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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

By the 1690s, a religious initiative for benevolence and reform had taken firm hold throughout both England and Scotland. For roughly the next fifty years, a coherent movement for enlightened piety operated in the British Atlantic world that would emphasize institutional stability, social reform, and personal improvement. Constituting this movement were transatlantic religious networks that established unprecedented personal and institutional partnerships among traditionally antagonistic religious rivals. These collaborators sought to cultivate piety through traditional forms such as the enrichment of the liturgy, a refinement of architecture, and a fuller development of the faith through the application of the new learning to received revelation. Other efforts included prison reform alongside educational measures to promote Christian knowledge such as evangelism and missions, the teaching of the catechism, the circulation of libraries, and the establishment of charity schools. This was Britain's age of benevolence; at its core was a trans-denominational effort for spiritual renewal and social reform.

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.

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.

Acceptance of providence, the belief that an ultimate being determines the course of events, has always created problems for moralists and advocates of free will, and for obivous reasons. If any events has been foreordained, how can hemans be free? If all is determined, why should humans try to do what is right? Aside from the philosophical questions raised by a belief in provedence, however, scholars such as the distinguished economists Jacob Viner have begun to examine the doctrine of providence from the point of view of its broad ideological and social impact. Though Professor Viner modestly claimed that his study of providence was simply an intellectual history pursued for its own sake, he demonstrated many of the doctrine's implications for early modern thought and social structures. Similar emphasis on the significance of the early modern idea of providence is also found in Keith Thomas' Religion and the Decline of Magic.

A lesser known but perhaps significant phase of American religious reformism manifested itself beginning with the eighteen twenties when missionaries attempted to graft Protestantism on Greek soil. These spiritual reformers prepared to plant their faith in Greece while Samuel Gridley Howe, Jonathan P. Miller, and George Jarvis sought to help the Greeks win their independence from the Turks. This phase of missionary activity represented something extraordinary, because the Americans were attempting to impose their kind of Christianity on a people who had been Christians centuries before America was discovered.

The abolition of monastic vows and mandatory clerical celibacy and the exaltation of marriage and the family were among the most revolutionary changes in religion and ethics produced by the Reformation. Although scholars have given it too little attention, the controversy over the relative merits of marriage and celibacy, and particularly the campaign for clerical marriage, played a major role in the development of the Reformation. The law of celibacy and vows of chastity became principal topics of discussion when the reformers strove to break down the old order of medieval Christianity. The most concrete manifestation of the impact of the controversy over marriage and celibacy lay in the fact that many priests joined the Reformation movement precisely to escape the restrictions imposed upon their domestic life by the old order.

In the study of women and religion, it has long been common to suggest that women were particularly attracted to nontraditional theology, often of a spiritualistic nature. In earlier days, women's heretical inclinations were explained by their weaker minds and their irrational nature which made them susceptible to the influence of demagogues and false preachers. In more recent feminist interpretations, mysticism and sectarianism are seen as providing opportunites to women for religious expression and forms of leadership not open to them in established churches.

In the wake of the 1927 landmark Supreme Court decision in the Buck v. Bell case, which affirmed the constitutionality of laws authorizing the compulsory sterilization of so-called “feeble-minded” residents of state institutions, moral theologian and priest John A. Ryan took up his pen to address the issue of sterilization from a Catholics perspective. In the resulting pamphlet, Human Sterilization, Ryan argued that eugenic sterilization measures were not only unscientific and bad social policy, but that the Buck decision in its articulation of civil rights represented a clear departure from the understanding of natural rights in Catholic moral teaching. The production of this text was the first piece of literature published by the National Catholic Welfare Conference that attempted to mobilize Catholic citizens throughout the United States in active opposition to eugenic sterilizahon laws as they came before the state legislatures.

In 1996, Bernhard Lohse wondered if the Luther presented by some would recognize the Luther described by others. Trying to recognize the “political” Luther would be especially difficult. On the one hand, Thomas Müntzer was but the first in a long line of polemicists, journalists, politicians, and scholars who have accused Luther of releasing the sword of secular authority from all control and thereby opening up centuries of authoritarian subjugation. On the other hand, Peter Frarin argued in 1566 that Protestantism equaled sedition, rebellion, and the subversion of civil order. In the criticism of Luther for being either too conservative or too liberal, one thing remained fairly constant: the source of Luther's major shortcoming—his theology of the Two Kingdoms.

It was with a flourish of grace-borne optimism that Thomas Hooker opened his massive redaction of a career's worth of “preparationist” theology, the posthumously published Application of Redemption. The sermons in which this two-volume work consists were published in London in 1656, under the editorial direction of the Independent divines Thomas Goodwin and Philip Nye, but had been preached in New England in the aftermath of the “free-grace controversy” of the mid-1630s and rewritten by Hooker in the 1640s in order to “refine and expand” his previous explications of soul work. Setting concerned sights upon old England's luxuriant antinomian problem, Goodwin and Nye turned to Hooker, late of Chelmsford and Connecticut, in hopes that a strong dose of spiritual discipline might restore moral order to a disordered land. The God of the preparationists, it has been remarked, contributed centrally to an “emerging culture of stamina and rigor”; by the 1650s, however, the God who made his orderly favors known “by a long procession of hints, of interpretable suggestions” had relinquished the reins of moral control. None was better qualified than Hooker to interrogate fault for the sake of the regaining of favor.

In the last public act before his death, Benjamin Franklin parodied a proslavery speech in Congress by comparing it to a fictitious proslavery address “anno 1687” by a North African Muslim, a pirate named Sidi Mehemet Ibrahim. Like proslavery southerners, the Algerian argued that he could not countenance the end of Christian slavery because it would hurt the interests of the Algerian state, there would be no way to compensate the Muslim slave masters, and nothing could safely be done with the freed slaves. Franklin's salvo against slavery was published in 1790 in major northern newspapers. His use of Muslims and Islamic images is one of the most famous in eighteenth-century America, but not unique. Islamic references pepper the public documents of early America, demonstrating that many were not only aware of the religion but also ready to use it as a rhetorical tool of argument. A close look at the uses of Islam in Anglo-American writing before 1800 shows that Franklin's use of the proslavery argument was another version of a well-established tradition: citing the similarities between an opponent's views and the “beliefs” of Islam as a means to discredit one's adversaries. Over the course of the eighteenth century, rhetorical uses of Islam became increasingly secularized. Early in the century, Islam was typically used for religious purposes in religious debates while later commentators often took knowledge “derived” from observations of despotic Islamic states to support political points. Although one should hesitate to describe early Americans as conversant with Islam, they certainly conversed about Islam regularly.

Georg Major was a reluctant controversialist. External events and his own theological concerns forced him into a controversy which he loathed but to which he gave his name, the “Majoristic controversy.” That controversy forced Luther's heirs to refine their definition of the relationship between faith and works, but it also wracked and plagued Georg Major's life for a quarter of a century in spite of his efforts to work his way out of the dispute.

In 1834 the rector of St. Mary's Episcopal Church in Burlington, New Jersey desired to place a cross atop his newly-refurbished sanctuary. No ordinary rector, George Washington Doane also served as the Episcopal bishop of New Jersey. Shortly after taking charge of St. Mary's in 1833, he and his vestry had decided to renovate their old church, and their ambitious new design featured a cruciform plan with Greek details, including a pediment adorned with lotus leaves and a tower “derived from that built at Athens… commonly called the Tower of the Winds.” But when Doane carried out the plans for “an enriched Greek Cross” to be mounted on the roof, the community stood aghast. A local Presbyterian minister chronicled the confrontation, and he began by asserting that most of St. Mary's vestrymen had originally approved the designs without “noticing the Cross at the time.” The project was thus completed, and to the vestry's “great surprise, as well as that of many in the community, of all ‘denominations’—lo! a Cross made quite a Catholic appearance on the apex of the pediment!” Controversy arose, “both in the Vestry and out of it,” and “after a very warm meeting, one of the Vestry shortly after declared that unless the Cross was taken down very soon, it should be pulled down.”