In the history of Protestant Christianity, sectarian movements have often served to bridge the gulfs which have opened between conventional forms of religious life and new secular aspirations among the lower classes. The emergence of the Labor Church movement in England during the closing decade of the last century may be seen in part as an attempt at such a reconciliation. For it was dedicated to the idea that the emancipation of the working classes from capitalism was a religious movement, that the improvement of social conditions was as important as the development of personal character. And yet its leader, John Trevor, repudiated the dogmatic implications of the sectidea and viewed the Labor Church as a search for a truly free religion. In fact it quickly severed all ties with the traditional faith and embarked on a quest for radically new religious meaning.

Jacob Vernet (1698–1789) numbers among those eighteenth-century theologians whose relationships to the philosophes have saved them from being forgotten but at the cost of being misrepresented. Vernet is usually remembered for editing the first edition of Montesquieu's De l'esprit des lois, helping to restore Rousseau to Calvinism, and corresponding and then crossing swords with D'Alembert and Voltaire: it is especially the controversy with D'Alembert surrounding the article on “Geneva” in the seventh volume of the Encyclopédie (1757), as well as a sustained conflict with Voltaire over many issues, that have secured him scholarly attention. The scholars who have noticed Vernet have accordingly concentrated on aspects of his person: ascertaining whether he was mendacious, conniving, and hypocritical, as some of the philosophes, especially Voltaire contended, or the figure of impeccable behavior and conscience suggested by his office and his hagiographers. This one-sided emphasis on his person obscures the fact that Vernet wrote a shelf of books and was such an influential figure that he was the representative Genevan theologian of his day. The neglect of his thought is hardly astounding, however, since it is characteristic of the treatment accorded eighteenth-century theology in general. Theologians and students of religion have for long dismissed eighteenth-century theology as derivative; students of the Enlightenment have considered it outside the canon of Enlightenment literature and thus beyond their purview. Both these assumptions should be challenged.

During the first phase of the Iconoclastic Controversy (717–787), John of Damascus emerged as the chief spokesman of the iconodules. His apologetic for icons, developed in his Treatises Against Those Who Attack the Holy Images (around 730) provided the rationale for the dogmatic decree legitimizing icons, which was adopted at the Seventh Ecumenical Council (Nicea II, 787). Exegetical, hermeneutical, and christological arguments played the dominant roles in his defense of the legitimacy of icons. An additional element in the Damascene's apologetic was an innovative theory of human cognition which placed a high value on created materiality, and thus extended the traditional Eastern Christian appreciation of the material world.

In the 1670s John Bunyan and his Nonconformist colleagues put into effect an organizational plan developed during the imprisonment years prior to 1672. The purpose of the plan was to provide a network of preachers and teachers in the local villages throughout northern Bedfordshire and contiguous areas that would be strong enough to withstand further persecution. As the plan was put into effect, it brought Bunyan into closer contact with other Nonconformists to the south and east, as far away as London. Ironically the plan was formulated when Bunyan and others were imprisoned together at Bedford for their Nonconformity. Their success vividly illustrates the failure of the Stuart government to suppress these men of faith.

Strict observance of the Lord's Day became a distinctive feature of English and Scottish society in the seventeenth century. The Sabbatarian principle touched not only British religion but many social and economic practices as well. At some times, English Puritan settlers in the Netherlands attempted to introduce their brand of Sabbatarianism into Dutch society but with disappointing results. The success or failure of Sabbatarianism often has been identified with a certain stage of capitalistic economic development. This article examines the centrality of teachings about the Sabbath in Puritan social theology and, secondarily, the Sabbatarian-capitalism connection by comparing events in England and Holland from approximately 1600 to 1660. A comparison of Puritan Sabbatarians at home in England and abroad in Holland reveals anew the extreme difficulty of transporting values from one society, where they fit, into another location.

He “saw England with fresh eyes”, and for more than fifty years Elie Halévy's provocative interpretation of the effect of religion on the Victorian out look has continued to engender lively debate and controversy. After his History of the English People in the Nineteenth Century, few historians would contest the practical role of evangelicalism and nonconformity in molding Victorian society. What continues to be challenged is Halévy's claim that the moral influence of the evangelical movement is the parameter within which the social history of nineteenth-century England unfolded.

Nestorius continues to be a problem for modern historians of doctrine. The Problem arose in the fifth century when the church acting at the Council of Ephesus (431 A.D.) anathematized Nestorius, the Bishop of Constantinople, and pronounced Nestorianism a christological heresy. The decisions of the Council of Ephesus were accepted and re-affirmed at the Fourth (451 A.D.) and Fifth (553 A.D.) Ecumenical Councils. It must be said that “Nestorianism” as a special kind of doctrine could have been condemned as heretical could be called “dyoprosopatism.” But such was not the case. Nestorius was condemned and exiled as a heretic, and he was judged on the basis of certain doctrines which he was accused of holding. From the moment of his excommunication until the present time there have been many expressions of uncertainty as to whether he really taught and believed what was defined and condemned as Nestorianism. Somewhat epigrammatically historians have been asking whether Nestorius himself was a Nestorian.

In the 1860s the controversy over the widespread revival of such African customs as “lobolo” (bridewealth) and the development of concubinage among the Christian converts almost destroyed the American Board Mission (AZM), which had been founded in 1835. Suddenly—or so it seemed to the American missionaries—the obedient converts of the previous decades began to defend customs that, from the beginning of the mission, had been denounced as “heathen” by the missionaries.

In his influential discussion of early Christian ascetic renunciation, Peter Brown announced that “Christian men used women ‘to think with’ in order to verbalize their own nagging concern with the stance that the Church should take with the world.” Brown's statement encapsulates the particular difficulties facing students of the history of women in the early Christian period. The most basic difficulty is that we possess very few texts by women from this period until well into the Middle Ages. We can point to the diary of the third-century martyr Perpetua, the complex and recondite Vergilian and Homeric centos (“stitch-verses”) of the aristocrat Proba and the empress Eudocia, and perhaps one or two other arguable examples. With a dearth of women's own voices, can historians be expected to reconstruct women's lives? This paucity of “first-person” texts is coupled with a more serious theoretical difficulty facing historians of all periods whose main “evidence” consists of literary and rhetorically informed texts. Scholars are much less confident today in our ability to peel back layers of male rhetoric and find the “real” woman concealed underneath. Brown's comment underscores this rhetorical skepticism by asking whether these texts are even “about” women at all. Others following Brown's lead have understood texts that are ostensibly to or about women as concerned primarily with issues of male authority and identity. In Brown's words, women were good “to think with,” but the subject of that “thought” was inevitably male. Despite these technical and theoretical difficulties, however, I do not think we are witnessing the final and absolute erasure of women from ancient Christian history.

Atheists were even rarer and more obscure in seventeenth-century England than communists are in the modern United States. The scarcity of atheists, however, rather enhanced than restricted the term as an expression of loathsomeness and evil beyond accurate description. Those who seemed obviously wrong-headed on matters of the most serious import, and who were yet exasperatingly hard to prove wrong, must be in the power of some unnatural evil. Thus Thomas Hobbes was denounced as an atheist; and the accusation was as honest and almost as irrational as the accusation heard recently in many parts of the Southeast that the NAACP is communistic.

Scholars of the Middle Ages have established that in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, there was an intellectual shift in the Christian polemic against Islam. Whereas in earlier centuries heresiologists defined Islam as pagan, in the high Middle Ages the prevailing opinion emerged that it was instead a heresy. Medieval writers, who drew upon a rich theological tradition dating to the patristic era, sustained and expanded this new perspective. Many of the patristic theological refutations against heretics proved once again useful as groups such as the Waldensians, Albigensians, and others made serious challenges against the dominant orthodoxy. Even though Islam had already been a formidable presence in the Mediterranean—especially since the conquest of the Iberian Peninsula in the early eighth century—in the high Middle Ages the continued expansion of Islam, including its defeat of the Crusaders, was perceived to be an increased threat to Christendom. A corollary development was the greater interest in Islam—mainly to discredit or refute it—by some leading western Christian theologians. One thing is certain: medieval writers were intent on demonstrating the heretical nature of Islamic doctrines and the perversity of Islamic morality. Medieval polemicists, however, resorted to a standard theological weapon to assault Islam, typology. Through typology medieval writers were capable of constructing alleged historical and doctrinal links between Muhammad and two of the most notorious “types” of heresy from early Christianity: Simon Magus and Nicolas of Antioch.

In medieval German history excommunication, when considered at all, is usually examined from the perspective of the conflicts between empire and papacy, such as that between Pope Gregory VII and King Henry IV. Like the pope, the bishops of the German Empire were armed with the power to excommunicate. Excommunication therefore figured in local, regional politics, especially in the creation of territorial principalities within the German Empire. Territorial principalities formed during the High Middle Ages when the kingship weakened, and various powerful lords, secular and spiritual, began to build states which eventually gained near-autonomous status within the empire. When a secular dynastic lord struggled to expand his dominion over land and people, he often encroached upon church lands. To defend their churches bishops could and often did excommunicate their perceived oppressors. These regional conflicts were complicated by the dual role of prince-bishops: spiritual princes of the church and secular princes of empire. In competition with the lay nobility, prince-bishops were expanding their own secular dominions.

Toward the end of the first third of the nineteenth century, German writers began to favor a new metaphor for the afterlife: “das Jenseits” (“the Beyond”). At first glance, the emergence of such a term may appear to have little bearing on our understanding of the history of religious thought. However, as the late historian Reinhart Koselleck maintained, the study of semantic changes can betray tectonic shifts in the matrix of ideas that underpin the worlds of politics, learning, and religion. Drawing on Koselleck's method of conceptual history, the following essay takes the popularization of “the Beyond” as a point of departure for investigating secularization and secularism as two linked, yet distinct, sources of pressure on the fault lines of nineteenth-century German religious thought.

In the early thirteenth century, informal communities of pious lay women in urban areas of Northern Europe came to the attention of the Church. These women lived in their own homes or small communities, and played a prominent role in secular society. However, these women soon found themselves both the subject of controversy, and increasingly steered toward a monastic model. Attempts were made to create and institutionalize a “middling” status. These primarily took the form of the creation of “third orders” or “tertiary groups” attached to official religious orders. Using the example of the so-called Franciscan third order, this article explores the evolution and institutionalization of penitential life from the thirteenth through sixteenth centuries. It both traces the evolution of the fictive Franciscan penitential order, and places it in its wider context. In so doing, it explores the norms and controversies associated with this way of life in later medieval and early modern religious culture.

Many twentieth-century historians of early modern England have assumed that ecclesiastical jurisdication was a lost cause after the Restoration, and thus, in contrast to earlier periods, there has been little research on eighteenth-century ecclesiastical courts. However, an examination of the Correction Court records for the Diocese of Carlisle between 1704 and 1758 and a summary survey of other dioceses suggest that such archives may prove useful for historians. This article uses the Carlisle Correction Court archive to study the charges which were brought to the court in the first half of the eighteenth century and, after a brief description of the social and economic setting, looks at the characteristics of the people brought to book.

Modern psychoanalysis tells us that disease is the touchstone of the healthy mind. What is true in the realm of psychology is not less true in the realm of ethics. The most terrible disease in the realm of human relations is war and so we can say that war is the touchstone of a healthy ethical system. In its attitude toward war the weakness of an ethical system is revealed. In the war situation an ethical system is revealed as basically unrealistic if it proves unwilling to face the actual situation and therefore uses the escape of absolute pacifism. It is revealed as basically immoral if it condones any war to such an extent that it loses sight of sin and injustice and makes of that war a holy war or a crusade.

Of the Puritan sects which proliferated in Cromwellian England, the Fifth Monarchy Men were distinctive because of the extreme political implications which they drew from their deep commitment to millennialism. Sometimes called “millenaries” by their fellow countrymen, or “anabaptists” by continental observers, this sects wanted to set up the kingdom of Jesus Christ for His thousand-year rule by the Saints. Its members hoped to realize their quest for a religious utopia by making the old kingdoms of the Stuarts into new saintly kingdoms of the Lord. In order to carry out this idea, several of the leading Fifth Monarchy spokesmen urged Oliver Cromwell to convoke a “Jewish Sanhedrin” or Parliament of Saints which first assembled in June, 1653.

One of the few Irishmen active on the Continent in the eighth century of whom we have some information was a priest (or bishop) named Clemens. Together with the Gaul Aldebert, this peregrinus was the subject of an extensive correspondence between Boniface and the pope, which eventually led to the condemnation of both men at the Roman Council of 745. The accusations brought against Clemens by Boniface display parallels with known Irish teachings and practices, as well as other allegations leveled against individual traveling Irishmen and the Irish in general. This article closely examines the context of Boniface's charges and introduces an additional source to the framing of his arguments. It argues that the allegations must be viewed in the context of both contemporary practices and debates in Irish church and society, and the portrayal of these Irish peculiarities in texts written in and spread throughout the mid-eighth-century Continent and Anglo-Saxon England.

It seems to me that much can be learned by comparative studies of the histories of the several European countries, and that this is particularly true of their political histories during the sixteenth century. A stimulating start in this direction was made by H. G. Koenigsberger in an article in The Journal of Modern History, titled “The Organization of Revolutionary Parties in France and the Netherlands during the Sixteenth Century.” I would like to propose a further exploration of some of the interesting leads presented by Mr. Koenigsberger. For the present, however, I shall avoid attempting to survey the whole field he opens up for us. I shall limit myself to a study of the revolutionary Calvinist parties, and devote most of my attention to the period of their formation.