafunzi) recite words from the catechism to make them learn the text by heart before they could take an entry examination for baptism and confirmation. Then the catechists accompanied pupils’ recitations with answers, explanations, and analyses of the text, even word by word.98 To help students remember the answers of the catechism, catechists would sing the answers to simple tunes.99 Catechists also accom- 97. Ruzoka, A Hidden Treasure, 152. 98. (Unknown author), Teaching Catechism, Usongo, December 18, 1964, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 200. 99. Nolan, “Changing Role,” 11, August 31, 1967, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 297. 588 PRIESTS WITHOUT ORDINATION panied recitation and the singing of the catechism with the copy of the Hadithi ya Dini (in English: The Story of Religion), which they would read to students to serve “as explanations of the questions and answers in the Catechism.”100 Teaching catechism corresponded with religious instruction in villages. Because of the increasing number of pupils aspiring to become Christians, catechists found it imperative to extend the scope of religious instruction beyond the milieu of village outstations to government schools (primary schools) in the villages. Some lay teachers joined hands with the catechists as they volunteered to teach religion in schools and colleges. The work of Pamphil Chubwa and Mwalimu S. Sadiki (a Muslim who had converted to Catholicism) as volunteer teachers of religion classes at the Tabora Teachers College and Uyui Secondary School leaves no doubt that a considerable number of lay Christians taught religion in schools and colleges on their own volition.101 Catechists and “volunteer” teachers covered several topics, including life, work, and leisure in a changing society, as well as justice, service, and loyalty to the society. These topics aimed to help pupils “deepen the meaning of their Christian life” and to be a guide to the “orientation of their lives” in the Church and in society at large.102 In due course, vocation clubs in villages, which were under the patronage of catechists, provided pupils with a useful platform to dig deeper into their Christian faith. Vocation clubs became important facets of refashioning Catholicism in twentieth-century western Tanzania because they prepared students for major seminary after their secondary education. In so doing, they laid the basis for the consolidation of African clergy and successive generations of catechists in villages.103 The diocesan catechetical committee designed correspondence courses to ensure effective religious instruction in the villages (masomo kwa njia ya barua). The committee designed the course as part of distance learning so that catechists would improve the learning and teaching of religion in village primary schools. The course designers drew questions from the Bible, 100. Ruzoka, A Hidden Treasure, 153. 101. Report on Catechetical work, November 20, 1974, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 200. 102. Sr. Jeannine Harleux, Report on Catechetical work, July 17, 1975, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 200. 103. Catechetical work, July 17, 1975, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 200; and Sr. Jeannine Harleux, “Report on Catechetical work,” November 20, 1974, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 200. SALVATORY S. NYANTO 589 reflecting the liturgical year, for catechists to deepen their faith and “enhance learning and thinking about religion” (kujifunza na kufikiri juu ya dini).104 That the committee expected the course to broaden catechists’ thoughts about religion seems to suggest that it had envisioned building an independent literate community (vasomi ) of catechists in the villages who could help adherents to read and interpret scriptures. Catechists could read and respond to the questions, and then the responses would be mailed to the diocesan catechetical committee for feedback. Initially, the committee proposed that catechists cover the costs for the course pack, but because life in the villages was becoming increasingly unsustainable, many could not afford a regular subscription. Hence, the parishes of the villages in which the catechists worked paid the cost for the course pack and postage.105 Catechetical training was not an easy ride, as several circumstances in the villages brought the program to a virtual halt. While the correspondence course seemed ideal in shaping the nature and character of Christianity in twentieth-century western Tanzania, it was confronted by a number of problems. No sooner had the correspondence course been introduced than it fell out of favor among the catechists in the villages. Parish priests had little interest in the course, and, subsequently, “few catechists bothered to answer the questions.”106 The diminishing interest among the clergy and catechists meant that the culture of independent reading and interpretation of the scripture was inevitably doomed to collapse like a house of cards. Further, the presence of many outstations meant that catechists would turn in as many responses as possible, causing difficulties in grading the papers and conveying payment to the priests entrusted with the task. These two problems, commented Fr. L. Saint-Pierre, who was working as director of the archdiocesan catechetical committee, “would probably be big enough to kill the project before it was born.”107 Apparently, the course seems to suggest that its existence was dependent on the personal initiatives of the founding director, Fr. L. Saint-Pierre. It is no wonder the course stopped when his tenure came to an end.108 104. Fr. L. Saint-Pierre, Catechetical work, Kahama, Mbulu, September 16, 1974, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 200. 105. Fr. Saint-Pierre, Kahama Parish, September 16, 1974, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 200. 106. Rev. Father L. Saint-Pierre, Kahama, to Archbishop Marko Mihayo, April 16, 1974, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 200. 107. Fr. Saint-Pierre to Archbishop Mihayo, April 16, 1974, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 200. 108. Fr. Saint-Pierre to Archbishop Mihayo, April 16, 1974, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 200. 590 PRIESTS WITHOUT ORDINATION Furthermore, books and methods of catechetical instructions across western Tanzania varied from one place to another depending on catechists’ modes of teaching. The lack of a single text to be used across the entire archdiocese of Tabora culminated in differences in understanding and approaches to religion among catechists and students in the village primary schools. The report on the progress of catechesis for the year 1950 suggests a lack of common methods of instruction across the village outstations of the Ushirombo, Ndala, Kahama, Usongo, Tabora and Lukula missions.109 While some missions insisted that catechists rely on Mungu wa Wanadamu (People’s God) as a standard text for catechism classes in missions and villages, some missions, on the other hand, placed the emphasis on Katekismu ya Kiswahili Tanganyika (Tanganyika’s Swahili Catechism).110 Despite the differences in texts, catechists relied on recitation of texts coupled with explanations as a method of instruction. Nevertheless, Fr. J. B. Cuierrier—a member of the catechetical committee and parish priest of Usongo—objected to this method as simply “soul-killing, ineffective, not pedagogical and boring.”111 His rhetorical questions were: How can a Mnyamwezi love to attend such lessons? and, How can he be interested? The situation seems to suggest that learning the catechism by heart was not wholeheartedly supported by the clergy as a proper method of instruction because it deprived pupils and catechumens of independent reading and interpretation of texts. Consequently, the Nyamwezi learned by heart the answers of the catechism in preparation for the examination without knowing the meaning of the words. This method, to reiterate Fr. Cuierrier’s remark, seemed “useless.”112 Adding to the difficulty, most catechists seemed unfit for teaching pupils in primary schools. Of course, the majority were “not up to standard” because they had insufficient education to tackle the subject matter. Hence, many catechists presented a serious objection to teaching Grade Six and Grade Seven because “it was difficult to teach those classes.”113 109. Catechism in Schools, February 1, 1950, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 200. 110. Catechism in Schools, February 1, 1950, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 200. 111. Fr. J. B. Cuierrier to Archbishop Marko Mihayo, Usongo, December 18, 1964, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 200. 112. Fr. J. B. Cuierrier to Archbishop Mihayo, Usongo, December 18, 1964, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 200. See also Archbishop Marko Mihayo to Fathers, Sisters, and Brothers, Tabora, December 21, 1964, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 200. 113. Fr. L. Saint-Pierre to Archbishop Marko Mihayo, March 26, 1967, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 200; and Mkutano wa Kamati ya Mafundisho ya Dini SALVATORY S. NYANTO 591 Initially, the catechetical committee succeeded in instituting the refresher course, but the better-trained catechists it was meant to provide did not materialize, because it could not “make up for brains” and the only solution to the problem was to transfer an “inefficient” catechist and “bring a new and better one on the spot.”114 Head teachers of various primary schools in villages complained to the parish priests that catechists were lazy and often missed classes or arrived too late to attend to their pupils. For that reason, some head teachers refused to give more religion classes for the fear that pupils would not be taught. Nevertheless, the complaints against catechists’ inefficiency were built on false premises, as they did not take into account the real situation in the villages. In fact, some catechists objected to teaching those classes (especially Grades Six and Seven) which required more time to prepare the lesson plan, because they taught more than twenty classes in schools located far away. The distance to the school often impeded catechists’ efficiency, sometimes leading to missed classes.115 The last, but by no means least, challenge concerned the syllabus of catechetical instruction. Catechists used the syllabi developed between 1950 and 1971, which of course left a lot to be desired. For instance, the Gaba Pastoral Institute in Kenya developed one syllabus, which was famously called Gaba Syllabus (Mtaala wa Gaba). It had three obvious major weaknesses based on content, method, and concepts. Fr. B. O’Rourk, one of the members of the catechetical committee, summarized the weaknesses as follows: For content, Fr. O’Rourk said that the entire syllabus appeared to be western-oriented, ignoring African orientations. The emphasis was put on the “wrong points” because the syllabus writers paid no attention to the personality and the community aspects of the lives of the students. In this case, said Fr. O’Rourk, “religion was authoritarian.”116 As for method, the syllabus rendered students incapable of talking and discovering things for [Meeting on the Catechetical Committee], Tabora, April 21, 1970, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 200. 114. Fr. L. Saint-Pierre to Archbishop Marko Mihayo, Kahama, March 26, 1967, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 200. 115. Fr. Saint-Pierre, Kahama, to Archbishop Marko Mihayo, March 26, 1967, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 200; and Kamati ya Mafundisho [catechetical committee], Tabora, April 21, 1970, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 200. 116. Mkutano wa Walimu Wafundishao Dini katika Shule za Sekondari za hapa Tabora [Meeting for teachers of religion in Secondary Schools, Tabora], March 4, 1974, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 200. 592 PRIESTS WITHOUT ORDINATION themselves. The syllabus was designed to enable students to pass the examinations, not to inculcate them with ingenuity and the ability to do independent interpretation of texts. With regard to concepts, the ideas in the syllabus were “very intellectual and not [about] life.” The teachers’ notes seemed to be mechanical as they did not relate to the students’ lives, and, above all, the language “was not well understood” by the catechists, the majority of whom had only basic education.117 Sustaining Catechists: Contestations, Ruptures, and Dissent in Catholic Missions: The 1950s–1975 The work of catechists (through both catechesis and religious instruction in schools) leaves no doubt that by the mid-twentieth century, Christianity in Unyamwezi had established itself in villages beyond the mission stations. The phenomenal expansion of Christianity and the enormous increase in the number of Christians was associated with the passionate efforts of catechists working in the villages. Christians in some village outstations which were peripheral to the mission stations rarely saw priests. The villagers’ interaction with catechists through Sunday services, teaching, and learning earned catechists a commendable reputation as “teachers” and “masters of new ways” (reading and learning) in villages.118 While the work of catechists in establishing Christianity became an important force with which to reckon in the development of Christianity, life in the villages presented a formidable challenge to their attempts to meet familial and religious obligations. Teaching catechumens and children, leading believers on Sunday prayers and services, and visiting the sick and the Christians of the villages dominated the day-to-day undertakings of catechists, in addition to shouldering their familial responsibilities.119 While all catechists performed similar tasks (catechetical instruction, singing, and leading congregants on Sundays), differences between them in the monthly salaries and remunerations (posho) indicated unequal treatment and divisions, and led to decreased morale of catechists in the villages. In some missions’ village outstations, catechists earned one hundred shillings per month, while others received seventy, twenty, or as low as twelve shillings. In other missions, catechists earned thirty, twenty, and 117. Walimu Wafundishao Dini [Teachers of Religion], March 4, 1974, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 200. 118. See for instance Nolan, “Christianity,” 316. 119. Catechist Salary: Circular no. 3, May 25, 1957, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298. SALVATORY S. NYANTO 593 twelve shillings.120 Church authorities attributed the differences in catechists’ salaries and remunerations to “hard work and zealous efforts” in teaching, singing, prayer, and an increased number of students attending religious instruction.121 These discrepancies, nevertheless, created an apple of discord between catechists and church authorities that discouraged a great deal of the catechists’ work in the villages. Differences in payment further increased discontentment and grudges among catechists, who could not see a “clear cut between their responsibilities and hard work.”122 Persistent complaints of unfair treatment and life challenges in the villages encouraged the catechists of Tabora, Upuge, and Ndono to call upon church authorities for an increase in salary and posho. Catechists from nearly all the village outstations of the three mission stations held a meeting at Ndonno to discuss their work as catechists and the “real situation” in villages that “put their lives at risk.”123 The pre-existing culture of friendship, collegiality, and support established at the Ndala Catechist School helped catechists forge the necessary unity to share common experiences of their lives in the villages and to express their resentments against church authority. Networks of friendship and support continued in their postNdala School lives, manifesting in regular communication, visits, and the sharing of personal experiences in working in the village outstations.124 In no time, catechists working in the village outstations of the Tabora, Upuge, and Ndonno missions united their efforts to bring to prominence the “subaltern voices,” using the letter of complaints as the “weapon of the 120. Catechist Salary, May 25, 1957, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298; Fr. Peter Mirambo, Ushetu mission, to Fr. Anthony Nyambwe, January 2, 1958, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298; Urambo Catholic mission, January 2, 1958, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298; Peter Mirambo, Ushetu, to Archbishop Cornelius Bronsveld, January 6, 1958, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298; Urambo Catholic Mission, January 22, 1958, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298; and Catechists Salaries: Tabora Parish, March 6, 1958, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298. 121. Fr. Ambrose Mhaliga, Catechist Salary, Ngaya mission, January 22, 1957, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298; Fr. Anthony Nyambwe, Ushetu Ibelansuka, January 1, 1958, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298; Fr. Mirambo to Fr. Nyambwe, January 2, 1958, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298; and Fr. Peter Mirambo, Ushetu, to Archbishop Bronsveld, January 6, 1958, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298. 122. Fr. Mirambo to Fr. Nyambwe, January 2, 1958, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298. 123. Letter from catechists of Tabora, Ndonno and Upuge to Archbishop Mihayo, February 21, 1961, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298. 124. Letter from catechists to Archbishop Mihayo, February 21, 1961, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298. 594 PRIESTS WITHOUT ORDINATION weak” against the dominant discourse of “hard work” and “salaries” imposed on them by church authorities.125 The range of networks created at the Ndala School inspired catechists in other mission stations to mount their own rebellions against the clergy. At the Ndala mission, catechists held a meeting to discuss their disgruntling lives in the villages, and subsequently submitted their resolutions to the Archbishop. They accused the bishop of having “forsaken them” and stated that “[catechists] were no longer servants of the bishop nor priests . . . they were free to live without interference.”126 Catechists further emphasized that “the priest would take his food to the village outstation” and that “no woman would be allowed to cook for the priest unless he paid 5 shillings for each day.”127 As for salary adjustments, catechists emphatically made it known to the bishop that “we would assess the amount we want to be paid” (tutapima kiasi tunachotaka kulipwa), implying salary raises would be subject to negotiations between catechists and church authority.128 Dissent snowballed in the village outstations of the Kahama mission station as catechists opposed church authority. They called for priests to gather and teach congregants “without assistance from catechists in villages.”129 At the Igalula outstation, the catechist-in-chief called for “democracy” for catechists to decide and do whatever they wished without priests’ interference.130 That catechists had no democracy suggests that they were duty-bound to abide by the Church’s authority in exercising pastoral 125. Letter from catechists, February 21, 1961, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298. In formulating arguments about “subaltern voices” and “weapons of the weak,” the author is indebted to the works of Ranajit Guha and Gayatri C. Spivak, eds., Selected Subaltern Studies (New York, 1988); and James C. Scott, Weapons of the Weak: Everyday Forms of Peasant Resistance (New Haven, 1985). 126. Mgomo wa Makatekista dhidi ya Askofu na Mapadri [Catechists’ rebellion against the archbishop and priests], Ndala, February 20, 1961, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298. Catechists emphatically told the bishop in Kiswahili that “Arkiaskofu ametutupa . . . hatuko watumishi wake wala mapadri . . . kumbe tuko huru kufanya tutakavyo” [The archbishop has abandoned us . . . we are neither his workers nor priests’ . . . we are free to do whatever we wish]. 127. Mgomo wa Makatekista [Catechists’ rebellion], February 20, 1961, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298. 128. Mgomo wa Makatekista [Catechists’ rebellion], February 20, 1961, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298. 129. Mgomo wa Makatekista [Catechists’ rebellion], February 20, 1961, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298. 130. Mgomo wa Makatekista [Catechists’ rebellion], February 20, 1961, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298. SALVATORY S. NYANTO 595 works in villages. It also suggests asymmetrical relations that inevitably relegated catechists to the edges of the Church’s hierarchy. Relations of this sort, coupled with a tight schedule, discipline and manual occupation in the missions and village outstations, culminated in the catechists’ complaints that “they were being treated like schoolboys.”131 Catechists’ opposition to unequal treatment halted a great deal of the progress of Christianity in the villages. Many catechists felt offended, and therefore surrendered the good pastoral work in the villages and resorted to labor migration to towns, mining centers, and coastal plantations that provided men with avenues to earn the cash necessary to regain respectability back in Unyamwezi.132 At the Ushetu mission, three catechists lost their hearts for the job. One catechist working in the outstation surrendered the work for good and left for the Mwadui gold mine (Williamson’s gold mine) in search of a decent job to sustain his family. Another catechist at Sikonge also decided to give up the job, and no one volunteered to replace him.133 The fact that there was no replacement suggests that the villagers were aware of the hardships of the catechists, such that the younger generation did not dare to venture into the job. Although the available primary sources do not inform the reader about the fate of the Sikonge outstation after the departure of the catechist, it is clear that his absence persisted for some time until the situation turned to normalcy. It is also plausible that the networks the catechists had built at the Ndala school helped them communicate the message of their discontentment to the villagers, who found it reasonable not to let their youth become catechists.134 Catechists’ secession from pastoral work had noticeable implications for the growth of Christianity in Unyamwezi as the religious progression of believers, children and catechumens in the villages who had been attending religious instruction came to a standstill with no catechists. At Ndala, dissenting catechists affected the turnover of the catechetical school because they discouraged aspiring young men from joining it. Fr. J. B. Cuierrier, 131. Ndala Report, July 31, 1960, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298. 132. For discussion of honor in Unyamwezi, see Michelle R. Moyd, Violent Intermediaries: African Soldiers, Conquest, and Everyday Colonialism in German East Africa (Athens, 2014), 65, and John Iliffe, Honour in African History (Cambridge, UK, 2005), 281. 133. Fr. Mirambo to Fr. Nyambwe, January 2, 1958, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298; Letter of catechists, February 21, 1961, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298; and Fr. Peter Dalali to the unnamed Director of Ndala Catechist School, Lukula Parish, July 16, 1962, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298. 134. Fr. Peter Dalali to the unnamed Director of Ndala Catechist School, Lukula Parish, July 16, 1962, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, Folio 298. 596 PRIESTS WITHOUT ORDINATION working at the Ndala Catechetical School, complained that within only five days of his appointment, problems had already resurfaced. Fr. Cuierrier grumbled that “[he] had no students . . . only seven had applied.”135 He toured to other parishes looking for students but hardly got one. Young men desired to live a decent life and asked for a salary when Cuierrier approached them with offers to join the Ndala Catechetical School.136 He resorted to traveling to Kahama—an area that is peripheral to Ndala—with hopes of getting students, but his efforts yielded no substantial results. Catechists’ dissenting voices against church authority in Kahama accounted for the declining interest among the youth to join the catechetical school. It also seems plausible to suggest that the catechists’ resolutions against inequality and unfair treatment among them, reached in the meeting of Kahama, had a bearing on Cuierrier’s disappointing results in the area.137 The diminishing number of student-catechists at the Ndala School and catechists’ resignations in the villages called for the clergy to reconsider the payment of a monthly salary as a strategy for supporting catechists in the villages. Nevertheless, the decision to subsidize catechists divided the clergy in Unyamwezi. The White Fathers believed that catechists should be paid salaries and other remunerations by donations from Europe because of their tight schedule in the villages. The White Fathers’ insistence on subsidizing catechists encouraged a few mission stations of Ndala, Itaga, Tabora and Mbulu (Kahama) to pay catechists a salary.138 Conversely, Nyamwezi priests held the principium of self-reliance. They held a strong conviction that catechists should not be overworked like “slaves”; instead, “they should be taught to become self-reliant” by cultivating fields allocated to them in villages.139 In so doing, Nyamwezi priests objected to an 135. Fr. J. B. Cuierrier to Archbishop Mihayo, Ndala, October 22, 1967, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298. 136. J. B. Cuierrier to Mihayo, October 22, 1967, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298. 137. J. B. Cuierrier to Mihayo, October 22, 1967, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298; Mgomo wa Makatekista [Catechists’ rebellion], February 20, 1961, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298. 138. Fr. J. B. Cuierrier to Fr. Maguire, Ndala mission, August 26, 1970, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298; Letter of unnamed Priest to Archbishop Mihayo, Ndala, October 20, 1969, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298; and Fr. Anthony Nyambwe to Archbishop Mihayo, March 19, 1968, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298. 139. Fr. Anthony Nyambwe, Results of the Parish Priests Meeting, February 8-9, 1968, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298; and Fr. Anthony Nyambwe to Archbishop Mihayo, March 19, 1968, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298. SALVATORY S. NYANTO 597 idea of favoring some catechists, as benefactors as favoritism “aroused terrific envy among the rest . . . [and would] cause harm to the parish[es].”140 The emphasis by Nyamwezi priests that catechists should be encouraged to become self-reliant corresponded to the 1960s ideals of ujamaa, villagization, and rural development initiatives that filtered into rural Unyamwezi, calling for people to “stop begging” and instead work hard to build a “socialist Tanzania through [their] own sweat.”141 These divisions between the White Fathers and Nyamwezi clergy on sustaining catechists provided no lasting solution to the problem. Catechists left for good, leaving village outstations unattended. The increasing cases of catechists migrating to towns and elsewhere called for the Church’s authorities to address the problem. Ultimately, Archbishop Mihayo of Tabora suggested that priests adopt the Moravian model of monthly remunerations (posho) to evangelists, drawn from monthly tithes (zaka) and other contributions.142 Although the Moravian model of financing evangelists appealed to the Archbishop as a strategy for the dissenting catechists, he admitted that they would not succeed by using tithes and other contributions because “paying tithe[s] was not an obligation followed by punishment to those who failed to pay (luduko). It was paid on a person’s volition.”143 Furthermore, agriculture depended on reliable rainfall, and consequently so did tithe contributions. Thus, the Archbishop insisted that making tithe contributions a monthly obligation “would cause apathy, dissidence, and tension among Catholics.”144 Eventually, the Archbishop preferred remunerations (posho) to monthly salary for catechists who had demonstrated efforts in their work and “presents” to cate140. Fr. Peter Dalali to the unnamed Director of Ndala Catechist School, Lukula Parish, July 16, 1962, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298. 141. “Socialism depends on workers” The Nationalist, July 24, 1967, front page (unnumbered); “Sweat will build Tanzania: Nyerere analyses workers’ role and responsibility,” The Nationalist, July 28, 1967, front page (unnumbered). 142. Archbishop Mihayo to Fr. Anthony Nyambwe, March 12, 1968, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298. 143. Mihayo to Nyambwe, March 12, 1968, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298. For details about luduko cases due to the Moravians’ failure to pay tithes, see for instance the Listi ya Vakristo Vahanya, Kanisaya Kamata, No. 14, 1946 [List of Christians of the Church of Kamata for the year 1946], stored in Kazeh Hill, Tabora Town, the Kisanji Family Collection at Moravian Church (hereafter KFC); Listi ya Vakristo Vahanya, Kanisa ya Ilalangulu, No. 8, 1946 [List of Christians of the Church of Ilalangulu], stored in Kazeh Hill, Tabora Town, KFC; and Listi ya Vakristo Vahanya, Kanisa ya Kitunda, 1947 [List of Christians at Kitunda for the year 1947], stored in Kazeh Hill, Tabora Town, KFC. 144. Mihayo to Nyambwe, March 12, 1968, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298. 598 PRIESTS WITHOUT ORDINATION chists whom the Archbishop marked as “ordinary catechists.”145 While the bishop’s categorization of catechists seemed an ideal method of curtailing the problem, it reinstated binaries and hatred between the clergy and catechists. It discouraged a great deal of the work of catechists in the villages as the majority received only occasional presents, which had less financial impact on their lives. Conclusion: Catechists as Carriers of Christian Culture in Western Tanzania The growth of Christianity in the many villages of western Tanzania was largely due to the zealous works of catechists. The evidence presented in this paper indicates their immeasurable contribution to shaping the course of Christianity in twentieth-century western Tanzania, and provides a rebuttal to the scholarly expositions that have nudged aside their place in mission and church histories as simply “examples of successful mission work.”146 This paper challenges received wisdom on evangelization as a triumph of missionaries, a view which ignores the work of the catechists and volunteer teachers who worked in villages far removed from the mission stations. The limited number of clergy in western Tanzania leaves no doubt that the bulk of the evangelization and consequent establishment of Christianity rested on the shoulders of catechists. In so doing, catechists became, to echo Msgr. H. Goertz’s remark, “priests without ordination” and wives of catechists “substitutes for Sisters,” implying that their works paralleled that of priests and religious except that they were not ordained to the priesthood or part of an order.147 Their agency in the evangelization was apparent in the translation of texts, catechetical instruction, leading services on Sundays, and maintaining an “affective community” of congregants based on village and spiritual experience.148 145. Mihayo to Nyambwe, March 12, 1968, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 298. 146. Richard Hölzl, “Educating Missions: Teachers and Catechists in Southern Tanganyika, 1890s–1940s,” Itenerario, vol. 40, 3 (2016), 405–28, here 405. For details about the African agency in the growth of African Christianity, see Thomas Spear and Isaria N. Kimambo, eds. East African Expressions of Christianity (London, 1999); and Godson S. Maanga, Church Growth in Tanzania: The Role of Chagga Migrants within the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Tanzania (Makumira, 2012). 147. See Rt. Rev. Msgr. H. Goertz to Archbishop Marcus (alias Marko) Mihayo, July 4, 1962, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 299. 148. In formulating an argument about the role of catechists in reinforcing “affective community,” the author is indebted to Andreana C. Pritchard, Sisters in Spirit: Christianity, Affect, and Community Building in East Africa, 1860–1970 (East Lansing, 2017). SALVATORY S. NYANTO 599 Mission stations in western Tanzania often functioned as centers of Christian culture. Due to the small number of missionaries, many villages remained isolated from the new culture. Catechists took the ethos of the missions to the villages and added to them their cultural and intellectual creativity. In the end, they became “carriers of Christian culture” in villages whose missionary influence was almost negligible.149 In many villages of western Tanzania which rarely received priests, the growth of Christianity depended on the activities of African catechists (men and women) and teachers. Their life in the villages became a model for Christian families. As masters of new ways, catechists administered catechesis, led the congregation on Sunday services, and translated religious texts into the indigenous languages using the knowledge they had acquired at the Ndala Catechetical School. The increasing number of Christians following the mushrooming of village outstations in twentieth-century western Tanzania was largely attributable to the intellectual and cultural creativity of catechists in inculcating Christians to the basic tenets of the new religion. Nevertheless, divisions between catechists, coupled with the instabilities of life in the villages, prompted them to mount a rebellion against church authority. Dissent among catechists was indicative of the struggle for equality and recognition of their work in the villages. The use of overt and covert strategies in pushing for claims of remuneration to meet familial obligations in the missions and village outstations of western Tanzania were also suggestive of what Jonathon Glassman has argued as “consciousness fashioned out of fragments of the hegemonic ideologies which they had found at hand.”150 In 1978, the Church marked the hundredth anniversary of evangelization in Unyamwezi. The then-Archbishop of Tabora, Marko (alias Marcus) Mihayo and Father Francis Nolan, W.F., issued two publications in Kiswahili and English that recorded the achievements of the White Fathers, White Sisters and the catechists of Ndala to the growth and consolidation of Christianity.151 Nevertheless, existing works on the missionary enterprise in western Tanzania ignore the fact that, what with the lim149. In formulating an argument that catechists were basically “carriers of Christian culture” in twentieth-century western Tanzania, the author is indebted to Stephen J. Rockel, Carriers of Culture: Labor on the Road in Nineteenth-Century East Africa (Portsmouth, 2006). 150. Jonathan Glassman “The Bondsman’s New Clothes: The Contradictory Consciousness of Slave Resistance on the Swahili Coast,” Journal of African History, 32, no. 2 (1991), 277–312, here 277. 151. Francis Nolan, W.F., Mission to the Great Lakes: The White Fathers in Western Tanzania, 1878–1978 (Tabora, 1978), 6; and Marko Mihayo, Miaka 100 Jimboni Tabora: Wamisionari wa Afrika (White Fathers, 1878–1978) [100 Years in the Archdiocese of Tabora: Missionaries of Africa 1978–1978] (Tabora, 1978), 5. 600 PRIESTS WITHOUT ORDINATION ited number of White Fathers, White Sisters, and African clergy working in the missions, the successes of Christianity in villages beyond the missions were largely attributable to the zeal and determination of catechists and their wives. In commemorating the centenary celebrations, the church authority organized a retreat for catechists across western Tanzania to reflect on their future work in the villages. The church authority had reverence for catechists because their work, beginning in the years of leading congregants and administering catechesis, made each catechist “chief in his outstation, advisor to Christians, and an advocate of a priest” in the village outstations.152 The church authorities also called catechists to look ahead to the coming years of evangelization, urging each catechist to consider himself as “a servant of all in the village” (mtumishi wa wote kijijini) and stating that “Christians will respect the catechists because of the knowledge obtained at Ndala.”153 To maintain his reputation among the villagers and to promote successful evangelization, insisted the church authorities, a catechist ought to abstain from drinking beer, and instead he was duty-bound to demonstrate exemplary character “to attract more people to Christian faith.”154 152. Mafungo ya Wakatekista Nzega [Catechists’ retreat in Nzega], Tabora, February 18, 1979, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 297. 153. Mafungo ya Wakatekista [Catechists’ retreat], Tabora, February 18, 1979, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 297. 154. Mafungo ya Wakatekista [Catechists’ retreat], Tabora, February 18, 1979, stored in Tabora Town, AAT, Box 325, fol. 297. Book Reviews GENERAL A Blessing to Each Other: A New Account of Jewish and Christian Relations. By Rebecca Moore. (New York: The Crossroad Publishing Company. 2021. Pp. v, 300. $34:95 paperback. ISBN-13: 978-0-8245-9500-5.) Rebecca Moore’s book, A Blessing to Each Other: A New Account of Jewish and Christian Relations, is a refreshing read because it offers a beacon of hope in a religiously and racially divided world. It is a fiftieth-anniversary response to Pope John Paul II’s prophetic statement on the heroic acts of Jews as they resisted the Nazi invasion in Warsaw, Poland, during World War II. He stated, “As Christians and Jews, following the example of the faith of Abraham, we are called to be a blessing to the world” (p. 205). Moore’s book responds to this prophetic call by refashioning the dominant theological “master narrative” of Jewish Christian relations, which until now has unfortunately been focused heavily on animosity, conflict, contention, and discrimination (pp. 3, 6). Moore’s book emphasizes the importance of understanding “that religious commitments” are not “firm and fixed” but rather are part of a “dynamic process” (p. 68). She contends that this hostile narrative “is incomplete and even inaccurate” (p. 4). Her analysis evaluates the sacred texts in both religious traditions as either a “bridge” or a “barrier” (p. 33). She believes that if a “bridge” is to occur, the historical evidence of these “barriers” between Jews and Christians needs to be looked “in a fresh [new] way” (p. 7). Thus, it is critical to contextualize specific times and places because of the complex relationship between the two traditions (pp. 4, 77, 79). Moore emphasizes that it wasn’t “until the late fourth century” that these negative “barriers” were created (p. 67). Her book is distinctive because she broadens this dominant narrative by documenting a rich history of biblical and non-biblical evidence, both “material” and “social,” that testifies to “bridges” of on-going trust, partnership, mutual respect, collegiality, and appreciation of Jews and Christians working together for a common cause (pp. 2, 207–208). She brings fresh eyes to the methodological approaches of sociologist Lori Beaman and French philosopher Jacques Derrida, and sees a “history of tolerance and friendship” between Jews and Christians (pp. 7, 209). Beaman’s focus on “deep equality” emphasizes a recognition and acceptance of similarities and differences, while Derrida’s concept of “living well together” reflects the qualities necessary for the reciprocity of this complex relationship (p. 7). To substantiate her claims, Moore documents concrete examples from the past as well as the present. Some examples of “deep equality” are Jewish and Christian biblical scholars engaged in interreligious dialogue (p. 83); Jews and Christians 601 602 BOOK REVIEWS equally helping Jews during and after World War II (pp. 121, 137–138); and Christian Churches acknowledging, and rectifying, antisemitism in liturgy and evangelization practices (pp. 151–152). Moore’s book is an ambitious endeavor that could only have been successfully done by a scholar well-versed in biblical, Christian, and Jewish history. Her work is scholarly, comprehensive, substantiated with concrete evidence, and readily available to academics and non-academics alike (pp. 12–13). This book is an extremely helpful resource for Christian and Jewish religious pastoral leaders, theological academics, and educators. A Blessing to Each Other is inspirational, as it documents a litany of courageous Jews and Christians who are healing our imperfect world. In Judaism, the phrase is tikkun olam, i.e., “the Jewish commitment to repairing the world” (p. 2). The question is whether each one of us can be a blessing in this healing and repairing process. California State University, Los Angeles THERESA A. YUGAR MEDIEVAL The Destruction and Recovery of Monte Cassino, 529–1964. By Kriston R. Rennie. (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. 2021. pp. 246. €99. ISBN: 9789463729130.) The monks of Monte Cassino have always, both in the Middle Ages and more recently, seen their monastery as the fons et origo of western monasticism. If it was not the first monastic house to be founded in the west, then as the abbey of St. Benedict it was the source of the Rule which became almost universal in western Christendom from the Carolingian era onwards and the model for all other monasteries. This stance was validated, in their eyes, by a long and unbroken tradition of monastic observance from the sixth century onwards and by their custody of the relics of Benedict, the symbol of their pre-eminent role. Yet, as Kriston Rennie points out, the Cassinese monastic tradition rests on shaky foundations, and is to some extent anyway a myth, or at least a “constructed identity.” He demonstrates this by examining one of the key aspects of the Cassinese tradition, the theme of destruction and renewal, first fully enunciated by the author of the abbey’s chronicle, Leo Marsicanus, at the end of the eleventh century, but repeated and developed by its later historians, into our own times. Thus the original monastery had been destroyed by the Lombards c. 580, rebuilt c. 717, sacked by Muslim raiders in 883, restored once more after 950, and then almost entirely rebuilt by Desiderius after 1066. Subsequently the monastery was laid low by earthquake in 1349, and finally destroyed by Allied bombers in February 1944. Its rebuilding after the war was viewed as the restoration, not just of a monastery or even a cultural monument, but as a symbol of the restoration of peace and western civilization. And when the abbey church was reconsecrated in 1964, Pope Paul VI declared St. Benedict to be the “patron and protector” of Europe. BOOK REVIEWS 603 Rennie is particularly good on the problems with this story in the early Middle Ages. Even assuming that we can rely on the account of Benedict by Gregory the Great—which was written almost fifty years after the saint’s death by one who had no personal knowledge of him—the tradition that after c. 580 the monastic community continued in exile, having with it as a guide and inspiration the autograph manuscript of the Rule, is unproven and improbable. Paul the Deacon’s account of the refoundation in the early eighth century made no mention of the exiled community at Rome, and implied that this was actually a new beginning. It was Paul, too, who referred to the alleged transfer of Benedict’s relics to the French monastery at Fleury, which Rennie suggests is considerably better authenticated than the Cassinese tradition that they remained in situ, to be rediscovered during the rebuilding of 1066–and rediscovered again on several later occasions, the last in 1950. But the theme of destruction and dogged recovery, while the community maintained the tradition, even in exile, and guarded the relics of the saint on their original site, is central to Cassinese self-perception, only reinforced by the rebuilding of the abbey just as it had been pre-war after 1945. This theme is intelligently developed, and this book should surely be required reading for all those interested in the history of this great and historic monastery, and monasticism generally. There are, however, some flaws in this account. The most serious concerns the authorship of the abbey’s chronicle, begun by Leo and concluded by Peter the Deacon in 1138. Contrary to what is suggested here, Peter wrote only a small part of the continuation to Leo’s work (even though he claimed mendaciously to have written all of it), and at times Rennie ascribes comments to Peter which were actually made by Leo himself. Here the author’s generally sure touch and wide reading seem for once to have failed him. He also perhaps devotes too much space to the symbolic rhetoric that accompanied the modern restoration, compared with earlier periods–one would like, for example, to have had some discussion of the late seventeenthcentury rebuilding of the main abbey church. But this is still a thoughtful book from which readers will profit. University of Leeds GRAHAM A. LOUD Free Will and the Rebel Angels in Medieval Philosophy. By Tobias Hoffmann. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 2020. Pp. 292. $99.99 hardback: ISBN: 9781107155381; $32.99 paperback: ISBN: 9781316652886.) Tobias Hoffmann’s recent monograph brings together several strands in his work—on moral evil, the freedom of the will, and theories of angelic sin in medieval philosophy—with which he has been engaged for more than two decades. Professor of Medieval Philosophy at the Sorbonne, Hoffmann focuses in his encyclopedic monograph on the transformative period in the Latin West between the 1220s and the 1320s, although it also contains illuminating discussions on the background to these debates in such ancient sources as Aristotle, Augustine, and Pseudo-Dionysius. 604 BOOK REVIEWS Hoffmann’s monograph is organized into three parts. Part I treats the issue of free will as it evolved from the period before the reintroduction of Aristotle into the West in the mid-twelfth century to his reception afterwards. Prior to this reintroduction, major Christian authorities such as Anselm of Canterbury, Bernard of Clairvaux, and Peter Lombard tended to unproblematically assume the existence of free will—understood as control over one’s acts—although they tended to couch their discussions in terms of “free decision” (liberum arbitrium). However, after Aristotle’s reintroduction into the West, which was a “game changer” (p. 22) according to Hoffmann, a “psychological turn” (p. 2) took place according to which Aristotle’s more refined theories of moral psychology came to influence discussions about the respective roles of intellect and will in the production of free human acts. The thinkers of the period, such as Thomas Aquinas, Siger of Brabant, and Godfrey of Fontaines, who tended to explain “free agency mainly with reference to the intellect,” Hoffman calls, following convention, “intellectualists,” while those, such as Henry of Ghent, John Duns Scotus, and Peter Olivi, who explained “free agency mainly with reference to the will,” he labels “voluntarists” (p. 5). Other thinkers, such as Giles of Rome and John of Murrovalle, Hoffmann characterizes as holding “intermediary” positions between these two poles. Part I, in short, is a detailed and informative overview of the development of the debate between these three camps as they grappled with how to reconcile the intelligibility of choice with the freedom of the will. In Part 2, Hoffman treats the issue of the origin of moral evil, which is to say, of the dilemma of how it was possible for evil to enter a world that is good since it was created by God. Otherwise put, it treats of the first sin of the devil (and the other “rebel angels” who followed him) in Augustine and PseudoDionysius. Why is this question of more than simply theological interest? Because the “sin of the angels highlights in a special way the problem of the origin of moral evil, but the problem itself applies more broadly to the cause of an evil will in a good person . . .” (p. 163). Discussions surrounding the origin of moral evil, in other words, tell us something about the nature of evil itself, which makes it equally applicable to human beings, and therefore to philosophy as well, as Hoffmann convincingly shows. What, then, was the initial cause of angelic sin? It had to have been the result of a free choice of the will on the part of Lucifer. But here we are confronted with a dilemma: the cause of evil must be either a good will or an evil will. Obviously, it cannot be the former, but neither can it be the latter, since, although an evil will can certainly cause evil, it cannot have been the original cause of evil. Augustine concluded that a disordered will ultimately had no explanation. As for PseudoDionysius, he fundamentally agreed with Augustine on this subject, although he argued that, in addition to lacking an efficient cause, neither can evil function as a final cause. The remainder of Part 2 is taken up with subsequent efforts by such thinkers as Aquinas, Henry of Ghent, Scotus, and John of Pouilly to resolve, albeit in different ways, Augustine’s dilemma. Unfortunately, in their efforts to do so, most attributed the origins of evil to something good: the created will. Ironically, BOOK REVIEWS 605 according to Hoffman, they ended up in the same place as Augustine: forced to admit “that the cause of evil is deficient, that is, that there is no ultimate explanation for why someone does evil” (p. 195). Finally, Part 3 investigates angelic sin in the context of the respective roles that intellect and will play in the production of disordered choices, which is an important question, for when “it comes to the angels, the question is not only how a good person can do evil for the first time, but also how someone can do so while acting under ideal psychological conditions” (p. 199). As with the question of human freedom, then, attempts to explain angelic sin come, for Hoffmann, in three varieties: intellectualist accounts, voluntarist accounts, and intermediary accounts. According to intellectualists, the will always follows what the intellect determines to be best. In instances where cognitive deficiency is a possibility, as with humans, who are fallible, evil choices can ultimately be traced back to ignorance or negligence. But how can this occur where cognitive deficiency is impossible, as in the case of angels, who are supremely intelligent and indeed infallible prior to making their first disordered choice? The task for the intellectualists of the period, such as Aquinas and Godfrey, was to find a solution to this problem. For voluntarists such as John Peckham, Henry of Ghent, and others, by contrast, an evil will does not follow from, but rather precedes and therefore causes the deficiency or darkening of the intellect. Their principal challenge was, as Hoffmann puts it, “to give a plausible account of how the evil angels’ choice could be intentional, and hence not an irrational act” (p. 219). Again, this section is of more than mere theological interest because examples of angelic sin also tend to shed light on the question of human freedom insofar as they act as test cases for the plausibility or “robustness” (p. 3) of their overall theories of free will. Tobias Hoffmann’s Free Will and the Rebel Angels in Medieval Philosophy is a model of clarity and erudition that will profit students at all levels who are interested in medieval moral psychology and its various developments from antiquity to the later Middle Ages. The relevant debates are intricate and oftentimes complex and challenging, even for specialists. It is to Hoffmann’s great credit that he is able to explain them in language that is accessible to the general reader. Treating as it does the not insubstantial topics of free will, sin, and evil in one of the most interesting and fruitful periods in the history of philosophy, Hoffmann’s monograph is a very useful one indeed for anyone interested in the history of ideas. U niversity of Guelph PETER EARDLEY Le bureau des âmes. Écritures et pratiques administratives de la Pénitencerie apostolique (XIII e-XIV e siècle). By Arnaud Fossier. [Bibliothèque des Écoles Françaises d’Athèthes et de Rome, fasc. 378.] (Rome: École Française de Rome. 2018. Pp. xvi, 617. €39,00. ISBN 978-2-7283-1286-3.) The papal (now apostolic) penitentiary was one of the major departments of the late medieval Roman Curia. It granted absolution of sins in cases reserved to 606 BOOK REVIEWS the pope, and other graces that were also a papal monopoly, notably certain dispensations. Recent research on this office has concentrated on its late medieval registers, comprising successful petitions for these favors. Arnaud Fossier takes a different approach, focussing on the office’s thirteenth- and fourteenth-century formularies, which predate its registers and thus supply evidence of its early organization and activity. Fossier’s book complements and updates Emil Göller’s Die päpstliche Pönitentiarie von ihrem Ursprung bis zu ihrer Umgestaltung unter Pius V., still the standard history of the office to 1569, though published in 1907–11 and at a time when the registers were unavailable to researchers. Fossier has the advantage of drawing on recent studies of the registers and the evidence of the first extant register (1410–11). Chapters 1 and 2 trace the origins and evolution of the office from c. 1200 down to this first register. Its personnel and their careers receive close attention, notably the cardinal or major penitentiary in charge of the eponymous office and the minor penitentiaries subordinate to him by the mid-thirteenth century. More might be said here, however, about the proctors who increasingly represented petitioners before the office. Chapter 3 provides a useful survey of the formularies constituting Fossier’s main evidence, comparing their different formats and functions. Chapter 4 analyzes the diplomatic of form letters in these collections as models or examples for the letters the office issued in response to petitions. Comparison with original letters is an avenue for further research, enhancing understanding of how formularies were used, and the administrative processes involved in producing letters. Chapter 5 explores the juristic language used in form letters, notably the subtle distinctions between different kinds of fault absolved or dispensed by the office. The letters often commissioned local bishops to investigate the circumstances of petitioners’ faults, and this procedure is contextualized well in twelfth- and thirteenthcentury jurisprudence. Chapter 6 focusses on dispensations, which relaxed canonical rules in specific cases, especially impediments to marriage and ordination. The canonistic background is effectively treated for the twelfth century but might have been explored into the later period of the formularies. Fossier again shows acute attention to legal terminology in the form letters and rightly notes the difficulty in differentiating dispensations from related graces, especially licenses. Chapter 7 discusses the different kinds of absolution the office granted. It concerned remission of sins in the penitential forum when conferred by minor penitentiaries, but penitentiary letters generally absolved from wrongs and their penal consequences in the judicial forum. Fossier further distinguishes between absolution in cases reserved to the pope, often from spiritual sanctions incurred ipso facto under canon law, and from general censures often proclaimed by popes against the Church’s enemies. The final chapter (8) is arguably the most original and important. It discusses the concept of “scandal” marking the difference between private and public sins. Theologians and canonists agreed by the thirteenth century that private sins confessed in the penitential forum should remain private, lest they provoke “scandal,” i.e., set others a bad example. Scandal was thus the negative effect of public sins on public opinion and was to be avoided. Form letters hence made certain graces con- BOOK REVIEWS 607 ditional on the absence of scandal, for example, dispensation of clergy for ordination despite physical defects providing these did not cause scandal (i.e., reputational damage to the Church). Marriage dispensations were similarly justified by the need to avoid the scandal that might arise if they were not conceded. Avoidance of scandal also explains the secrecy surrounding the office’s decisions on certain cases, especially those handled in foro conscientiae. Closer comparison with the registers and other evidence might have nuanced the argument again, however. The registers comprise extremely few petitions approved in foro conscientiae, so few it makes generalization about the term’s significance difficult. Petitioners also approached the penitentiary in certain cases arguably since their sins were notorious and hence scandalous. For example, in later medieval England assaults on members of the clergy, notionally reserved to papal absolution, were usually referred to the penitentiary only in cases of fatal or severe injury, whereas lesser injuries might be absolved locally. Nevertheless, this is an excellent study that deserves a wide readership beyond specialists in the penitentiary, including those interested in diplomatic, canon law, penance, and the growth of papal government. It demonstrates the value of penitentiary formularies and the need to study these alongside the registers and other sources to understand fully the office’s activity. It will hopefully stimulate not only further research on the formularies but also editions, especially of Benedict XII’s widely circulated formulary (1334), supplementing those of the registers. University of Southampton PETER D. CLARKE MODERN EUROPEAN The Heresy of the Brothers, a Heterodox Community in Sixteenth-Century Italy. By Matteo Al Kalak. (Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols. 2022. Pp. 221. ISBN 978-2503-59329-60). This excellent book is a study of Modena in the 1540s to 1570s, as “one of the most lively Italian heterodox communities” (p. 14). Modena’s State Archive has very rich inquisition trial records comparable with Venice’s. In various works Matteo Al Kalak has proven himself master of these records through the early modern period. (I am indebted to him for advice when writing about seventeenthcentury Modena inquisitors.) This fine volume is an expanded translation, rethought and very readable, of his L’eresia dei Fratelli (Rome, 2011). We have a well exemplified and analyzed study of the personae, their diverse heterodox ideas and activities, of a self-named Brotherhood, or sect (setta, p. 43), of Fratelli, most active in the 1540s to 1560s. They had emerged from a humanist Academy developing ideas in the previous decades under Lutheran and Erasmian influences. The Brothers met in private houses, workshops, shops, and squares to read, debate, and teach one another. Al Kalak identifies thirteen communities in shops and houses, naming fifty-two participants attending one or more places, (Tables 1 and 2). He names forty-two defendants, and their accomplices, whether investigated or not (Table 3). He studied fourteen trials in particular, with 120 suspects or heretics, 608 BOOK REVIEWS quoting extensively from testimonies (with Italian original and English translation in main text). The Brothers came from all ranks of society, from nobles, merchants, doctors, lawyers to weavers, shopkeepers, tailors, and non-city peasants. Richer brothers gave alms to poorer, helping to expand the memberships; the literate reading to the unlettered. Bartolomea della Porta was the one woman named defendant, but many mothers, wives, and daughters are cited as associates, though a few clearly held more orthodox views. Piergiovanni Biancolini, merchant, had the most crowded workshop for meeting, teaching, and learning; and attended at least four other communities. Bartolomeo Finzio stands out among many as the most significant preacher of heterodox ideas, including Anabaptist notions. From the expansive confessions of some of the accused the inquisition judges developed a clear idea of the movement, and the heterogeneous mixture of ideas, Lutheran, Zwinglian, Calvinist, resulting from the travels of several Brothers. That the Academy and Brotherhood expanded and survived for so long was indebted to the attitude of the two main bishops, Giovanni Morone (1529–50 and 1564–71), and Egidio Foscarari (1550–64). They protected many brothers, modified penalties, and “reconciled” many, creating “a climate of tolerance” (p. 64). This ended from about 1566 with the elevation of Pope Pius V, followed by Sisto Visdomini as bishop (1571– 90), stimulating and facilitating the inquisitors. Earlier control over heretics had been hampered by jurisdictional conflicts between inquisitors, bishops, Modena municipal leaders (Conservators), and the D’Este Dukes ruling from Ferrara. With Chapter 3 on “Dangerous Books” and Chapter 4 on “Faith and Works,” Al Kalak well illuminates the diversity of Modena’s heterodox ideas. Antonio Brucioli’s translations of the Bible were widely used, as also Catechisms, St. Paul’s Epistles, the satire Pasquino in Estasi, the Beneficio di Cristo, and the Sommario della Sacra Scrittura. The dominant influencer Giovanni Rangoni also accessed plays by Pietro Aretino and works by Desiderius Erasmus and Giovanni Boccaccio. Justification through faith was “an acquired inheritance” (p. 111), in the 1540s from Academicians. Strong support was given for Predestination, though clear denial of Free Will appeared later. Eucharist concepts were widely and diversely debated, with some seeing it as eating pasta. Strong attacks came against Purgatory, auricular confessions and imposition of penances, the use of images, fasting and elaborate funerals. Priests were heavily attacked, and the Pope was denounced as Anti-Christ; “il Papa è satanasso” (p. 140). The final sentence for the guilty is not always clear, but seemingly few were executed. University of Glasgow (emeritus) CHRISTOPHER F. BLACK Village Infernos and Witches’ Advocates: Witch-hunting in Navarre, 1608–1614. By Lu Ann Homza. (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press. 2022. Pp. x, 260. $99.95. ISBN: 9780271091815. Between 1608 and 1614, Navarre was rocked by terrifying allegations that the Devil was recruiting villagers as witches, placing them in apprenticeships, providing them with demonic pet toads, and kidnapping and converting children to his cause. As Lu Ann Homza describes eloquently in her new book, the Basque witches’ sab- BOOK REVIEWS 609 bats (akelarres) exemplified all the most terrifying elements of early modern witchfantasy: witches flew to upside-down masses where the Devil presided like the Bishop of Pamplona, they feasted on corpses, they mixed poisons and called down destructive weather, and they danced and copulated with one another to cacophonous music. Entire villages were swept up in accusations; many of the accusers were children. After intense community breakdown and revoked confessions, the Inquisition called a halt, and began treating witchcraft as impossible to prosecute. These elements make the Navarrese witch-hunt one of the most famous episodes of the European witch-craze, yet strikingly one of the least studied. Part of this neglect stems from the lasting influence of Gustav Henningsen’s 1980 study The Witches’ Advocate, which focused on the Inquisitor Alonso de Salazar Frías’s skepticism over the witches’ confessions. To date, this is usually how the Navarrese witch-hunt fits into undergraduate witchcraft surveys: an example of how modernity and enlightened legal thinking triumphed over peasant (and Catholic) superstition. Homza decisively rejects this characterization. In a much-needed reappraisal, Homza returns to Henningsen’s original documentary base, while supplementing it with new and only recently discovered sources from the Navarrese royal archives and Inquisitorial correspondence in Madrid. She considers the poverty and worldly motives that fueled the hunt, but also the surprisingly coherent command of Tridentine religious reform possessed by the Navarrese laity. The result is a careful and sensitive re-evaluation of the witch-hunt and an important contribution to our understanding of early modern daily life. In crisp prose and vivid, humorous descriptions of village conflict, Homza unequivocally demonstrates that witchaccusations were anything but normal. Calling someone a witch was a profound social affront, and such slander had shattering social effects (p. 20). Yet, many of the accusers were children and there was no legal mechanism to stop or punish them from accusing parents and neighbors. In Homza’s telling, we see how Inquisitors stumbled into a complex social world they did not fully understand, and where Inquisitorial penalties might pale in comparison to the trauma and dishonor accused witches faced within their communities. Still, Homza’s most important contribution remains a dramatic rejection of Salazar as an enlightened jurist, who doubted the concept of witchcraft: rather than ushering in modern legal procedure, Salazar “came to doubt not whether witchcraft was possible in theory, but whether his tribunal was proceeding against witch-suspects with sufficient proof” (p. 9). Though Homza rejects geographic determinism—in both limited and broad senses—she nonetheless sees the Inquisition as suffering from a “tyranny of distance”: the cultural and geographic gulf between the Suprema in Madrid, the tribunal in Logroño, and the Pyrenean villages made communication and timely dispatches exceptionally difficult, stoking conflict between individual Inquisitors. Their choices effectively exacerbated the hunt, rather than remedy it (p. 87). The poverty of the Logroño tribunal and the exploding number of cases pushed familiars to search for extralegal mechanisms to help with the backlog, including coerced confessions, torture at the village level, and bringing suspects face to face (p. 100). Village Infernos is then, fundamentally, a portrait of a dysfunc- 610 BOOK REVIEWS tional Inquisition whose actions actually botched the processes their tribunal was bound to uphold (p. 16). Justice was usurped by individual townspeople and the clergy, some of whom fought back against abuses and mistreatment by bringing suit in other jurisdictions. There was nothing top-down about the use of the courts by these villagers, and the result was “a persecution [that] unquestionably had more witches’ advocates” than Salazar alone (p. 180). The Pennsylvania State University AMANDA L. SCOTT Heroic Hearts: Sentiment, Saints, and Authority in Modern France. By Jennifer J. Popiel. (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. 2021. Pp. xxi, 366. $65.00. ISBN: 9781496219619). Jennifer Popiel’s work explores the complicated relationship between nineteenth-century women, sentimentality, and female autonomy. Sentimentality, defined by excess emotion, “syrupy” language and images, and triviality, has been characterized as weak, anti-modern, and feminine since the nineteenth century. However, sentimental language, images, and books were extremely popular with nineteenth-century women. Popiel suggests that the negative perception of sentimentality is not entirely justified. For nineteenth-century women, sentimentality could signify a pure heart and true calling from God. Sentimental literature and images provided women with models for heroic action outside of domesticity. Popiel argues that women adopted sentimental language to defend their right to choose their own path. Options were limited, but a religious vocation often offered more opportunities than marriage. Popiel’s work exposes both the stark choices available to women and the creative methods they used to carve out non-domestic paths. Women who chose religious vocations employed sentimental language and images to link themselves to female respectability. Sentimentality gave them the cover of purity. This protected them from suspicion as they engaged in public work helping the poor and promoting religion. It also helped protect them from accusations of individualism or selfishness. Sentimentality emphasized devotion to God, obedience to the Church, and self-sacrifice rather than individual fulfillment or personal advancement. Even heroic action was achieved by a women’s sacrifice of herself either for others or for sexual purity. Likewise, women who chose public action through religious vocation avoided threatening masculinity despite the independence they achieved. Sentimentality allowed them to justify their autonomy with “feminine” language of the heart, not the “masculine” intellect. One of the most interesting aspects of Popiel’s work is her emphasis on virginity as a path to bodily autonomy for women. Virginity has long been used to shame women, but it could also liberate them from domestic life under the cover of purity. Popiel reminds readers of the danger that sexuality posed for women. Sexuality could ruin a woman’s reputation, marriage often meant domination by a husband, and multiple pregnancies frequently led to poor health. Women suffered BOOK REVIEWS 611 when their children died, and childcare responsibilities undermined their freedom of action. Claiming virginity could liberate women from the constraints imposed by domesticity and their own biology. Popiel asks readers to reconsider concepts and practices that modern readers tend to dislike. It is hard to see concepts like virginity positively. Used by women, moral restrictions could produce a certain degree of liberation and protection. Popiel reminds us that women’s advancement is never a straight-forward process. Some concepts and practices can hold women back and move them forward at the same time. Women were not necessarily conscious of all the ramifications of their choices. Women who gained autonomy by choosing a religious vocation or using sentimental language did not do so to advance women’s rights. They were genuinely driven by religious feelings and a desire to serve God. Nonetheless, they served as models for an alternative life outside of marriage and the family. They demonstrated a path for women’s choice and public action that inspired other women. The extent to which they advanced women’s equality is hard to measure, but Popiel insists that their choices should not be discounted because they do not match modern sensibilities. Popiel’s work forces readers to consider the myriad ways in which women have used ideas designed to constrain their actions to expand their opportunities. This is an exceptionally well-written and thoughtful book that will be valuable for scholars and students alike. University of Northern Iowa EMILY MACHEN AMERICAN The Imperial Church: Catholic Founding Fathers and U nited States Empire. By Katherine D. Moran. (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. 2020. Pp. xiv, 330. $48.95. ISBN: 9781501748813.) Jacques Marquette, a seventeenth-century Jesuit, loomed incongruously large in my non-Catholic childhood. I learned to swim at Pere Marquette beach on the southeastern shores of Lake Michigan; the priest-explorer also featured prominently in what passed for history instruction at my Grand Rapids public school. I remember the pride those lessons engendered—pride that one of our own, geographically speaking, could be claimed as an American Founding Father; pride too in Marquette’s French origins, redolent to my childhood self of sophistication and glamor. But although I was certainly aware that Marquette was a Catholic, I never wondered at his being so lionized in what was then a stronghold of Dutch Reformed Protestantism. That surfaced as a puzzle only many years later. Given my personal history, I was primed to appreciate Katherine Moran’s The Imperial Church, the first section of which centers on the secular cult of Jacques Marquette. The commemorative culture surrounding Marquette, peculiar to the upper Midwest, emerged in the 1870s and resulted by the early twentieth century in a plethora of statues and place names, along with the occasional civic pageant, 612 BOOK REVIEWS honoring the hitherto obscure Jesuit. Marquette was claimed by that commemorative culture as a co-founder of the American nation, “naturalizing, after the fact, the imperial nation’s expansion into formerly French and Native American territory” (p. 18). Pride in their booming region was a powerful motivator for the priest’s admirers, many of whom were Protestants. For some he also served, however incongruously, to legitimize the region’s explosive industrial growth, even as the priest’s undoubted anti-materialism spoke to the need for a less rapacious mode of industrial relations. Many such advocates of a more paternalistic capitalism also saw in Marquette, who was famously open to the region’s Indian cultures, a powerful endorsement of the nation’s assimilative capacities. But notwithstanding the priest’s own example, it was assimilation to a white Christian norm that his admirers had in mind. Moran turns next to Junípero Serra, the eighteenth century Franciscan founder of California’s Indian missions, who—like Jacques Marquette—was reimagined as a Founding Father and a bearer of white Christian civilization. Serra’s secular cult, underway by the 1880s and largely confined to California, was more vigorously commercial than that of Marquette: many of its mostly-Protestant promoters hoped to stimulate tourism and the state’s nascent hospitality industry. The cult had its mildly progressive side, presenting Serra as a model paternalistic employer—unlike the itinerant Marquette, Serra presided over a chain of missions where Indian neophytes lived and worked—and embracing an assimilationist ideal that rejected anti-Catholicism. Some of Serra’s admirers condemned the violence that early Anglo arrivals in California had wreaked on what remained of the local Indian population. But as in the case of Marquette, the assimilationist ideal that Serra allegedly embodied made no room for those unwilling or unable to conform to a white, Christian norm—or indeed for those who would challenge the racialized hierarchy of California’s emerging agro-industrial economy. The third and final section of Moran’s book, which deals with American occupation of the Philippines, presents a more complicated narrative, impossible to summarize here. It too involves Catholic priests, both Spanish and American, and serves to “naturalize” American expansion, now in an overseas mode, and affirm a vision of the nation as heir to an earlier wave of mostly Catholic imperial “civilizers.” Like the rest of this formidably intelligent book, these chapters are deftly argued and grounded in thorough research. But in this section especially, one would like to learn more about how this logic—the American war in the Philippines, not wholly popular back home, was unfolding in the present rather than the distant past—was received by a diverse national audience. This is less a criticism, however, than a tribute to Moran’s fine book, which in this and other respects suggests fruitful new paths for research. The Catholic University of America, Emerita LESLIE WOODCOCK TENTLER BOOK REVIEWS 613 Father Luis Olivares: A Biography. By Mario T. García. (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. 2018. Pp. 1, 547. $34.95 hardcover; $27.95 paperback. ISBN 978-1-469-66927-4.) Mario T. García is on a mission to elevate the importance of Father Luis Olivares in his biography of the priest, Father Luis Olivares: A Biography. The prolific scholar focuses on Chicano history, but believes that there is a major gap among scholars in relation to the role of religion and politics among the community. This biography is his second book after Católicos: Resistance and Affirmation in Chicano Catholic History, where he examines what he terms “faith politics”—the fusion of the two—but this time he does so by exploring the trajectory of Olivares’ life. García traces Father Luis Olivares from his family’s origins in the United States as religious refugees from Mexico in the 1910s to his own tragic death from AIDS in the 1990s. García argues that Olivares’ story must be told to produce a much “more inclusive history of the United States” that represents the country’s changing demographics, one that accounts for the histories of Chicanos and Latinos, California and Los Angeles, as well as U.S. religious and Catholic history (p. 22). He covers the priest’s life over the course of twelve chapters, bookended by a prologue and epilogue. Olivares’ family left Mexico for the U.S. during the Mexican Revolution, settling in San Antonio, where Luis and his brother Henry would learn about and eventually join the Congregation of Missionaries, Sons of the Immaculate Heart of the Blessed Virgin Mary, or the Claretians. This decision sent him down a path in the priesthood, seeking advancement in the order. He experienced a change of heart in the mid-1970s, where he began instead to organize among the Chicano and Latino community in Los Angeles, using his religious position to benefit others. García devotes much of his book to the organizing that Olivares did in the 1980s by working to provide sanctuary to refugees fleeing violence in Central America. The author ends the biography with Olivares’ passing, emphasizing his impact on the community, noting that “Father Luis, the prophet, still speaks out. He is still present. ¡LUIS OLIVARES! ¡PRESENTE!” (p. 497). García’s works to demonstrate the importance of faith politics in Olivares’ life, but he is perhaps most convincing in regard to the priest’s trajectory of welcoming the oppressed. The author emphasizes how his family was in the U.S. in the very first place because of what his parents saw as an attack against Catholics in Mexico. García articulates that “part of the tradition that was passed on to the Olivares children and that would impact Luis Olivares many years later was providing sanctuary to those being religiously persecuted” (p. 37). Later on in the biography the author draws this parallel when he discusses Olivares’ role in the sanctuary movement of the 1980s. He describes that “in declaring public sanctuary, he was not only publicly embracing the refugees, he was giving his own public testimony about who he was and what he was all about” (p. 342). At approximately 500 pages, Father Luis Olivares: A Biography is quite the tome that could be concentrated at times. Nonetheless, the portion on the sanctu- 614 BOOK REVIEWS ary movement for refugees from Central America shines through. Scholars who work on the movement or even on political Catholics need to read this book. San Diego State University NATHAN ELLSTRAND Elizabeth Fox-Genovese: Paternalism’s Daughter. By Deborah A. Symonds. (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press. 2021. Pp. 339. $39.50. ISBN: 9780813945132.) Deborah A. Symonds’ new biography of Elizabeth Fox-Genovese (1941– 2007) is a welcome addition to the growing literature on the lives and achievements of women in the academy. The biography draws on Symonds’ own personal experience with Fox-Genovese and on the testimony of others, on Fox-Genovese’s many personal journals and copious correspondence, and on a reading of her published works to give us a fuller picture of the complicated woman than has been available to date. There is much about Fox-Genovese’s life to interest readers, and thus many reasons to read Symonds’ fine book: Fox-Genovese’s status as a scholar of eighteenth-century French history, the place of Freudian and Marxian themes in her thinking, her struggle with anorexia, her experience with second wave feminism, the role she played in some academic turmoil (including a lawsuit), her marriage and collaboration with her husband, the historian Eugene Genovese, her confrontation with the new left, and much else. While Symonds covers each of these (and more), she has the overall trajectory of Fox-Genovese’s life in view: how, beginning as a child in a largely non-religious family, with Bryn Mawr and Harvard degrees in hand Fox-Genovese developed into a prolific and recognized historian working in Marxist and feminist scholarly traditions; how she gradually began to think of herself, and to write, as a traditional conservative; and how she came to convert to Catholicism. Central to that life path, on Symonds’ telling, is a tension. On the one hand Symonds describes Fox-Genovese’s struggle to emerge from her family, to separate from her overbearing and controlling parents, to escape their authority and to establish herself as an intellectual and a scholar. Symonds’ generous quotations from FoxGenovese’s personal journals reveal a young, and then a mature, woman engaged in a classic twenbtieth-century feminist project of individuation and self-determination. On the other hand, Symonds describes Fox-Genovese’s enduring connection to her parents, how she remained under their sway and under the sway of the values of their generation—hence the book’s subtitle Paternalism’s Daughter. Symonds describes Fox-Genovese’s affinity to authority (including the authority of convention), her understanding of its enduring reality and necessity. (Symonds reports that Fox-Genovese would “lecture students” about their “need to accept authority so [they] would understand it when it came [their] turn to hold it” [p. 217]). We might identify this tension, in Fox-Genovese’s life, as between individualism and authority. Despite Fox-Genovese’s own journey of individuation and self-determination documented in her journals, Symonds emphasizes that she was a persistent critic of BOOK REVIEWS 615 individualism in her scholarly work—the critique of individualism being a thread connecting her early left-leaning with her later right-leaning scholarship. As Symonds explains, Fox-Genovese was a critic of individualism “first from the left and then from the right” (p. 1). How else to understand this than that her scholarly work expressed an ambivalence about a key aspect of her own life? Symonds quotes a student’s claim that Fox-Genovese was at her best when she was able to embrace “ambiguity and ambivalence,” suggesting another tension in her life and work: between accepting ambiguity and ambivalence on the one hand and seeking safety and certainty (perhaps another kind of authority) on the other. Symonds suggests that Fox-Genovese “wished for a world that was fixed and comprehensible” (p. 264). As another student put it: “. . . Freud, Marx, or Christ. . . , she adopted them all in an attempt to find an external reality that would provide her with the safety she craved at the same time that her intellectual life suggested something else” (p. 261). My interest in Fox-Genovese concerns her relationship to feminism—which Symonds discusses especially toward the book’s end. Fox-Genovese rejected actually existing feminism in her 1996 book Feminism Is Not the Story of My Life (p. 223); but she sought to provide a “constructive alternative [pp. 272–273]),” a “conservative feminism” (p. 273). As Symonds puts it, she “believed she was working out a new way forward, a reconstituted feminism forged from something better than . . . individualism,” perhaps forged from “an older humanism” (p. 239). This ambition on Fox-Genovese’s part was the subject of an article of my own, “Conservatism, Feminism, and Elizabeth Fox-Genovese”1 in which I sought to present her “alternative” and to explore whether it is a kind of feminism (as well as the larger question whether conservative feminism is even a conceptual possibility). I argue that Fox-Genovese’s later writings on women should be taken seriously as advocacy on behalf of women but are not feminist, since feminism is critical of, while Fox-Genovese recommends a rapprochement with, conventional social forms like traditional marriage, motherhood, and sexual morality. Symonds concludes her book by pointing to the tension between Fox-Genovese’s clear journey of individuation and self-determination on the one hand, and her intellectual and scholarly rejection of individualism on the other. Here, Symonds seems to locate that tension—indeed an ambivalence—in the distinction between what and how she wrote. As Symonds explains, Fox-Genovese sometimes wrote “in a white heat of private necessity, not to serve others but to make small advances into her own unspoken self. In that urgency, occasional but persistent, she remained a feminist, committed to what she needed to confront” (p. 277). Hofstra University AMY R. BAEHR 1. Amy R. Baehr, “Conservatism, Feminism, and Elizabeth Fox-Genovese,” Hypatia, 4 (2) (2009): 101–123. Fox-Genovese’s views evolved. I am grateful to Symonds for pointing out that the view on abortion I attributed to Fox-Genovese in my article was a one she held along the way but was not her most mature view (p. 273). 616 BOOK REVIEWS LATIN AMERICAN A Troubled Marriage: Indigenous Elites of the Colonial Americas. By Sean F. McEnroe. [Diálogos Series.] (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. 2020. Pp. xxviii, 319. $95.00 hardcover: ISBN 978-0-8263-6118-9; $34.95 paperback: ISBN 978-0-8263-6119-6.) A Troubled Marriage takes a hemispheric approach to the strategies, successes, and setbacks faced by the upper echelons of indigenous society under Spanish, French, and English rule. Geographically, the book’s protagonists’ origins range from South America to Canada in the Americas. The tactics of military support, marriage alliances, services as intermediaries, conversion to Christianity, and adoption of European-introduced literacy and crafts lent themselves to overall positive outcomes for the indigenous and mestizo figures studied by McEnroe. The author depicts these alliances as a two-way street, emphasizing the Europeans’ dependence on indigenous allies, especially in the early contact period. McEnroe’s monograph spans the sixteenth century to the nineteenth century. The book’s organization balances a chronological arrangement with a thematic approach, with the first chapter dealing with early contacts and the last chapter examining independence. In between, chapters are arranged topically, covering dynastic alliances, religious adaptation, adoption of writing and the arts, urban coexistence with colonizers, and military alliances during and after the conquest. The flexible timeframe for each chapter takes into account the divergent trajectories of contact and colonization of indigenous spaces by separate states and empires. The regions and indigenous leaders examined in this book depend on historical circumstances. Due to the nature of A Troubled Marriage’s subject matter, the book focuses on areas in which an indigenous elite persisted after initial contact and in zones where European colonists had sustained interactions with the indigenous population, which resulted in a documentary record to reconstruct such relationships. Cuzco, Lima, Mexico City, and Tlaxcala figure prominently in the book partly as a result of these sites’ well-preserved original sources and the persistence of a largely literate native elite that left a long paper trail in those locations. To complete a work so sweeping in scope, McEnroe’s archival itinerary included stops in over twenty repositories in six different nations, namely the United States, Canada, Mexico, Guatemala, Peru, and Spain. His expansive bibliography demonstrates engagement with the leading works on the native populations of English and Francophone Canada, the English North American colonies and the United States, Mexico, Peru, and Paraguay. Such extensive research did not result in a dense book, however. McEnroe’s serial biographical organization and his narrative style make A Troubled Marriage easily accessible to the Diálogos Series’ main audience, university classrooms. Individually, most chapters would work as standalone sections to introduce readers to themes for specialized topics classes. BOOK REVIEWS 617 Despite its accessibility, a few editing issues may give some readers pause. Any work so panoramic in its scope covering contact to the nineteenth century from South America to Canada may include a few errors. However, copy editors should have noticed a few glaring ones, such as identifying July 16 as Mexico’s Independence Day (p. 202) or “Lake Eerie” instead of “Lake Erie” (p. 210). Other errors seem to reflect an overall unfamiliarity with Central America, such as his reference to the “Mexico-Honduras border” (p. 7) or describing the indigenous population of Honduras as “neighbors” to the Kaqchikel Mayas of highland Guatemala (p. 180). Indigenous Elites of the Colonial Americas, the book’s subtitle, suggests that the book’s focus will be on indigenous elites. However, while the book covers the “uneasy marriage” between indigenous Americans and Europeans, its subject matter does not exclusively examine the autochthonous population. Many of the biographical sketches include mestizos such as Jean Baptiste Charbonneau, Diego Muñoz Camargo, Diego Valadés, and “the Inca” Garcilaso de la Vega. While these figures played an important role in recording the indigenous past and acting as intermediaries, their European heritage and influences are downplayed, even though some, such as Garcilaso de la Vega, spent much of their lives among Europeans in Europe. Some character studies even focus on Europeans who adopted aspects of indigenous lifeways, culture, and language, such as Gonzalo Guerrero and Alvar Nuñez Cabeza de Vaca from Spain’s early encounters with the Americas or Canada’s Louis Riel. Among the indigenous elites whose stories are omitted are many who met unhappy ends despite alliances with Europeans, such as Don Carlos Ometochtli Chichimecateuctli of Texcoco, scion of a Mesoamerican lineage who aligned himself with Spaniards but suffered an ignominious death by burning at the stake by the Inquisition in Mexico in 1539. Overall, the book works well as a corrective to the absence of indigenous figures in studies of and classes on Atlantic World History. It is among few concise, approachable works that takes a continental approach to the indigenous elites of the Americas, seamlessly incorporating Canadian First Nation figures, Native American leaders from the United States, and principales and caciques of Latin America into a single framework of accommodation and alliances with European invaders. Although many of the figures examined in this serial biography have previously received attention from scholars, McEnroe’s far-reaching research brings many lesser-known indigenous noblemen to light, including many from Tlaxcala, one of the most overlooked regions in New Spain. Utah Valley University MARK W. LENTZ The Franciscans in Colonial Mexico. Edited by Thomas M. Cohen, Jay T. Harrison, and David Rex Galindo. (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. 2021. Pp. x, 344. $65. ISBN: 9780806169255.) The Franciscans in Colonial Mexico contains a collection of essays presented as part of the quincentenary celebration of the Franciscan arrival in Mexico. 618 BOOK REVIEWS This important collection contains thirteen carefully constructed and learned essays which examine Franciscan activity in New Spain. The stated purposes of the collection are threefold: to commemorate the quincentenary, to honor the life and work of Francisco Morales, and to fill gaps in the historiography of the Franciscans in New Spain. The full potential of this volume is apparent in two essays comparing concepts of martyrdom using two differing criteria. José Refugio de la Torre Curiel’s diachronic analysis of the discourse surrounding martyrdom (chapter 8), and Emanuele Colombo’s “comparative study of different religious orders active at the same time and in the same location” (p. 309), in this case Franciscan and Jesuit responses to martyrdom (chapter 13). Engaging the topic with two different methodological approaches illuminates how dynamic the Franciscan experience and the richness the cultural and religious landscape was in New Spain. Likewise, unique contributions such as Jonathan Truitt’s work on the role of sports and spectacle in the creation of Colonial Society (chapter 4) display the depth with which the Friars interacted with nearly every facet of colonial society. The emphasis on the Colonial Mexican location at times overshadows the particularities of the Franciscan presence, methods, and approaches to evangelization in the region. For example, Veronica Murilla Gallegos’ examination of Fray Juan Bautista’s literary production (chapter 3), an otherwise masterfully crafted essay, does not aclnowledge that the Franciscan literary production in Mexico reflected longstanding trends within the Order’s history regarding the use of the vernacular. This is not a universal trend, and largely a concern only for experts in the field of Franciscan Studies, as other contributions situate the Friars within a larger religious economy and consciously Franciscan identity. Matthew Restall’s “The Landa Conundrum” (chapter 5) reminds us that these friars, and in fact all agents in the colonization of Mexico, were products of historical forces which were transcontinental, diachronic, and shaped in these cases by participation in the Franciscan charism. Karen Melvin’s examination in chapter 8 of the reinscription of the sacred topography onto the Mexican landscape, likewise situates the Friars within a global Catholic framework. One weakness of the volume is the lack of critical engagement with unfree labor. The editors’ acknowledgement that the Franciscans “participated in the extirpation of the vestiges of Indigenous religion and culture [and] involuntarily to the demographic demise of Indigenous peoples” (p. 3) is certainly correct. As Steven Hackel in chapter 9, and Rose Marie Beebe and Robert M. Senkewicz’ chapter 10 make clear when discussing the missions in Baja California, at certain times and places the Friars’ were invested in gaining and retaining control over the lives of Indigenous people. Nor does any essay fully account for Franciscan attitudes towards enslaved African labor. In this way the volume continues in the tradition of earlier nationalist histories which saw slavery, the encomienda, and reparimiento as vehicles for creating an organic Latin American culture. Ultimately, however, the many strengths of this volume and its utility for scholars, overcome whatever critiques might be offered, and renders it an invaluable BOOK REVIEWS 619 resource for higher-level undergraduate reading and scholars in the field. The Franciscans in Colonial Mexico is a timely and invaluable contribution to scholarship in the fields of Latin American History and Franciscan Studies. Society for Lascasian Studies JOHN POLLOCK-PARKER Idolizing Mary: Maya-Catholic Icons in Yucatán, Mexico. By Amara Solari. (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press. 2019. Pp. 200. $99.95. ISBN: 9780271083322.) Amara Solari’s Idolizing Mary explains how images become powerful through a wonderful study of the Virgin Mary and her Maya devotees in Yucatán. The book uses the Virgin of Iztmal as a touchstone, and Solari’s close reading of this icon serves a number of functions. We learn about the history of the sculpture itself, which Fray Diego de Landa commissioned in Guatemala and brought to Yucatán in the 1550s. Although the original Virgin of Iztmal sculpture was destroyed by fire in 1829, Solari reconstructs its appearance. We also learn about the annual procession of the image from Iztmal to Mérida, and the healing qualities that Maya and other devotees have attached to the image. The procession began with the 1648 yellow fever epidemic and continues today. Yet Solari’s study provides much more than a discussion of one sculpture of the Virgin. Solari uses images of Mary as a conduit to consider postclassic and colonial Maya ideas of images as vessels meant to be animated by sacred power; Maya ideas about the ability of images to absorb and transfer illness and suffering; Spanish ideas about indigenous religion as disease and the power of evangelization and Maya Catholicism to heal “idolatrous” sin; and the Maya emphasis on Mary, particularly the Virgin of the Immaculate Conception, as an animate healer. Ultimately, Idolizing Mary provides a way to explore the “nativization of Mary,” a process in which Maya people understood and utilized sculptures of Mary through their own ideology of “sacred materiality.” Maya devotees, as well as their Spanish and Afro-Yucatecan neighbors, recognized images of Mary and other holy figures as sacred matter that could address the challenges of indigenous life under Spanish colonialism. Solari uses a diverse source base to understand colonial Maya and Spanish ideas about sacrality and materiality. Sources include pictorial texts such as drawings and paintings from codexes and Spanish accounts, and published and manuscript texts written in Spanish, Maya, Italian, and Latin. Of course, given that icons of Mary are at the heart of the book, Solari also uses many material texts, including postclassic and colonial Maya-produced sculptures. Solari pays close attention to language in the written sources, for example in the discussion of the Maya word suhuy, meaning unworked or undiluted. The use of this term to describe the Virgin in various texts, including the Book of Chilam Balam of Chumayel, shows how Maya people placed Mary within existing ideas of the sacred. Four appendices provide translations of texts used in the book, including extensive descriptions of miracles performed by the Virgin of Iztmal. 620 BOOK REVIEWS Idolizing Mary goes beyond works that compare indigenous and European religious practices and posit hidden meanings behind popular images. Instead, Solari delves deep to examine Maya and Spanish ideologies of sacred materiality over time. Idolizing Mary examines the basis of Marian devotion in Yucatán to reveal how Maya people utilized images of the Virgin as powerful vehicles of healing illness and suffering, often brought by colonization. In providing a genealogy of the Virgin of Iztmal and other Yucatecan images, Solari provides micro- and macro-level views of Yucatecan religiosity that reveal the active participation of Maya people in shaping colonial epistemologies. George Mason University JOAN BRISTOL Colonial Kinship: Guaraní, Spaniards, and Africans in Paraguay. By Shawn Michael Austin. (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. 2020. Pp. xvi, 382. $85.00. ISBN: 9780826361967.) Shawn Michael Austin in his exciting new book provides an insightful analysis into the everyday lives of the Guaraní through the study of colonial kinship in Paraguay. His focus is on those Native peoples who were subjected to labor demands and other obligations under the Spanish institution of the encomienda, as well as the African peoples and those of mixed descent who interacted with Spanish society, especially in Asuncion and its satellite communities during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. These Native peoples were generally under the control of Franciscan missionaries, although the author provides details on the Guaraní from the Jesuit missions to elucidate the divergent patterns of Native resistance and colonial practices. In contrast to previous works, Austin draws upon rich archival documents with emphasis on 350 judicial records, which have been underutilized, and often contain the testimonies of the Guaraní. The author uses a broad framework to demonstrate how ethnic soldiering first began with the Spanish expeditions into the Chaco region in search of precious metals in the sixteenth century, rather than with the arming of the Guaraní by the Jesuits to combat Indian slavery in the early seventeenth century. The Franciscans were also the first to evangelize among the Guaraní in Guairá in southeastern Brazil prior to the arrival of the first Jesuits in 1609 who became a major evangelical force in the region. Austin builds on the pioneering works (1954) of anthropologist Elman R. Service for his analysis on kinship to demonstrate how the Guaraní shaped Paraguayan colonial society. Spanish conquistadors relied on and exploited the kinship relations they established with the Guaraní before and well beyond the introduction of the encomienda and a tributary system in 1556. The author states that the Guaraní term mborayhu (loving) is a complex word that describes the Natives’ relationship with their encomenderos (grantees of Indian laborers), which implied reciprocal benefits and a sense of community. Austin further discusses how religious orders but especially the Jesuits were the major purchasers of African slaves in the Rio de la Plata who put their slaves to work on their ranches, farms, convents, and colleges. In 1682, he notes, Africans, whether enslaved or free, com- BOOK REVIEWS 621 prised 15 percent of Asuncion’s population. Africans, the author convincingly argues, must be viewed within the context of indigenous society. The author mentions an absence of church records in Paraguay; however, a few original baptismal and marriage records from the colonial period, such as those of Mission Santa Rosa, remain in the archives of the churches themselves, rather than in Asuncion. Accordingly, one wonders about the extent to which grandparenthood ties took place between the Guaraní and African slaves, a pattern that was present in baptismal records in the church records of small towns in southeastern Brazil. The author’s analysis of African slavery in Paraguay is a major achievement, but perhaps he could have examined slavery in greater detail in other parts of the Rio de la Plata, such as Uruguay, to cast a broader framework to strengthen his analysis. Aside from these minor points, Austin’s work represents a major contribution to the history of the Guaraní and Spanish relations during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. This informative book will be useful for scholars who study Spanish borderlands, ethnohistory, race mixture, and colonial Latin American history. Florida Atlantic University, Boca Raton BARBARA A. GANSON Guatemala’s Catholic Revolution: A History of Religious and Social Reform, 19201968. By Bonar L. Hernández Sandoval. (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. 2018. Pp. 254. $50.00. ISBN: 978-0-268-10441-2.) In this compelling book, Bonar Hernández Sandoval explores the history of the Catholic Church in Guatemala in the period between 1920 and the 1960s, i.e., from the early liberal dictatorships to “the democratic spring” (1944-54), to the first decade after the CIA-sponsored coup in 1954. His purpose is to demonstrate how the massive social engagement of large sectors of the Church from the 1960s onwards was not simply a result of the changes following the Second Vatican Council and the landmark Conference of Latin American Bishops in Medellín in 1968. Rather, it was “propelled by the institutional renewal of rural Catholicism, which date[d] back to the interwar period, when a reconfiguration of national and international politics created new spaces for the Church’s resurgence” (p. 3). Hernández affirms that these transformations were the result of Vatican initiatives that attempted to break the deadlock between the Guatemalan Church and anticlerical liberal governments, which since the independence of 1821 had gradually weakened the institution. (In 1920, there were only around hundred priests for a population of two million people.) The book is divided into six chapters and progresses chronologically, which makes it easily accessible for students. In the first two chapters, Hernández analyzes hitherto unexamined archival sources in the Vatican and the Guatemalan archdiocese. These show how the Vatican sent envoys to Guatemala to expand the space for ecclesial activity and to redirect the focus of the national conservative clergy away from fruitless power struggles with the state and toward a new vision of a Romanized Church. In this vision, the Church would limit itself to the religious 622 BOOK REVIEWS realm and aim for the reconstruction of a strong Catholic culture through the catechization and disciplining of the laity. The third chapter describes how the Church, under the leadership of Archbishop Mariano Rossell y Arellano (193964), was able to expand its activities and begin inviting foreign missionaries to the country. Hundreds of priests and sisters from the United States and Europe arrived in Guatemala in the decades following World War II, eventually outnumbering Guatemalan-born clergy and religious. The missionaries were primarily sent to the highland Maya peoples. From the fifth chapter and on, the book gradually narrows its focus to the Maryknoll missionaries and their pastoral work. Sources from the society’s archives in Ossining, New York, reveal the missionaries’ experience of catechizing the Maya and opposing their Costumbre, i.e. custom-based Catholicism that included pre-Columbian practices and beliefs. The social pastoral work, in which priests, sisters, and catechists increasingly engaged, can be understood in light of the anti-communism of the Cold War in post-coup Guatemala. In the first part of the book, Hernández convincingly demonstrates how the rise of progressive Catholicism in Guatemala was rooted in developments that went back far longer than Vatican Council II and the Medellín conference. In the last part of the book, however, it seems as if Hernández is reversing his own argument in the case of the Maryknollers, ascribing their turn toward progressiveness—and in some cases support for revolutionary struggle—as a development taking place despite the conservatism of the Church in Guatemala. Here a broader approach— one that would take into account the development of the broader Catholic and religious landscape of Guatemala in the 1950s and 60s—could have helped Hernández develop his first claim, which was well-warranted. This last observation notwithstanding, the book is an important historiographical contribution to the history of Catholicism in Guatemala. The book ends in 1968, when the civil war was rising in intensity. It is to be hoped that Hernández will follow up with a study of the role of the Church in that tragic period of Guatemala’s recent history. Aarhus University JAKOB EGERIS THORSEN For Christ and Country: Militant Catholic Youth in Post-Revolutionary Mexico. By Robert Weis. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 2019. Pp. 213. $99.99. ISBN: 9781108493024) The story of how José de León Toral shot caudillo Álvaro Obregón in Mexico City in 1928 has often been told, but not with the sociological insight, archival rigor, or noirish aplomb of Robert Weis’s For Christ and Country. Toral was Mexico’s Oswald: yet because he was a Catholic who died by firing squad, the political/theological signals of his crime were scrambled for eternity. Fanatic? Martyr? Terrorist? Or just a deluded mystic, as Rome said? Weis sets out to contextualize Toral’s “fanaticism”—which is to dispel it. Fanaticism, he writes, is an ahistorical term, distinct from violence. The book’s BOOK REVIEWS 623 provocation, implicitly, is to critique its use elsewhere (pp. 4–5). Thus, too, Obregón’s death is over in one ecstatic pistol fumbling (pp. 130–131), Toral’s gunhand bathed in light. Weis’s thesis is that it took a city, at a particular point of development, to pull the trigger. A twentieth-century Catholic stoicism flourished, Weis argues, alongside patterns of class, family, labor, and sociability. The book explores this matrix suggestively. Toral and his associates were young, provincial migrants to Mexico City; fatherless, hanging on in middle class colonias, they worked entry-level jobs. They inhabited, even defined, a youthful interstice: unburdened by marriage and children, they intermingled with the opposite sex in illegal prayer-ins or parishes with penitential avatars like the Sagrado Corazón. Militants, they disdained “sugar Catholics” (a phrase lifted from a 1928 letter of Toral’s, p. 122) for whom faith was an accessory, like Hollywood movies or bobbed hair. They were a twenty-something precariat, repulsed by consumerism, excited by a “virile” devotional style that encouraged them to see themselves as sacrifices. Then, in 1926, the bloodshedding opportunities stopped being vicarious. Now who meant it? Who dared stand in harm’s way? Toral did, after seeing the Pro brothers’ corpses, shredded by dumdums. Henceforth, “Pepe” roamed the streets artlessly searching for Obregón, a lovesick suitor with someone else’s gun. This portrait is developed through six chapters. Chapter 1 explores Churchstate tensions; chapter 2, religious policing; chapter 3, Catholic asceticism; chapter 4 (the best), Catholics’ underground networks; chapters 5 and 6, Toral’s life, crime, and trial. Weis dives deeply into the archive (especially AGN’s Investigaciones Políticas y Sociales files and the judicial records). There are some factual slips: ACJM was created in 1913, not 1914 (p. 22) or 1917 (p. 45); the “U” in 1915, not 1920 (p. 109); the Cristo Rey monument in 1923, not 1921 (p. 21); ranchera crooner Javier Solis could not have sung “Morir por tu amor” until decades later (p. 51). But glitches in no serious way detract from a well written, perceptive narrative, whether Weis is analyzing Catholics’ economic protests or the horrors of Toral’s interrogation. The book is best when tracing the networks that finessed Toral, their amateurism (dud bombs; Toral’s heroically bad marksmanship) giving the lie to charges of organized terrorist cells. This was Catholic adventurism, chemistry-set martyr games politicized, made shockingly real. Weis is often judicious: he downplays the arch-influence of Madre Conchita (conventionally the brains of the piece); likewise of Church doctrine, particularly Aquinas on tyrannicide, in favor of self-help exegesis (Toral styled himself on biblical Judith, who beheaded the Babylonian general Holofernes, pp. 117, 148). The discussion of women Catholics is interesting: the resistance, Weis argues, was co-constructed by middle class women who hosted illegal prayer-ins and saved some of the men from quicker futile deaths (pp. 106–107). There are loose threads. I wondered whether Catholics’ virility concept was forged in tandem with other secular forms, not just antagonistically, particularly the 624 BOOK REVIEWS stoicism of the corrida (mentioned pp. 89, 103, 127). Weis is not interested in mining Catholic spirituality, above all its obession with expiation. Nor, in chapter 6, does he deconstruct Toral’s rhetoric with the same sharpness as he does that of prosecutor Padilla. Still, this is a taut, humanizing essay on 1920s youthful militancy and the meanings of “fanaticism,” by a distance the best study of cristero activism in Mexico City. Students of Catholicism, violence, and postrevolutionary Mexico will enjoy it. University of Texas at Austin MATTHEW BUTLER Notes and Comments CAUSE OF SAINTS In July two Jesuit priests were beatified: Giovanni Antonio Solinas (1643– 1683) and John Philipp Jeningen (1642–1704). Solinas, a missionary from Sardinia, was martyred in 1683 in the Jesuit missions of northwest Argentina, after two tribes of natives decided to deceive him to preach and work in their village before ambushing and killing him. He was beatified by Cardinal Marcello Semeraro on July 2 in a ceremony in San Ramón de la Nueva Orán, Argentina. Jeningen was born in Bavaria and exercised his priestly ministry as an itinerant preacher, mostly in that same region of Germany. For many years, he was attached to the Jesuit basilica of Our Lady in Ellwangen. His preaching led to the founding of a Marian shrine in Schönenberg. He was a tireless rural missionary, travelling the country, holding missions, and giving retreats to priests; he cared especially for soldiers, prisoners, and those condemned to death. In spite of his precarious health, he led a very active life and, despite his many illnesses, constantly brought comfort and help to people. The Eucharist was always his food. He died in Ellwangen and was buried there in 1704. Jeningen was beatified on July 16 in a ceremony at the Basilica of St. Vitus in Rottenburg by Cardinal Jean-Claude Hollerich accompanied by Bishop Dr. Gebhard. WORKSHOPS The Newberry Library in Chicago, in collaboration with the University of Warwick’s Centre for the Study of the Renaissance, will offer two virtual research skills courses in the autumn of 2022. The first is dedicated to “Palaeography—From Manuscript to Print.” These are unassessed courses on English and Italian palaeography, designed to help students learn to read and transcribe documents from the late Middle Ages to the early modern period. Students will learn to identify and correctly transcribe a variety of scripts, taken from manuscripts, archival documents, and early printed books. The classes are taught online (typically via MS Teams) by experienced researchers, and involve a fair amount of homework (typically 2–3 hours per week). The English stream will take place on Wednesday afternoons, 15:00–16:30 (BST), starting October 12, 2022, with Italian classes taking place on Tuesday afternoons, 15:00–16:45 (BST), starting 4th October 2022. Italian palaeography requires at least an intermediate knowledge of Italian. Further information on palaeography in general is available on the website, with links to the different streams and application forms / deadlines accessible from this page: http://www2.warwick.ac.uk/fac/arts/ren/postgradstudy/manuscripttoprint/ The application deadline for the English Stream is September 1, 2022; for the Italian Stream, September 20, 2022. 625 626 NOTES AND COMMENTS The second research skills course is dedicated to “Latin for Research in the Humanities.” The course explores and compares the writing styles and approaches of humanists from across Europe. The class is taught by Mr. Iván Parga Ornelas, and the cost is £180 per term. This course helps participants (staff or students) develop the ability to read and understand Renaissance Latin texts, while allowing them to brush up their Latin skills for research purposes. The weekly meetings of ninety minutes focus on a small number of Neo-Latin authors in order to build familiarity with their particular styles and rhetorical practices. Sessions typically consist of the reading and translation of a fourteenth- to sixteenth-century text, supported by grammar and vocabulary revision. This year the texts have been selected from Petrarch and Erasmus of Rotterdam during term 1 and from Leon Battista Alberti and Thomas More during term 2. Additionally, excerpts from Neo-Latin poetry— epigram, elegy, and epic—will be read in some sessions. For more information see here: https://warwick.ac.uk/fac/arts/ren/latin4research/. The application deadline is September 20, 2022. Students not enrolled in Warwick’s Centre for the Study of the Renaissance will pay £180 per course, per term. Participants from institutions belonging to the Newberry Library’s Center for Renaissance Studies Consortium may be able to claim their fees back from local Newberry funds; ask your local consortium representative for more information. Queries can also be directed to the CSR’s administrator on renaissance@warwick.ac.uk. FELLOWSHIPS The Leibniz Institute of European History (IEG) awards 8–10 fellowships for international doctoral students in European history, the history of religion, historical theology, or other historical disciplines. The IEG funds PhD projects on European history from the early modern period until 1989/90. It is particularly interested in projects that involve a comparative or cross-border approach, deal with European history in its relation to the wider world, or are on topics of intellectual and religious history. The IEG Fellowships provide a unique opportunity to pursue individual PhD projects while living and working for six to twelve months at the Institute in Mainz. The monthly stipend is € 1,350. Additionally, one can apply for family or child allowance. The IEG preferably supports the writing up of dissertations; it will not provide funding for preliminary research, language courses, or the revision of book manuscripts. PhD theses continue to be supervised under the auspices of the fellows’ home universities. Candidates are expected to have proficiency in English and a sufficient command of German to participate in discussions at the Institute. The IEG encourages applications from women. Application forms are available at https://buff.ly/3lA7vxQ. Applications should be sent to application@ieg-mainz.de. Letters of recommendation should be submitted directly by the referees. The IEG has two deadlines each year for IEG Fellowships: February 15 and August 15. Questions concerning the IEG Fellowship Programme should be directed to Joke Kabbert: fellowship@ieg-mainz.de. NOTES AND COMMENTS 627 CONFERENCES From August 1 to 3, 2022, Boston College hosted the Institute for Advanced Jesuit Studies’ International Symposium on Jesuit Studies dedicated to the theme Jesuits and the Church in History. There were thirteen panels. Panel One: Foundations in Mission Lands: The Jesuits and the Local Clergy featured “Desolation and Orphanhood: Experiences and Voices of Suppressed Jesuits Regarding the Papacy” by Arturo Reynoso, S.J.; “Of Biographies and Miraculous Events: The Relationship between the Eighteenth-Century Province of the Society of Jesus of New Spain and the Novohispanic Church” by Hugo Zayas González; and “Giulio Mancinelli, S.J. (1537–1618): An Agent of Post-Tridentine Church Between Italy and the Ottoman Empire” by Silvia Notarfonso. Panel Two: Early Jesuit Thought on Religion and Translating Catholic Faith in Mission Lands consisted in “Nadal’s Defense of Jesuit Distinctiveness” by Joshua Hinchie, S.J.; “From Hierarchical to Popular Church: The Contribution of Jesuits’ Translation of Western Metaphysics in South American Missions (16th–17th Centuries)” by Juan Dejo, S.J.; and “Jesuits Teachings of the Immortality of Soul in Late Ming China” by Lu Jiang. A plenary session titled “Humanities in a New Light: Interdisciplinary Perspectives on the Jesuit Missions to China” heard “Virtues of a Comparative Theologian” by Peng Yin; “From West to East and Back Again: The ReEuropeanization of Chinese Jesuit Imagery in the Late 19th Century” by Yifu Liu; and “Imago Mundi: Transnational Filmmaking and American Jesuit Missions in Early Cold War China” by Joseph Ho. Panel Three: History, Law, and Cosmography as Intellectual Strategies for the Catholic Church consisted in three papers: “Church’s Territory: Jesuits’ Geographical Knowledge and Scientific Network in the 18th Century” by Xiangyi Liu; “Chronology of Concord: Peter Canisius’ Reverse Church History of Marian Devotion” by Hilmar Pabel; and “The Jesuits and the Law of Church: Francisco Suárez (1548–1617) on Canon Law in His Treatise De Legibus IV” by Stephan Hecht. Panel Four: Sources for the Historiography of Jesuit Relations with the Church in the Modern Period had three presentations: “Jesuit Online Necrology: Understanding the Men Who Devoted Their Lives to the Society of Jesus and to the Catholic Church, 1814– 1970” by Adrian Vaagenes and Matthew Naglak; “Jesuits and the Church in Light of the Society’s Roman Archive” by Robert Danieluk, S.J.; and “Contemplative likewise in Action: Jesuit Identity and the Church (16th–17th Centuries)” by Irene Gaddo. A keynote talk was given by Paul F. Grendler on “The Expulsion and Return of the Jesuits to Venice, 1606–1657. A Test of Loyalty Between the Papacy and the Jesuits.” Panel Five: Foundations and Relations among Jesuits and the Clergy in Local Contexts (16th–17th Centuries) also had three papers: “Founding a Jesuit College in the Kingdom of Naples (16th–17th Centuries): Local Strategies, Global Conflicts” by Niccolò Guasti; “Ambivalent Reception: Reflections on Jesuit Foundations from the Local Catholic Church in the Austrian Jesuit Province in the First Half of the 17th Century” by Zsófia Kádár; and “New Network of the Jesuit Stations in the Orient Planned by the Polish Royal Couple in the 1650s” by Natalia Królikowska-Jedlińska. Panel Six: Catholic Journals and Jesuits between Local and 628 NOTES AND COMMENTS National Politics in the 19th Century featured three papers: “Carlo Passaglia, S.J.’s Magazine Il Mediatore (1862–66): Political Activism, Religion and Theology in Post-Unification Italy” by Laura Madella; “19th Century Boston Jesuit History Seen in the Story of Mary Jane Regan (1842–1925)” by Barbara Adams Hebard; and “The Restored Jesuits, the Church, and the State in 19th-Century New York” by James Roberts. A plenary session on The Jesuits and Politics in the Early Modern Church contained three papers: “Jesuits and Papal Nepotism in 17th Century” by Flavio Rurale; “‘I Obey, but I do not Comply?’: Jesuit Missionary Practice in China after the Papal Suppression of the Chinese Rites” by Adam Włodarski; and “A Stab in the Back?: The Role of the (Lower) Secular and Regular Clergy in the Suppression of the Society of Jesus in 1773” by Joep van Gennip. Panel Seven: Jesuit Spirituality and Identity between the Catholic Church and Reformation was studied in three papers: “Edmund Arrowsmith, S.J. and the English Catholic Mission: Ministry, Martyrology, and Hagiography in His Life and Afterlife” by Robert Scully, S.J.; “Training the Secular Clergy: The Practice of Institutionalized Spiritual Exercises in Early Modern France” by Judith Lipperheide; and “‘The World is Our Cloister:’ Assessing the Parallels between the Society of Jesus and the Carthusians” by Henry Shea, S.J., and Stephen Molvarec, S.J. Panel Eight: Jesuits and Catholic Missions in Late Ming China and EarlyModern Japan contained three papers: “Early Jesuits and Other Religious Orders in the Archdiocese of Goa: Cooperation, Competition, and Conflict (1540–75)” by Bradley Blankemeyer; “What Saint Francis Xavier and Giovanni Battista Sidoti Brought to Japan” by Aiko Okamoto-MacPhail; and “Translating `BuddhistChristian’ Hagiography in the Late Ming: The Story of Barlaam and Josaphat” by Yi Wang. Panel Nine: Dying in Asia for the Church: Jesuits and Martyrdom in the Early Modern Period also had three papers: “Martyrdom in the Library: The Books of the Early Modern Jesuit Novitiate in Mainz” by Elisa Frei; “Jesuits and Martyrdom in Japan” by Carla Tronu Montané; and “Why Did Most Jesuits Survive the Martyrdom of 1597?: The Diplomatic Policy of the Toyotomi Administration and the Martyrdom of the ‘26 Martyrs of Japan’” by Yurika Takano. Panel Ten: Jesuit Universities as Catholic Institutions in the Global, Contemporary Context consisted in three presentations: “Responding to ‘Hungers in the Church and the World’: Fordham University’s Graduate School of Religion and Religious Education and the Renewal of Religious Education in the PostVatican II Church” by Dennis Gunn; “French Jesuit Missions in Sub-Saharan Africa: Which link with the Church and its Global Mission? The Example of a Local Initiative: the INADES” by Barbara Baudry; and “The Cursillo Retreat and Fourth Day Spirituality in the Catholic Church: The Role of the Society of Jesus and Ignatian Spirituality” by Chris Miller. Panel Eleven: Jesuits in the Context of Church Politics featured “Popes and Jesuits vs. Nationalism, ca. 1848–1978” by Tom Worcester, S.J.; “Obedience in the Church and in the Society of Jesus” by Jörg Nies, S.J.; and “A Problematic Partnership: Jesuit Priests, Diocesan Clergy, and the Ministry to Enslaved People in the Maryland Province” by Elsa Mendoza. Panel Twelve: Cultural Transitions and Political Adaptation in National Contexts contained the papers “The Making of Christian Sheshan (Zô-sè), 1863–1947” by NOTES AND COMMENTS 629 Hsin-fang Wu; “Psychology in Catholic Pedagogical Humanism: Manuals and Printed Materials for the Training of Teachers in Brasil (1920–60)” by Raquel Assis; and “The Jesuits and the Public Sphere in Contemporary India” by Neil Lincoln Tannen. Panel Thirteen: Philosophy, Theology, and Spirituality and the Second Vatican Council contained three papers: “Reflections on the Jesuit College of Eegenhoven and its Role in the Second Vatican Council’ by Andrew Barrette; “From Suspicious Reformer to the Suspicion of Reform: The Enigmatic Case of Henri de Lubac” by Carlos Alvarez, S.J.; and “Henri de Lubac, the Jesuits of LyonFourvière, and Pope Pius XII: the Humani generis crisis of 1950 and the problem of method” by Philip Moller, S.J. A final session on The Jesuit and the Church: Trajectories and Perspectives featured a roundtable discussion involvng John O’Malley, S.J. (by zoom), Mark Lewis, S.J., Nelson H. Minnich, and Stefania Tutino. The Haskins Society, founded in 1982, is an international scholarly organization dedicated to studying the history and cultures of peoples in northwest Europe in the early and central Middle Ages, and their encounters with societies in the Mediterranean, the Baltic, and the larger medieval world. The Haskins Society annual conference will take place at the University of Richmond on October 28– 30, 2022. Featured speakers include Cord Whitaker (Wellesley), Frances Andrews (St. Andrews), and Anne Lester (Johns Hopkins). For full details, see https://thehaskinssociety.wildapricot.org/page-1856509. PUBLICATIONS The first issue of Volume 25 (2021) of the Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum/Journal of Ancient Christianity is a Themenheft on “Clerics and Their Multiple Roles in Late Antique Christianity,” edited by Robert Wisniewski: “How Numerous and How Busy were Late-Antique Presbyters?” by Robert Wisniewski (pp. 3–37); “The Role of Clerics in North African Third-Century Martyr Narratives,” by Éric Rebillard (pp. 38–52); “From Slave to Bishop. Callixtus’ Early Ecclesiastical Career and Mechanisms of Clerical Promotion,” by András Handl (pp. 53–73); “Presbyters Serving as Pastors in Roman Africa,” by James Patout Burns (pp. 74-92); “`Neither Poverty nor Riches’: Ambrosiaster and the Problem of Clerical Compensation,” by David G. Hunter (pp. 93–107); and “Audientia sacerdotalis? Remarks on the Legal Nature of Dispute Resolution by Ecclesiastics in Late Antiquity,” by Marzena Wojtczak (pp. 108–49). A special issue of Philippiniana Sacra, published on the eight hundredth anniversary of the “Dies Natalis of Sto. Domingo de Caleruega” (Volume LVI, Number 170 [2021]) commemorates “50 Years of the Dominican Province of the Philippines” and “500 Years of Christianity in the Philippines.” The four articles are: ”Prelude to Filipino Catholicism: The Hispanization of the Christian Mission (15th to 16th Centuries),” by Jessie R. Yap, O.P. (pp. 973–992); “The Establishment of the Dominican Province (1581–1631),” by Jessie R. Yap, O.P. (pp. 993– 630 N OTES AND COMMENTS 1028); “Extant Artifacts from the First One Hundred Years of the Dominicans in the Philippines (1587–1750),” by Regalado Trota José (pp. 1029–84); and “The Dominican Influence in the Philippines in Terms of Marian Piety: Yesterday, Today and Beyond,” by Roland D. Mactal, O.P. (pp. 1085–1108). Quaerens, Journal of Theology and Pastoral Life, published by the Recoletos School of Theology in Quezon City, Philippines, has celebrated the “IV Centenario de la Provincia de San Nicolás de Tolentino, Orden de Agustinos Recoletos, 1621– 2021,” in a double issue for 2020 (Volume 15) under the heading “Siempre en mission.” It contains thirty articles in 610 pages. The next volume (for 2021) is entitled “Amor Diffusivus II: Historical Studies in Commemoration of the 500th Anniversary of Christianity in the Philippines (1521–2021),” of which the theme is “Gifted to Give.” Emmanuel Luis A. Romanillos has contributed fifteen articles, which are published in 405 pages. “C. F. W. Walther and Christian Missions” is the theme of the issue of the Concordia Historical Institute Quarterly for summer, 2022 (Volume 95), which contains four brief articles. Aspects of twentieth-century Mexican church history are treated in the issue of The Americas for April, 2022 (Volume 79, Number 2): “Catholic Mobilizations in Twentieth-Century Mexico: From Pious Lynchings and Fascist Salutes to a ‘Catholic 1968,’ Maoist Priests, and the Post-Cristero Apocalypse,” by Matthew Butler (pp. 181–96); “Martyrs, Fanatics, and Pious Militants: Religious Violence and the Secular State in 1930s Mexico,” by Gema Kloppe-Santamaría (pp. 197– 227); “Fascists, Nazis, or Something Else? Mexico’s Unión Nacional Sinarquista in the US Media, 1937–1945,” by Julia G. Young (pp. 229–61); “Silencing Rebellious Priests: Rodolfo Escamilla García and the Repression of Progressive Catholicism in Cold-War Mexico,” by Jaime M. Pensado (pp. 263–89); “The Nazas-Aguanaval Group: Radical Priests, Catholic Networks, and Maoist Politics in Northern Mexico,” by Jorge Puma (pp. 291–320); and “Las Falsas Derechas: Conflict and Convergence in Mexico’s Post-Cristero Right after the Second Vatican Council,” by Luis Herrón Ávila (pp. 321–50). Periodical Literature GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS Lending at Interest. A Medieval Controversy in the Contemporary Debate. Laura Righi. Cristianesimo nella storia,43 (1, 2022), 61– 91. Padre Engelbert Kirschbaum SJ: gesuita e archeologo all’avanguardia. Cristina Cumbo. Gregorianum,103 (2, 2022), 391– 408. Bishop Christopher Butler’s Role in Dei Verbum 11 on the Inspiration of the Bible. Cesar Andrade Alves, S.I. Gregorianum,103 (2, 2022), 359– 90. Pace e umanesimo. Gli amici al concilio Vaticano II (1962– 1965). Mauro Velati. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique,114 (Jan.– June, 2019), 289– 325. La recepción del Vaticano II: crónica histórica para un “status quaestionis.” Santiago Madrigal. Estudios Eclesiásticos,97 (Jan., 2022), 3– 44. ANCIENT History, Eschatology, and the Development of the Six Ages of the World. Part I: From Antiquity to Tyconius. John Joseph Gallagher. Augustinianum, 61 (June, 2021), 181– 206. History, Eschatology, and the Development of the Six Ages of the World. Part II: From Tyconius to Bede. John Joseph Gallagher. Augustinianum, 61 (Dec., 2021), 361– 80. Genesis 1 and the Beginnings of Gnosticism. Christoph Markschies. Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum / Journal of Ancient Christianity,26 (July, 2022), 25-44. Girolamo, Elvidio e il contesto teologico romano al tempo di Damaso. Emanuele Di Santo. Augustinianum,61 (Dec., 2021), 435-60. Passio Perpetuae: la concezione della donna-martire nelle opere di sant’Agostino d’Ippona. Alessia Brombin. Antonianum,97 (Jan., 2022), 97– 108. Basil’s Knowledge of Astronomy. Colten Cheuk-Yin Yam. Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum / Journal of Ancient Christianity,26 (July, 2022), 126-44. An Early Collection of Acts from the Council of Ephesus (431) in Antioch. Thomas Graumann. Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum / Journal of Ancient Christianity,25 (Dec., 2021), 452– 78. Santos y herejes. La diáspora cristiana norteafricana durante el “Siglo vándalo.” Raúl Villegas Marín. Cristianesimo nella storia,43 (1, 2022), 37– 60. 631 632 PERIODICAL L ITERATURE The Biblical Text and its Variants at the Heart of the Debate between the Emperor Julian and Cyril of Alexandria. The Cases of Genesis 6,2 and 49,10. MarieOdile Boulnois. Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum / Journal of Ancient Christianity,25 (Oct., 2021), 284–319. Catholic Identity in a Hostile Vandal Context: Insights from the Notitia Provinciarum.Christoph Scheerer. Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum / Journal of Ancient Christianity,25 (Oct., 2021), 320–39. Editare il Martinello di Sulpicio Severo: osservazioni testuali sulle Lettere.Fabio Ruggiero. Augustinianum, 61 (Dec., 2021), 499–525 Acerba funera.“Pagani” e cristiani di fronte alla morte infantile. Elena Zocca. Augustinianum, 61 (Dec., 2021), 527–51. Lives, Lives and Afterlives: The Exemplary Pedagogy of Caesarius of Arles. A.E.T. McLaughlin. Augustinianum, 61 (June, 2021), 207–35. Rufinus of Aquileia’s Historia ecclesiastica and Historia monachorum in Aegypto: A Dual Program of Monastic Historiography. Andrew Cain. Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum / Journal of Ancient Christianity, 25 (Oct., 2021), 233–49. Leontopolis: Kaiserstadt ohne Bischof? Lokalisierung und Geschichte einer isaurischen Märtyrer-Kultstätte. Philipp Pilhofer. Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum / Journal of Ancient Christianity, 25 (Dec., 2021), 479–506. MEDIEVAL Notes sur la circulation des textes autour de l’abbaye de Saint-Riquier au IXe siècle. Angela Cossu. Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome, 133 (2, 2021), 375–92. The last empress: Saint Richgard and the end of the Carolingian dynasty. Racha Kirakosian. Women’s History Review, 30 (May, 2021), 375–400. An edition of the four sermons attributed to Candidus Witto. Christopher A. Jones. Anglo-Saxon England, 47 (Dec., 2018), 7–67. St Kenelm, St Melor and Anglo-Breton Contact from the Tenth to the Twelfth Centuries.Caroline Brett. Anglo-Saxon England, 47 (Dec., 2018), 247–73. ‘In me porto crucem,’: A new light on the lost St Margaret’s crux nigra. Francesco Margela. Anglo-Saxon England, 47 (Dec., 2018), 351–64. Le culte de saint Martin en Corse au temps du gouvernement pisan et dans les siècles antérieurs, en relation avec les régions voisines. Antoine Franzini. Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome, 133 (2, 2021), 255–91. Les églises piévanes Saint-Jean-Baptiste de Sainte-Lucie de Tallano (Corse du Sud) et Saint-Pierre de Barbaggio (Haute-Corse). Patrick Ferreira. Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome, 133 (2, 2021), 307–19. PERIODICAL L ITERATURE 633 Of Monks and Movable Beasts: Animals as Fellow Travelers in the Navigatio sancti Brendani abbatis.Aylin Malcol. Viator,52 (1, 2021), 7–16 Gunhild’s Cross: Seeing a Romanesque Masterwork through Denmark. T. A. Heslop. Art History,44 (Apr., 2020), 423–57. Les cisterciens et la cartularisation au Moyen Âge. Les cartulaires des abbayes cisterciennes de Wallonie jusqu’au début du xve siècle (deuxième partie). Nathalie Verpeaux. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique,114 (Jan.–June, 2019), 5–58. Remembering Outremer in the West: The Secunda pars historiae I herosolimitanae and the Crisis of Crusading in Mid-twelfth century France Andrew D. Buck. Speculum, 97 (Apr., 2022), 277–414. Understanding Benedictine Responses to Papal Reform Legislation. Normative Practice at Saint-Trond during the Abbacy of William of Ryckel (1249–1272). Johan Belaen. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique,114 (Jan.–June, 2019), 59–97. Painting against Time: Spectatorship and Visual Entanglement in the Anagni Crypt. Marius B. Hauknes. Art Bulletin,103 (Mar., 2021), 7–36. Agiografia e codicologia: riflessioni sui legami tra i testi agiografica e i loro manoscritti. Jacques Dalarun. Antonianum, 97 (Jan., 2022), 11–41. Tra latino e volgare: riscritture agiografiche. Martine Pagan-Dalarun. Antonianum, 97 (Jan., 2022), 43–65. Reassessing a Late Byzantine masterpiece: the Deesis mosaic in the Hagia Sophia of Constantinople. Konstantinos Vapheiades. Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies, 45 (Oct., 2021), 166–83. Non perfidior Catilinae coniuratio. La strategia comunicativa di Benedetto XI al tempo della legazione fiorentina di Niccoló da Prato (1304). Samuele Fabbri. Archivio Storico Italiano, 179 (Oct.–Dec., 2021), 657–700. Das Buch des Gewissens.Zum Gebrauch einer Metapher in Mittelalter und früher Neuzeit. Mirko Breitenstein. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique,114 (Jan.–June, 2019), 150–221. Il “Manipulus curatorum” di Guy de Montrochen: 250 anni di formazione sacerdotale in Europa. Parte II. Antonio Gerace. Cristianesimo nella storia, 43 (1, 2022), 93–131. “Comune Pisanum habere in fratrem precipuum maiorem”. Alcune note sulle relazioni fra Filippo vescovo di Volterra (1348–1358) e il Comune di Pisa. Jacopo Paganelli. Archivio Storico Italiano, 178 (Oct.–Dec., 2020), 713–40. Gender, Knighthood, and Spiritual Imagination in Henry Suso’s Life of the Servant. Jacob Randolph. Church History,91 (Mar., 2020), 1–19. Negotiating Liturgical Obligations in Late Medieval Dominican Convents. Claire Taylor Jones. Church History,91 (Mar., 2020), 20–40. 634 PERIODICAL L ITERATURE La capacità contributiva delle abbazie cistercensi come problema aperto: il caso di S. Maria del Sagittario (secoli XIV–XV). Mario Loffredo. Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome, 133 (1, 2021), 199–217. The Cathedral School of Santa Maria del Fiore (Collegio Eugeniano) in Florence during the Fifteenth Century. Robert Black. Archivio Storico Italiano, 180 (Apr.–June, 2022), 291–336. Defining “Conversos” in Fifteenth-Century Castile: The Making of a Controversial Category. Yosi Yisraeli and Yanay Israeli. Speculum, 97 (July, 2022), 609–48. Giorgio Spavento e la facciata di Santi Filippo e Giacomo a Venezia: sculture gotiche per una lunetta rinascimentale. Ludovico V. Geymonat. Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome, 133 (1, 2021), 45–60. Errori e peccati dei medici nei manuali dei confessori (secoli XV–XVI). Alessandro Pastore. Archivio Storico Italiano, 178 (Oct.–Dec., 2020), 775–98. SIXTEENTH CENTURY “Performing public piety:” infanticide and reproductive agency in Reformation Spain. Nazanin Sullivan. Women’s History Review, 30 (Nov., 2021), 933–51. Understanding the Early Jesuit Context of “Our Way of Proceeding.” Thomas Flowers, S.J. Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu, 90 (2, 2021), 253–78. Compañía de Jesús y Militia Iesu Christi: su sentido ignaciano en la primera Compañía. Gabriel María Verd Conradi S.J. Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu, 90 (2, 2021), 279–342. Uno studio sulla chiesa di S. Zulian a Venezia, nel Cinquecento. Antonio Manno. Studi Veneziani, n.s., 82 (2020), 459–94. Una figura ancora poco decifrabile del Cinquecento religioso italiano. Vecchie e nuove questioni su Pomponio Algieri. Luca Al Sabbagh e Daniele Santarelli. Cristianesimo nella storia, 43 (1, 2022), 247–62. Un reimpiego di valore un’anastilosi mancata: il pulpito di Guido Bigarelli da Como in san Bartolomeo in Pantano a Pistoia. Aurora Corio. Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome, 133 (1, 2021), 91–103. SEVENTEENTH AND EIGHTEENTH CENTURIES EASTERN HEMISPHERE The Subiconographic Surface: Two Temptations of Saint Anthony Painted on Stone. Steffen Zierholz. Art Bulletin, 103 (Dec., 2021), 36–60. Robert Bellarmine and Me: A Meeting at Four Hundred Years’ Distance. Stefania Tutino. Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu, 90 (2, 2021), 369–80. PERIODICAL L ITERATURE 635 La filosofia morale di Paolo Sarpi e il problema dell’omosessualità. Vittorio Frajese. Studi Veneziani,n.s., 81 (2020), 225–53. Bernini’s Revenge? Art, Gynaecology and Theology at St Peter’s, Rome. Carol M. Richardson. Art History,45 (Feb., 2022), 68–93. Guercino’s Saint Petronilla:Saintly Body, Michelangelo, and New St Peter’s. Carolina Mangone and Jonathan Unglaub. Art History,45 (Feb., 2022), 66–101. Note sulla produzione storiografica recente intorno alla Guerra dei trent’anni. Parte I. Il 1998 come “turning-point.” Davide Dainese.Cristianesimo nella storia, 43 (1, 2022), 133–88. Dall’Italia alla Georgia alla fine del seicento. Contributo per una microstoria di Padre Gaetano Rasponi (1654–1720) missionario teatino di Ravenna. Maia Damenia. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 114 (Jan.–June, 2019), 99–149. Epistemic Perspectives on Enthusiasm in Late Seventeenth-Century England. Alessia Pannese. Harvard Theological Review,115 (Apr., 2022), 243–73. The Reception of Thomas Delaune’s Plea for the Non-Conformists in England and America, 1684–1870. Simon Lewis. Church History,91 (Mar., 2020), 41–61. Queenship and exile: representations of Mary Beatrice of Modena in England. Anna-Marie Linnell. Women’s History Review, 30 (Sept., 2021), 856–67. Français et jésuite. Les Lettres édifiantes et curieuses de Chine, entreprise éditoriale de la mission jésuite française (1702–1783). Sarah Barthélemy. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 114 (Jan.–June, 2019), 224–64. Venetian devotion to the sanctuary of Loreto and the ‘Contarini ex-voto.’ Liv Devorah Walberg. Studi Veneziani, n.s., 82 (2020), 507–42. Pietro Tamburini difensore della Chiesa di Utrecht. Ruolo dell’edizione belga del “de toleranzia,” Gand, 1784. Grazia Grasso. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 114 (Jan.–June, 2019), 265–87. NINETEENTH AND TWENTIETH CENTURIES EASTERN HEMISPHERE ‘Victims of Intemperance’: Status Politics and Clerical Drunkenness in the SecondWave Temperance Societies of Colonial Sydney. Nicole Starling. Australian Historical Studies, 53 (Feb., 2022), 43–60. The “nun” as narrative: religion, writing and reputation in the life of Mary Francis Cusack. Bridget Harison, Women’s History Review, 31 (Mar., 2022), 273–93. Monks, Laity, and the prospect of self-sufficiency: Souflar Metochi Vatopedi Monastery. Andreas Bouroutis. Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies, 45 (Apr., 2021), 59–74. 636 PERIODICAL L ITERATURE Widersprüche eines Modus Vivendi: Dokumente zum Besuch Michael Kardinal von Faulhabers bei Adolf Hitler auf dem Obersalzberg im November 1936. Philipp Gahn. Vierteljahrshefte für Zeitgeschichte,69 (3, 2021), 481–526. Pius XI. in der spanischen Arena. Der Vatikan, das nationalsozialistische Deutschland und das Ringen um die gesellschaftspolitische Ausrichtung der Franco-Regimes 1936 bis 1938. José Manuel Sáenz Rotko. Vierteljahrshefte für Zeitgeschichte,70 (2, 2022), 273–92. Beyond the “Marble Arch”? Archbishop J.A.F. Gregg, the Church of Ireland, and the Second World War, 1935–1945. Matthew Houston. Church History,91 (Mar., 2020), 83–99. Single women teachers as missionaries and Women Education Officers in midTwentieth century British Africa. Kay Whitehead. Women’s History Review, 30 (May, 2021), 445–64. The Ascendancy of Gabriel M. Reyes to the Archbishopric of Manila (1949–1952). Melanie J. Magpanta and Antonio C. Hila. Philippiniana Sacra, 57 (May, 2022), 295–342. Between the Vatican and Moscow: The Lithuanian Imprint on the Death Throes of the Soviet Union (1979–1989). Arūnas Streikus. Church History, 91 (Mar., 2020), 100–15. AMERICAN Millenarianism in Puritan New England, 1630–1730: The Exceptional Case of Samuel Sewall and the Mexican Millennium. Richard W. Cogley. Harvard Theological Review,115 (Apr., 2022), 274–93. Delivery and Deliverance: Religious Experiences of Childbirth in EighteenthCentury America. Shelby M. Balik. Church History,91 (Mar., 2020), 62–82. Benjamin Franklin and the Reasonableness of Christianity. Kevin Slack. Church History,90 (Mar., 2021), 68–97. No Foreign Despots on Southern Soil: The Know-Nothing Party in Alabama, 1850-1857. Robert Farrell. Alabama Review, 72 (Apr., 2019), 99–122. The Episcopal Church and the Temperance Movement. David M. Goldberg. Anglican and Episcopal History, 89 (Mar., 2020), 1–26. Religion and Morals at the University of Arkansas in the 1920s. Paul Haynie. Arkansas Historical Quarterly, 80 (Summer, 2021), 196–213. Charlie Kerseten’s War: a Catholic crusader goes to Congress. Margaret M. Manchester. Cold War History, 21 (May, 2021), 121–36. The Catholic Diocese of Mobile-Birmingham and Parochial School Desegregation, 1962–1969. Mark Newman. Alabama Review, 74 (Jan., 2021), 24–61. PERIODICAL L ITERATURE 637 The Reverse Integration of St. Joseph’s School: An Alternate Path to Integrated Education. Paul T. Murray. Alabama Review, 73 (Apr., 2020), 118–48. LATIN AMERICAN Divine Nature: Feathered Microcarvings in the Early Modern World. Art History, 44 (Sept., 2021), 770–96. Tecnologías de la memoria: Mapas y padrones en la configuración del territorio guaraní de las misiones. Guillermo Wilde and Kazuhisa Takeda. Hispanic American Historical Review, 101 (Nov., 2021), 597–627. The “Other” Sor Juana: Racialized Subjectivities, Languages and Culture in the Ensaladilla to the Villancico Series in Honor of San Pedro Nolasco (1677). Carlos Macías Prieto. The Latin Americanist, 66 (Mar., 2022), 109–20. Peace Came in the Sign of the Cross: Ritualized Diplomacy among Natives and Spaniards in the Sonora-Arizona Borderlands, 1694–1836. José Manuel Vega. The Americas, 79 (July, 2022), 399–424. On the Metamorphosis of Anti-Protestant Tensions in the Shadow of US Imperialism in Latin America and its Interpretation (1930–1990). Luca Ferracci. Cristianesimo nella storia, 43 (1, 2022), 189–399. Other Books Received Benders, Alison M. Recollecting America’s Original Sin: A Pilgrimage of Race and Grace. (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. 2022. Pp. xii, 158. $19.95, paperback.) Bernardini, Giovanni, and Christoph Cornelissen, eds. La medialità della storia: Nuovi studi sulla rappresentazione della politica e della società. [Annali dell’Istituto storico italo-germanico in Trento, Quaderni, 104.] (Bologna: Società editrice il Mulino. 2019. Pp. 352. €28.00, paperback.) Gorman, James L., Jeff W. Childers, and Mark W. Hamilton, eds. Slavery’s Long Shadow: Race and Reconciliation in American Christianity. (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Co. 2019. Pp. xii, 272. $33.99 paperback). Contents: Race and Unity/Division in American Christianity: 1. James L. Gorman, “Evangelical Revivalism and Race Relations in the Early National Era” (pp. 21–38); 2. Wes Crawford, “Racism and Division in Christianity during the Antebellum and Reconstruction Eras (pp. 39–57); 3. Christopher R. Hutson, “The Role of Religion in the Lynching Culture of Jim Crow America” (pp. 58–88); 4. Kathy Pulley, “Civil Rights and the Religious Right—Christian Roots but ‘One in Christ’?” (pp. 89–108); 4. Joel A. Brown, “White Christianity and Resistance to Civil Rights for Racial Minorities in Twenty-First-Century America” (pp. 109–129); Case Studies on Race and Christian Unity: 5. Loretta Hunnicutt, “Woman, Race, and Unity in the Stone-Campbell Movement” (pp. 133–152); 6. Lawrence A. Q. Burnley, “The Civil Rights Movement and Interracial Unity within the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ)” (pp. 153–171); 7. Edward J. Robinson, “Racial Cooperation in the Jim Crow and Civil Rights Eras” (pp. 172–188); 8. D. Newell Williams and Kamilah Hall Sharp, “Initiatives to Overcome Racism in the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ)” (pp. 189-209); Proposals for the Future: 9. Richard T. Hughes, “Resisting White Supremacy” (pp. 213– 230); 10. Jerry Taylor, “Racial Reconciliation as Professional Practice” (pp. 231–247); 11. Tanya Smith Brice, “Racial Reconciliation Workshops from the 1960s for Today” (pp. 248–260); 12. Index (pp. 261–271.) Hauerwas, Stanley. Fully Alive: The Apocalyptic Humanism of Karl Barth. (Charlottesville, VA: University of Virginia Press. 2022. Pp. xii, 206. $29.50 cloth.) Hicks, Michael. Richard III: The Self-Made King. (New Haven and London: Yale University Press. 2019. Pp. xx, 416. $35.00.) 638 OTHER BOOKS RECEIVED 639 Kopp, Stefan, Tilman G. Moritz, and Nicole Priesching, eds. Katholische Konfessionalisierung in Paderborn? [Religiöse Prozesse in der Frühen Neuzeit.] (Münster: Aschendorff Verlag. 2021. Pp. 270. €29.80 hardback.) Contents: A k t e u r e der katholischen Konfessionalisierung in Paderborn: 1. Bettina Braun, “‘Die Katholische Religion in iren Stifft [...] wider eingebracht’. Dietrich von Fürstenberg als Initiator der Konfessionalisierung in Paderborn” (pp. 17–42); 2. Gesine Dronsz, “‘Ein Diemant ohne Schatten’, der ‘Seelenbräutigam CHristus JEsus’, die ‘einfältige Daube’ und der ‘christliche Glaubensstreiter’. Symbolische Kommunikation und Bekenntnis in Leichenpredigten des Paderborner Adels im 17. Jahrhundert” (pp. 43–65); Praktiken in Liturgie und Seelsorge: 3. Stefan Kopp, “‘Ohne Irrtum und Fehler sowie einmütig im Geiste.” Zur nachtridentinischen Reform der Liturgie im Bistum Paderborn” (pp. 69–94); 4. Jürgen Bärsch, “Die Rolle der barockzeitlichen Liturgie für die Ausbildung einer katholischen Konfessionskultur. Beobachtungen am Beispiel des Hochstifts Paderborn” (pp. 95–112); 5. Albert Gerhards, “Gebauter Glaube. Spezifische Merkmale der Kirchenräume im Zeitalter der Konfessionalisierung” (pp. 113–127); 6. Joachim Werz, “Die Postille des Abdinghofer Benediktiners Albert Egginck von 1594. Ein Medium der Konfessionalisierung im frühneuzeitlichen Paderborn” (pp. 129–146); 7. Nicole Priesching, “Andachtsbücher als Medium der Konfessionalisierung” (pp. 147–176); 8. Tilman G. Moritz, “Seelsorge der Geschichte? Konfessionelle Geschichtspolitik im 17. Jahrhundert am Beispiel der Monumenta Paderbornensia Ferdinands von Fürstenberg” (pp. 177–198); 9. Tilman G. Moritz, “Das Commentariolum Ferdinands von Fürstenberg—ein lateinisch-deutsche Synopse” (pp. 199– 239); Ein Blick zurück und nach vorne: 10. Andreas Holzem, “‘Nachts sind alle Katzen grau’—oder: Die Muster des Religiösen im Fell der Frühen Neuzeit. Ein kommentierender Essay” (pp. 243–257); 11. Stefan Kopp, Tilman G. Moritz, Nicole Priesching, “Forschungsperspektiven” (pp. 259– 260). Llull, Ramon. Doctrina Pueril: A Primer for the Medieval World. (Barcelona and Woodbridge: Barcino & Tamesis [imprint of Boydell & Brewer]. 2019. Pp. 268. £19.99.) Martin, John Jeffries. A Beautiful Ending: The Apocalyptic Imagination and the Making of the Modern World.(New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. 2022. Pp. viii, 324. $35.00 cloth.) McKendry, Andrew. Disavowing Disability: Richard Baxter and the Conditions of Salvation. [Cambridge Elements: Eighteenth-Century Connections.] (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. 2021. Pp. iv, 84. $20.00 paperback.) Mosse, George L. The Fascist Revolution: Toward a General Theory of Fascism. (Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press. 2021. Pp. xlii, 188. $21.95 paperback.) 640 OTHER BOOKS RECEIVED Newman, Barbara, trans. The Works of Richard Methley. (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. 2021. Pp. lx, 162. $29.95.) Nubola, Cecilia, Paolo Pezzino, and Toni Rovatti, eds. Giustizia straordinaria tra fascismo e democrazia: I processi presso le Corti d’assise e nei tribunali militari. [Annali dell’Istituto storico italo-germanico in Trento, Quaderni, 103.] (Bologna: Società editrice il Mulino. 2019. Pp. 422. €34.00 paperback.) Petit, Edward. The Waning Sword: Conversion Imagery and Celestial Myth in Beowulf. (Cambridge, U.K.: Open Book Publishers. 2020. Pp. xxii, 538. £28.95.) Ryan, Salvador, ed. Marriage and the Irish:a miscellany.[Birth, Marriage and Death Among the Irish, 2.] (Dublin: Wordwell, Ltd. 2019. Pp. xvi, 284. €25.00 paperback.) The book consists of seventy-nine brief essays by Irish, English, and American writers. Sabella, Jeremy L. An American Conscience: The Reinhold Niebuhr Story.(Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company. 2017. Pp. xvi, 156. $21.50 paperback.)