It is well known that following the Elizabethan religious settlement of 1559 English Catholic and Protestant polemicists turned to the Church Fathers, and particularly to St Augustine, for source material with which to bolster their doctrinal arguments. Augustine's works were, of course, the basis for so many Reformation controversies, yet the theological disputes of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries were entirely different from those of the Early Church. Further development and refinement of doctrine had created a wide gulf between the two periods. Early modern polemic was therefore relying on patristic sources which at times were patently inappropriate. It might therefore be thought that there would be little to be gained from an examination of its use of the Fathers, particularly as there was no reason for bitterly opposed polemicists to take a restrained, objective, or even particularly discerning approach to the patristic sources in order to refute the ‘errors’ of the other side. Historians of the English Reformation have indeed shown little interest in the seventeenth century's preoccupation with St Augustine, the most widely cited of the patristic writers. Hugh Trevor-Roper wrote that in this period ‘the true meaning of St Augustine was the object of as much unprofitable speculation as has ever been expended on the equally inscrutable mind of God’. Those historians who have dealt briefly with polemical technique in this period have suggested that seventeenth-century uses of patristic texts were likely to be primitive. J. C. H. Aveling argued that both Catholic and Protestant writers were afflicted by the same weaknesses: their understanding of source texts was undermined by a ‘cult of great erudition’ which was essentially shallow.

The Spanish Church of the Golden Age has been much discussed but little studied. Certainly, its professional structure and internal administration are much less well understood than those of secular government. This paper seeks to correct some of the imbalance by applying to the 540 members of the Castilian episcopacy who served under Habsburg leadership the prosopographical techniques which in recent years have advanced our understanding of the State. But before doing so it might be useful to describe the structure of the episcopacy and the principles and procedures which governed appointments to it.

A sense of an ending dominates accounts of African Christianity after the Vandal conquest of the 430s, not least as a result of the apparent disappearance of the Donatists in an Africa now ruled by Homoian Christians. In fact, the transfer from Donatist schism to new ‘Arian controversy’ more closely resembles the broader picture of Vandal Africa which has emerged from recent scholarship: significant continuity amid dynamic transformation. The cultural and rhetorical legacies of the Donatist schism were used by both parties (Catholic and Homoian) in Africa's new church conflict to present themselves as the true African Church.

The authorship of the Life of the twelfth-century English holy woman, Christina of Markyate (c. 1096–after 1155), has inspired considerable scholarly speculation. Though the writer never once positively identifies himself in extant versions of the text, oblique references locate his activity at the Benedictine monastery of St Albans in Hertfordshire during the 1130s under the patronage of the reigning abbot, Geoffrey de Gorron (1119–46), and intimate the close connections that he enjoyed with his narrative's subjects. Building on these references, and incorporating clues from related sources from St Albans and Markyate, this article reconstructs the likeliest candidate for authorship – Robert de Gorron (d. 1166), Geoffrey's nephew, appointed sacristan and later abbatial successor – and assesses his eligibility.

Discussion of the errors combatted by Ignatius of Antioch of centred on the question of whether they were one or two in number. While some scholars have discovered opposition to a single, composite Judaeo-Christian-Docetic error, others have argued that Ignatius opposed two groups, viz. Docetists and Judaisers. Here I intend to discuss a third error which appears to be connected with the continuing tension, observable in other writings of the time, between the priestly and prophetic ministries.

Until recently, chapbooks lay in the domain of Victorian antiquarians and bibliographers. Few persons have ever taken them seriously. Not even their original owners could mention them without showing embarrassment and adding that they had abandoned the pamphlets for more respectable reading. A half-century later, Victorian collectors called them ‘quaint’ and ‘peculiar’. Successive generations of historians failed in trying to date them and determine patterns of production and distribution. Present-day scholars no longer apologise for neglecting them. Despite this abuse, chapbooks stubbornly survive, their bad bindings preserved by poor cataloguing.

In the spring of the year 1160 archbishop Martin of Santiago de Compostela was expelled from his see by his king, Fernando II of León. Except for a brief period of about six months in the winter of 1164–65 he remained excluded from his church and sometimes from the kingdom until shortly before his death in 1167. For some of this period of seven years he sought to exert pressure upon the king through the papal curia of Alexander III in order to bring about his reinstatement; usually in vain. This cause célèbre in the relations between Church and State in the most westerly of the Spanish kingdoms has attracted little attention from Spanish ecclesiastical historians, and none at all from others. What makes it of more than parochial interest is its timing. Fernando II was not the only western European ruler to be at loggerheads with his archbishop in the 1160s; neither is the spectacle of a pope unwilling decisively to intervene in a quarrel of this kind an unfamiliar one to students of the ecclesiastical affairs of that troubled decade. Only fragments of evidence have survived to shed light on the tortuous diplomacy of those years. To disinter and to attempt to fit together the dead bones of this forgotten dispute may, it is hoped, be to provide a further fragment, which, in its turn, may be of interest to those whose concern is with the larger affairs of empire and of papacy, of Angevins and of Capetians. To historians of Spain its interest will (we hope) be sufficiently obvious to need no commendation.

Among the many ‘unions’ between the Roman Church and the various Eastern Churches, none, perhaps, has been more unknown than the Union of Suzdal, 1222–1252. How important this union really was, outside the ecclesiastical questions involved, will appear immediately upon reflexion that its span coincides with the Tartar conquest of Russia and the consolidation of Tartar power. All the more startling, therefore, is the neglect of this union by Russian and non-Russian historians.

An increasing number of men wanted, or needed, to transact business at the papal curia in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. The contemporaneous development of the papal administration – partly responding to and partly encouraging the growth of business – made its transaction a more elaborate affair for those engaged in it. In a sense, the office of proctor came to the rescue of men faced with the greater frequency and complexity of business at the curia.

Discussions of the ‘Catholic Question’ of the early nineteenth century have concentrated almost exclusively upon developments in Ireland, where demagogues, priests, and peasants cleverly contrived to extort Emancipation from a protestant parliament. The historian's choice of focus scarcely requires explanation, what with the purport of Irish events and the relentless logic with which the O'Connellites had organised their following. And yet, despite the emphases of scholarship, the concessions of 1829 actually represented a triumph on both sides of St. George's Channel. The Catholic Saxon as well as the Catholic Celt, each in his own way, had contributed to the joyous outcome, and quite possibly neither would have succeeded without the other.

Historians of eighteenth–century England have begun to reassess its relationship with the preceding century, creating in the process the now conventional periodisation of a ‘long eighteenth century’ from c. 1660 to 1832. Historical revisionism, however, needs constantly to be revised, and there remains the danger of creating too sharp a separation between this period and that which preceded it. This article aims to introduce just such a complicating factor by linking the turbulent theologies of the 1640s and 1650s with a particular strand of eighteenth century religious thought. This might be described as the legacy of ultra-Protestantism, the insistence on the priority of private judgement and the supremacy of Scripture which were allied with a suspicion of clericalism. Its survival among an articulate and academically well-placed group of eighteenth-century Anglican divines demonstrates that the attempt by the Restoration Church of England to distance itself from ultra-Protestantism was not uniformly successful; the problem of ‘heresy’ continued into a period of Anglican history more usually associated with comfortable doctrinal latitude.

‘Ireland would ever seem to be the place of experiment, both of politics and of education, and a cloud of never-ending failures has encompassed her in both.’ This illuminating comment provides a perspective in which the whole peculiar and rather complex relationship between the two countries, so unnaturally yoked together, may be considered afresh. The role of Ireland as experiment and precedent for English legislation—since in many respects Ireland's condition was that of England ‘writ large’—made possible the breaking of new ground and ventures into new spheres of governmental action. In Education, the Irish situation led government into an admission of its responsibility for the education of the people by grants to the Kildare Place Society in 1815. Three decades of agitation and debate were needed in England before the same admission was made by the grant-in-aid of 1833, and the same relationship existed between Irish education experiments of the early 1830's and their later English equivalents.

The ‘Dialogue on the life of John Chrysostom’, published by Palladius of Helenopolis c. 408–9, is a key source for the history of the Church at the beginning of the fifth century. This paper argues that the history of the Johannite schism provides the background against which to understand the scope and nature of this work. It questions the received chronology of Palladius’ later life and shows that he is not so much a hard-core supporter of John who refused all contact with the official Church, as someone who could envisage the followers of John accepting an offer of amnesty in 408/409 and reintegrating into the Church. The dialogue is a strategic work that accepts that after the death of John (407) the Johannites can only bank on the support of Rome to improve their situation. As a consequence its trustworthiness cannot be accepted at face value.

The correspondence of Augustine that Johannes Divjak recently discovered and then edited in CSEL lxxxviii has provided new grist for the scholarly mills of commentary and exegesis. One of these letters (Ep. 11*), sent to Augustine from Consentius, a learned Christian living on one of the Balearic Islands, has been hailed as an important source about ‘the Priscillianist cause’ and ‘secret Priscillianists’ in northern Spain during the early fifth century. In fact, the information in this letter is more teasingly inexplicit. Consentius had composed some anti-Priscillianist writings, but only on the basis of second- and third-hand sources. Fronto, a monk in northern Spain, then apparently used these writings in order to pose as a heretic and discover other heretics who included, he claimed, some local clerics; but once accused of heresy, his opponents insisted upon, and finally ‘proved’, their orthodox Catholicism. And although in his deposition about his heresy-hunt Fronto never once mentioned Priscillianism, Consentius nevertheless glossed the whole affair as one involving Priscillianism when he included a copy of Fronto's deposition in his letter to Augustine.

This article discusses John Glas, a minister deposed by the Church of Scotland in 1728, in order to examine the growth of religious pluralism in Scotland. The article begins by considering why Glas abandoned Presbyterian principles of Church government, adopting Congregationalist views instead. Glas's case helped to change the Scottish church courts’ conception of deposed ministers, reflecting a reappraisal of Nonconformity. Moreover, Glas's experiences allow us to distinguish between church parties formed to conduct business, and those representing theological attitudes. Finally, Glas's case calls into question the broadest definitions of the ‘Scottish Enlightenment’, drawing attention to the emergence of pluralism.

Amid the great Protestant martyrologies of the mid-sixteenth century, Heinrich Pantaleon's Martyrvm historia (1563) has been comparatively overlooked. This article argues that Pantaleon's martyrology acted as a capstone to the narrative framework of Protestant suffering and resistance. Pantaleon's command of vernacular languages gave him access to a wider range of material than other martyrologists, material which his Latin text made accessible to learned readers across Europe. This article also examines the collaboration between Pantaleon and John Foxe, which directly inspired Pantaleon's martyrology and enabled Foxe to give a cohesive, trans-European account of Protestant martyrs in his Acts and monuments.

The origins of the ‘montanist’ heresy are far from clear. This much is known, that it began in Phrygia (or Mysia) and that it must have originated before 172, when Montanus had his visions, and before 179, when the prophetess Maximilla is said to have died. It is also conjectured that ‘Montanism’, a name which does not occur before the fourth century, may have been a title attached to the heresy later, and that the earlier names ‘the New Prophecy’ and the ‘Phrygian or Kataphrygian heresy’ are more exact connotations for the movement. Of the two names I should prefer the first, for ‘the New Prophecy’ does not seem to have been a heresy in its beginnings: doctrinal aberrations came only in the later centuries. In view of these facts it is legitimate to ask whether ‘the New Prophecy’ was a Judeo-Christian group which broke off from the Church and still later became heretical, that is, that the movement existed in essence before the time of Montanus and his ladies but that it was only in his day that it became a separate movement.

As the fieriest champion of the Radical Reformation Thomas Müntzer remains an enigma. A spate of recent works has greatly increased our knowledge of the development of his theology and of his contribution to the Peasants' War in central Germany, but they have failed to resolve the precise relationship between his theological convictions and his involvement in social revolution. A profusion of Marxist writings, above all from East Germany, has stressed the objective function of his religious radicalism in promoting and legitimating mass rebellion in Saxony and Thuringia at the expense of its subjective intention, whilst the bulk of Western scholarship, in particular Walter Elliger's massive though scarcely definitive biography, has emphasised the primacy of his theological vision, to which social and political concerns were at best subordinate or tangential.