This article analyzes the scant treatment of Muslims in medieval inquisitorial thought, focusing mainly on the late fourteenth-century Aragonese inquisitor Nicolau Eymeric's Directorium inquisitorum (1376). It argues for four contexts in which to understand his engagement with Islam. First, as background, is a longstanding Christian (although not inquisitorial) tradition categorizing Islam as a heresy, with which he did not substantially engage. Second is his own goal to extend inquisitorial authority to new subjects, in which he drew on previous inquisitorial thought about Jews. The third involves conflicts between church officials and the Crown of Aragon about jurisdiction over non-Christian subjects. The fourth centers on the supposition that he did not view Muslims living within Christendom as an especially covert or insidious threat requiring special investigation to uncover, which speaks to how he and other inquisitors viewed their role and the nature of the threats they aimed to counter. In broad terms, this article contributes to our understanding of one important way in which medieval Christianity engaged with other religions. It also provides a basis for understanding later developments in early modern Europe.

In matters of eucharistic theology, John Wyclif (d. 1384) is best known for his rejection of the scholastic doctrine of transubstantiation. There were many reasons why Wyclif came to regard this doctrine as fundamentally untenable, such as the impossibility of substantial annihilation and the illogicality of accidents existing apart from subjects, but chief among them was his deep dissatisfaction with the prevailing interpretation of Christ's words, “Hoc est corpus meum,” the words of institution required to confect the sacrament in the Mass. Wyclif insisted that getting this proposition right was essential for a correct understanding of Christ's presence in the Eucharist. This article presents Wyclif's position on this matter within the context of later medieval scholastic discussions in an effort to lend clarity to his larger understanding of eucharistic presence. The article will then trace the reception of Wyclif's ideas to Bohemia at the turn of the fifteenth century, with special attention given to the Prague master Jakoubek of Stříbro. One finds that Wyclif, and then later Jakoubek, developed new and effective means of conceptualizing the conversion of the eucharistic elements, thereby expanding the ways in which one can affirm Christ's presence in the consecrated host and the salvific effects of that presence for faithful communicants.

According to Thomas Aquinas, a miracle had to surpass the whole of the created nature, which meant the visible and corporeal, as well as the invisible and incorporeal nature. Prospero Lambertini (1675–1758), the future Pope Benedict XIV, when he was promoter of the faith, noticed that it was impossible to distinguish a cure that occurred beyond the boundaries of incorporeal and invisible nature (the whole nature) from one that exceeded just corporeal and visible nature. The issue was of utmost importance since it risked delegitimizing the whole system of miracle verification. Consequently, Lambertini, in the fourth book of his magnum opus De servorum Dei beatificatione et beatorum canonizatione (On the Beatification of the Servants of God and the Canonization of the Blessed, 1734–1738), developed a new classification of miracles, which included the works of angels, with the aim of solving the problem. Furthermore, to counteract Spinoza's denial of miracles, he claimed that miracles were not contrary to the laws of nature.

While much has been written on Benjamin Franklin's view of religion, less has been written on his Christian theology. This article first situates Franklin as an important figure in the religious Enlightenment, connecting his own view of philosophy to his teachings on Christian revelation. Providing historical context on the subscription debates, it then gives a comprehensive treatment of Franklin's Christian theology in the 1735 Hemphill affair. New scholarship on Franklin's transatlantic sources confirms that, far from attempting to undermine Christianity, he appealed to popular European writers in an attempt to bend it to reasonable ends. Moreover, Franklin's own views on church polity and liturgy developed over time. As he rose from a middling artisan to political power, he saw both the need for religious appeals and the threat that competing sects posed to political unity. His focus shifted from religious freedoms in private associations to institutionalizing elements of Christian teachings in education, charity, commerce, and defense. His experiences with rigid Presbyterian orthodoxy and chaotic New Light enthusiasm also awakened him to the need for more reasonable forms of worship, and he set to the task of experimenting with Christian liturgies to achieve both the tranquility of parishioners’ minds and social unity.

British coronations from 1761 to 1838 have conventionally been dismissed as tawdry pageants with little religious significance. The study of these ceremonies has also been impeded by the dominance of historiographical frameworks characterizing the later Georgian period as an era of political secularization. Drawing upon many neglected sources, this article challenges such presuppositions by situating the Anglican clergy in the foreground of coronations and exploring the ways in which these events were perceived to retain a religious and political significance. The discussion encompasses theoretical understandings of coronations and the practical tensions between church and state exposed by them.

Swami Vivekananda was the most influential pioneer of a Yogi Christ, illustrating well over a century ago how the life and teachings of Jesus might be incorporated within a larger Hindu worldview—and then presented back to Western audiences. Appropriation of Jesus, one of the central symbols of the West, might be viewed as the ultimate act of counter-Orientalism. This article begins by providing a brief biography of Vivekananda and the modern Hinduism that nurtured him and that he propagated. He articulated an inclusivist vision of Advaita Vedanta as the most compelling vision of universal religion. Next, the article turns to Vivekananda's views of Christianity, for which he had little affection, and the Bible, which he knew extraordinarily well. The article then systematically explores Vivekananda's engagement with the New Testament, revealing a clear hermeneutical preference for the Gospels, particularly John. Following the lead of biblical scholars, Vivekananda made a distinction between the Christ of the Gospels and the Jesus of history, offering sometimes contradictory conclusions about the historicity of elements associated with Jesus's life. Finally, the article provides a detailed articulation of Vivekananda's Jesus—a figure at once familiar to Christians but, in significant ways, uniquely accommodated to Hindu metaphysics. Vivekananda demonstrated a robust understanding and discriminating use of the Christian Bible that has not been properly recognized. He deployed this knowledge to launch an important and long-lived pattern: an attractive, fleshed out depiction of Jesus of Nazareth, transformed from the Christian savior into a Yogi model of self-realization. Through his efforts, Jesus became an indisputably Indian religious figure, no longer just a Christian one. The Yogi Christ remains a prominent global religious figure familiar to Hindus, Christians, and those of other faiths alike.

Jon Butler's God in Gotham: The Miracle of Religion in Modern Manhattan is not a book, Butler would be the first to tell us, that anyone should have expected to read (or write). The equation of Manhattan with modernity and modernity with secularization has long been hardwired into the scholarly and popular imagination. Butler wants to disrupt these circuits. It is not that Manhattan was not secular but rather that religion flourished there beyond all expectations between the late nineteenth century and 1960.

God in Gotham issues a challenge: if religion can survive, nay thrive, in Sodom by the Sea, then maybe we need to revise our theory of secularization of the modern world. The book's subtitle articulates its subversive claims: “The Miracle of Religion in Modern Manhattan.” Its alliterative argument suggests a measure of wonder, one of those features of pre-modern life supposedly banished by secularization and the disenchantment of the world.

After reading Jon Butler's richly documented history of religion in Manhattan, I thought again of one of my favorite images: a 1939 watercolor by Ben Shahn called Self-Portrait among the Churchgoers, in which a photographer stands near a church on Sunday but points his camera toward the street and seems to ignore the gathering worshippers. Some U.S. historians might be relieved they do not need to learn more about those pious pedestrians, or what happens inside, but specialists in religious history might think the photographer has missed all the action. Has he? Well, in one sense, sure. Historians of religion must attend to churches and adherents, as Butler does, but, like Shahn's photographer, Butler also looks out to the wider cityscape. And that approach pays off as he asks how religion confronted “the challenge of modernity” in Manhattan, “the capital of American secularism.” More specifically, he hopes to explain why religion “didn't collapse in modernity's grasp,” as religion theorists like Max Weber and William James predicted.

Jon Butler's God in Gotham: The Miracle of Religion in Modern Manhattan affirms what historians of religion have long known and some urban historians have begun to discover—that few things in American history have survived so well as religion. Political moments and social movements have come and gone. Fashions have fallen out of favor; fads have faded. But that thing that we call “religion”—however defined, theologically, experientially, or institutionally—has survived, even thrived, particularly in American cities and perhaps most particularly in America's largest city, New York.

The generous, warm-hearted comments about God in Gotham from Wallace Best, Deborah Dash Moore, and Thomas Tweed, plus John McGreevy's introduction, do, indeed, please its author. I am relieved that no one said I should have remained a colonialist or that the book merely replicates what others have said. But the writing of history never ends, and their comments open fascinating avenues for deeper explorations of religion in the seemingly inhospitable atmosphere of modern urban life. If God in Gotham is succeeded by multiple new books and articles that turn its arguments and conclusions in different and even opposite directions, hallelujah! History moves on. Our books are just markers along the way.