The church historian Socrates Scholasticus tells a story about an encounter during the Council of Nicaea between the emperor Constantine and the schismatic bishop Acesius. On learning that Acesius's dispute had nothing to do with the Creed or the date of Easter—the two major issues under debate at that Council—Constantine asked, “For what reason then do you separate yourself from communion with the rest of the Church?” Acesius replied that his sect objected to the relative leniency with which other Christians had treated those who had cracked under the empire-wide persecutions of the third century. He then “referred to the rigidness of that austere canon which declares, that it is not right that persons who after baptism have committed a sin, which the sacred Scriptures denominate ‘a sin unto death’ be considered worthy of participation in the sacraments.” Whereupon, Socrates continues, the emperor said to him, “Place a ladder, Acesius, and climb alone into heaven.”

Forced to choose between conversion and death, many medieval Jews chose to be baptized as Christians. While not all Jews in Western Europe faced such stark choices, during the fourteenth century pressure increased on the Jewish minority to join the Christian majority. Economic, social, and political barriers to Jews often made conversion a necessity or at least an advantage, exerting a degree of coercion even without brute force. Once baptized these new Christians, called conversi, were required to abandon their Jewish practices entirely. But what kind of life actually awaited these converts? In the abstract, the converts had clear options: they could either remain Christians or return to judaism. Reality would surely reveal a range of possibilities, however, as these conversi tried to live out their conversion or to reject it without running afoul of the authorities. While the dominant Christian culture undoubtedly exerted pressure to convert, Jews did not necessarily sit idly by while their people approached the baptismal font. Some conversi felt contrary pressure to take up Judaism again. In the most extreme cases, conversi who reverted to Judaism faced death as well. This paper examines forces exerted on Jewish converts to Christianity to return to Judaism, using examples from France and northern Spain in the first half of the fourteenth century.

The relatively few monographs on Calvin's baptismal theology have generally been done without regard to chronological development and historical context. This has been unfortunate because diachronic studies on Luther's and Zwingli's baptismal theology have shown theological shifts in emphasis depending on historical context. As we shall see, studies on Calvin's ecclesiology from 1536 through 1543 show a sequential development—a progression which, upon close examination, has a significant impact on his baptismal teaching over time.

In any overall assessment of the changing relationship between the church and the state in late imperial Russia it is important to include an account of the thought and activity of Konstantin Petrovich Pobedonostsev. Although not a clergyman, he was probably the most visible of all Orthodox Church figures of the period, both in the empire and in Western Europe. As the emperor's Ober Procurator of the Most Holy Governing Synod, a post he occupied between 1880 and 1905, he was the perfectly placed official to represent the power of the Romanov government in church affairs and, in its turn, the will and needs of the church to the emperor and his chief councilors of state. Nor, in this case, was it merely the office that made the man. Pobedonostsev himself was a thoughtful and critical student of Western and Russian culture who used his authority in a way that fulfilled his own visions and not the whims of the tsar. He was not a Count Protasov, the loyal Ober Procurator of Nicholas I, and he insisted that the office of Ober Procurator stand equally in the high councils of the tsar along with all other government ministries. Finally, it must be added that Pobedonostsev revealed in his thought and in his public acts a consistent body of religious and political opinion that enjoyed a respectable following among the so-called conservatives of the educated classes, and he was known and admired in this company both for the views he espoused and for the enemies he made.

Among the books Oregon missionaries Elkanah and Mary Walker kept in their mission home at Tshimakain was a Bible in which was written a quotation attributed to Martin Luther: “Men are never more unfit for the sacrament, than when they think themselves most fit—and never more fit and prepared for duty than when most humbld ‘sic’ and ashamed in a sense of their own unfitness.” Fitness founded in unfitness, ability based on inability, and autonomy grounded in dependence were qualities that the Walker' sponsor, the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions (ABCFM), encouraged in its emissaries. The country's first foreign missionary program was established in 1810 by a small group of New Divinity ministers. Dominating the rural pulpits in New England and New York during the Second Great Awakening, New Divinity preachers aimed to legitimate their conception of revival and conversion by appealing to the earlier revival theology of Jonathan Edwards. In the process, they insisted that predestination and free grace did not violate human free will and moral responsibility. Based on these convictions antebellum ABCFM missionaries, including the Oregon group, learned to assess their own spiritual condition and calling. However, the internal conflicts prompted by New Divinity understandings of the conversion experience alternatively produced debilitating and vitalizing effects that continued to trouble these women and men throughout their missionary careers. In effect, the vocation of the missionaries of the Whitman-Spalding mission proceeded from an uncommonly heroic effort to achieve a salvation that could not be guaranteed by their own theology. Moreover, contemporary clashing views regarding the nature and social role of women became intertwined with this disabling discourse. This, in turn, limited the Oregon women's conception of themselves and their capacities as missionaries.