Gerberga of Saxony, the sister of Otto I of Germany and wife of Louis IV of France, receives frequent scholarly mention in relation to a treatise by Adso of Montier-en-Der circa 950–954. The topic of this short work, presented as a letter to Gerberga in answer to a question she posed to the monk, was the life of the Antichrist, that fearful servant of Satan who would appear before Christ's Second Coming, lead whole nations into damnable error, and kill many who would not apostatize before being defeated by Jesus himself at his return. The treatise eventually become the foundation of centuries of Christian apocalyptic thought. But despite her prominence in the letter, Gerberga has received no sustained examination by historians regarding her interest and promotion of apocalyptic thought beyond being a recipient of Adso's letter. At most, scholars tend to see Gerberga as if through the eyes of Adso, that is, as a nervous queen anxious to be reassured that a universal evil is not hiding just around the corner. Such views—wholly unintentional but nevertheless present—do her a great disservice and misunderstand the motivations of both Gerberga and Adso present in the letter, as well as Gerberga's younger, apocalyptically minded in-law, the empress Adelaide. This essay examines Gerberga's life not simply as it relates to Adso's work but in relation to the very personal, family-driven politics of both East and West Francia in the tenth century. When placed in her proper context, we find Gerberga was not merely a passive recipient of apocalyptic ideas for a brief period in the early 950s but was an active patron whose interest shaped imperial politics for generations.

This article studies the act of suggesting symbolic meanings for Christian divine office in medieval Europe. Twentieth-century anthropology placed great emphasis on the anthropologist as an interpreter of symbolic meanings of ritual, but while using indigenous explanations, it did not address explication as a social practice. The phenomenon of systematic symbolical explanation in medieval Europe, I propose, invites a shift in research questions from “what does ritual signify?” to “who proposes symbolic values for ritual, from which position, to whom, when, and why?” The first part of the article analyzes the ninth-century pioneering work of Amalar of Metz, while the second part turns to the heyday of the allegorical enterprise in the twelfth century, in the work of authors such as Rupert of Deutz and Honorius Augustudinensis. Applied to liturgy, the allegorical practice is shown to function as a sophisticated tool to address diversity and historical change, and as a contemplative means to rejuvenate ritual and afford delight in light of contemporary challenges.

Scholarly accounts of the violent events that occurred early in Cyril of Alexandria's episcopal tenure rely most of all upon Socrates's Ecclesiastical History, Damascius's Philosophical History, and John of Nikiu's Chronicle. In contrast, Cyril's own corpus is almost never consulted or engaged by scholars working on these topics, which has resulted in the complete neglect of certain passages that are directly relevant to these well-known events. Surprisingly, on at least three occasions Cyril explicitly rejects religiously motivated violence, while, in contrast, in two other passages he theorizes about it in positive terms as a means of protecting the integrity of communal boundaries. The analysis of these passages reveals that, in certain works, Cyril employed a violent rhetoric that plausibly contributed to creating the environment that resulted in Hypatia's murder. In contrast, however, he seemingly shifted his rhetoric at a certain point in his career, going out of his way to disavow precisely the kind of actions with which he is usually associated, perhaps doing so as a response to Hypatia's horrific death. With these complementary insights, this study contributes to the growing scholarly interest in how violent rhetoric can lead to actual violence. Moreover, Cyril's disavowal of religious violence complicates the simplistic image of him that holds sway as the dominant interpretation of his legacy among scholars of late antiquity.

This article evaluates Origen's criticism of Christian participation in the Roman army in relation to two prominent themes in his writings: the moral progress of the Christian and the role of demons in God's providence. I argue that, for Origen, to be a Christian is to be a soldier, albeit one whose adversaries are not human combatants, but the Devil and his angels. The battle is won when Christians refrain from sinning, attaining moral perfection through their study of the scriptures, and adoption of ascetic practices. By avoiding the physical battlefield, Christians remain unsullied by the passions that inflame the soldier, enabling them to fight demons more effectively. But this spiritual combat is not without risks to the physical body. As Origen's Exhortation to Martyrdom attests, execution could be the providentially ordered outcome of a Christian's combat against demons. Origen presents the violent persecution of Christians as consistent with divine providence and martyrdom as a gift of God to the church. His opposition to Christian military participation is rooted neither in a wholesale rejection of warfare nor a deep respect for embodied life, but in his concern for human moral progress—progress that could be advanced by providentially sanctioned violence.

The early modern Philippine archipelago is often described as being under the power of a frailocracy with a far-reaching impact. From a microhistorical approach of ecclesiastical contentiousness, I argue that the intermittent clashes between and inside the two pillars of colonial rule—the civil and ecclesiastical powers—belie the church's overarching control over state affairs. The church was not a monolithic unit in the Philippines, but was rather highly fragmented, especially in distant Asian enclaves, and it was not independent, but relied on royal patronage, diplomacy, and transnational networks. Using archival materials, official reports, religious manifestos, and royal appointments and decrees, I focus upon two significant case studies of the two exiled archbishops of Manila, Fray Hernando Guerrero, OSA, and Felipe Pardo, OP, to explore factionalism, negotiation, and microlevel political constellations as a way to approach conflicting church–state relations in seventeenth-century Philippines from a more nuanced perspective.

In the regional duchies of high medieval Poland, ideological aspects of the piety associated with holy men and women directly affected the hierarchical model of public authority. As active political brokers, the bishops of Cracow assertively operated to formalize, control, and utilize the cult of saints for two main purposes: to buttress the post-Gregorian ideal of clerical leadership and to secure Cracow's primacy within the Polish hierarchical church. After the revolutionary accession of Casimir the Just to the principal Duchy of Cracow, the installation of the relics of an ancient Roman, Florian, in Cracow in 1184 emphasized the Gelasian principles of a harmonious government. Seven decades later, the canonization of the eleventh-century native Bishop Stanisław, martyred as a result of a conflict with his king, not only strengthened Cracow in its rivalry against the episcopal centers of Gniezno and Wrocław, which both lacked a comparable type of holy figure associated with their cathedrals but also served as a reminder of the ecclesiastical guardianship of just rulership. The relevance of clerical sacrifice in the name of a rejuvenated Polish monarchy reappeared in the early thirteenth century when a Piast duke was crowned king of Poland at the cathedral city sanctified by the episcopal cult of its prelate.

This article provides a new perspective on the discussion of heresy from one of the most influential canonical-jurisprudential commentaries of the Middle Ages: Bernard of Parma's Glossa ordinaria to Pope Gregory IX's Decretales (commonly known as the Liber extra). Based on an analysis of Bernard's legal glosses, with special emphasis on his citation of Roman and canon law traditions, I argue that the often-overlooked Glossa ordinaria provides scholars a unique window into medieval conceptions of heresy, jurisprudence, and ecclesiastical-legal practice. This study demonstrates that this important mid-thirteenth-century legal-educational text not only reoriented the canonical definition of heretics toward an emphasis on sects rather than individuals, but, differing from the contemporary, often severe papal and conciliar rulings against heretics, also stressed the centrality of mercy and temperance in how heretics should be treated by the ecclesiastical court. The Glossa ordinaria, as this article discusses, might have served as an intellectual force that could have counter-balanced the overzealousness of emerging inquisitors in an age of intensifying repression of heretics.

The Compactata, one of the most significant documents related to the Council of Basel, have not been analyzed and understood properly in the historiography, both in relation to their content and impact. This article aims to provide a better understanding of the Basel Compactata by discussing the controversial nature of these documents as demonstrated in international diplomacy and polemical writings of the fifteenth century. The diplomatic missions of J. Carvajal, N. Cusanus, J. Capistrano, and E. S. Piccolomini prove that the Compactata could easily have become a crucial bone of contention between Catholics and Bohemian Utraquists even on the international level. Rather surprisingly, the Catholic diplomats’ negative approach toward the Compactata does not appear to have been influenced by their origins in the controversial Council of Basel, for other phenomena such as craving for perfect unity and alleged transgressions of the treaties played a more prominent role. A thorough examination of polemical writings shows that there existed major differences between the standard Catholic and Utraquist interpretation of the key provision of the Compactata, which was possible due to their compromise wording. Such differences could affect considerably the situation in the Czech Lands. For instance, the emergence of a semi-independent Utraquist Church after 1436 was not explicitly stated in the Compactata and was enabled by the manner in which the Utraquists interpreted their text. Although the Compactata did contribute to the stabilization of the political situation in the Czech Lands, unproductive disputes over their meaning actually disturbed the idea of peaceful coexistence between the Catholics and Utraquists.

Baron Friedrich von Hügel (1852-1925) viewed history as the crux of institutional religion. He also believed that our response to God needs to include all three “Elements of Religion”: the “Intellectual Element” (rational and theological), “Mystical Element” (experiential and devotional) and “Institutional Element” (sacramental, community, tradition and history). Given the role of history in the Baron's “Institutional Element,” it is not surprising that history played a significant role in his spiritual nurture of five individuals. Prayerful reflection upon the historical Christ was central to Evelyn Underhill's conversion. Learning about secular history broadened Gwendolen Greene, enabling her to appreciate Christian mystical texts more fully. Biblical history helped in the formation of Henri Garceau. However, von Hügel's use of history in the spiritual formation of Juliet Mansel and his daughter, Gertrud, had mixed results, and is a reminder of the need to be attentive to both individual differences and maturity levels when using history for spiritual formation. This article builds upon prior research about von Hügel as a spiritual director through the inclusion of unpublished letters from several archives, plus focusing upon one area that has not been extensively discussed in previous studies: the role of history in the Baron's spiritual nurture.

Adoniram Judson is widely perceived as the pioneer Bible translator in Burma. His translation of the entire Bible into Burmese, however, built upon three centuries of Roman Catholic missionary outreach. Catholic priests had arrived as chaplains for Portuguese immigrants to Burma in the early sixteenth century, but an indigenous Burmese Catholic church was established within a generation through intermarriage. Barnabite missionaries arrived in the early eighteenth century and engaged in a dynamic hundred years of missionary work. These Catholic missionaries developed key Christian terminology and discourse that Judson drew upon in his translation work. British Baptists were also in Burma for several years before Judson arrived and made their own contribution to Burmese Bible translation. An analysis of the Burmese translations of the Lord's Prayer by Barnabite missionary Giovanni Maria Percoto (1776), British Baptist James Chater (1812), and Judson (1817 and 1832) demonstrates how Judson both drew upon and developed the work of his predecessors in his immense project of translating the entire Bible into Burmese (1840). The Judson Bible, still the most widely used and highly esteemed version in modern-day Myanmar, is an intertextual production. Literary and oral texts, all shaped by their historical settings, intersected multiple other texts over a period of three hundred years before flowing into Judson's translation.

For over thirty years, eighteenth-century Boston minister Charles Chauncy published his views about universal salvation outside of the printing press. While scholars have argued that he was reluctant to publish because of his heterodox views against a predominantly Calvinist public, the long history of a broadly circulating manuscript complicates any clear intentions toward privacy or secrecy. Instead, Chauncy strategized around the printing press and the pulpit. Using more discreet modes of publication, like manuscript circulation and scribal publication, he gathered a supportive public for universal salvation before his views even reached the printing press. The audience for his work grew even further through intimate conversations and private correspondence between readers of the manuscript and those they wanted to convert. By the time Chauncy decided to print his views, Congregationalist ministers’ hopes for a largely orthodox public sphere had already been compromised through various means of sharing, exchanging, and distributing ideas outside of the printing press. In many ways, it was not strictly the allure of Enlightenment ideas that facilitated the liberalization of New England theology. It was also the ways writers like Chauncy attended to different modes of publications to situate different readers as a captive and receptive audience.

This article attempts to develop a more systematic theoretical framework for investigating the international dissemination of devotional books in early modern times. In terms of the concept of cultural translation, the devotional genre offered fertile ground for the dynamics of selection, appropriation, decontextualization, and recontextualization. In this study, a case is made around one particular bestseller: The Practice of Piety, written by the Welsh clergyman Lewis Bayly (c.1575–1631). By studying this book's various editions and translations, we are able to consider more clearly the circumstances under which a devotional book and its textual content were governed by these dynamics. We are also able to gain greater understanding and insight into some of the actors involved: how, by whom, through which channels, and for which audiences. The primary analysis focuses on the language area of the source text: the English-speaking world. It also looks at some of the areas that, first, differ from the original context in terms of the confessional communities in which Bayly's book was translated, printed, and read; and second, for which the production, distribution, and reception of Bayly's text has been sufficiently studied, namely the Dutch- and German-language areas. The result is a premise that offers a springboard for further investigation into the dynamics at play in the international circulation of devotional books—especially in terms of text, illustration, and reading behavior.

The 1930s Dust Bowl on the Great Plains was one of the most catastrophic environmental disasters in history. Over-farming, severe drought, and high winds primed dust storms. Depopulation occurred in Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, Colorado, and New Mexico. All was made worse by the economic crisis. While historians have written extensively about the Dust Bowl, its causes and its effects, there is little detailed scholarship on the religious dimensions of this ecological tragedy. This article examines some of the important ways that the Dust Bowl shaped Protestant religious life and popular theology just as it prompted denominational relief campaigns, educational efforts, and conservation work. It looks particularly at Congregationalists, Baptists, Methodists, holiness groups, and Pentecostals. Reactions to the Dust Bowl reveal patterns of thinking about and acting on ecology, social concern, migration, millennialism, and new federal relief efforts. An examination of the growing historical fragmentation of white Protestantism is central to this article. In this era of environmental ruin and mass migration to the West, religious groups and individuals offered vastly different solutions and interpretations, foreshadowing later political and cultural conflicts. In the 1930s, long before the birth of modern environmentalism, Protestants were asking why things had gone so horribly wrong and what, if anything, could be done about it.

This article explores the experiences of black people who accepted the teaching of William Miller that Christ would return to the earth in 1843–1844. Heretofore, black Millerites have been almost completely ignored in the substantial historiography of Millerism, millennialism and apocalypticism, and black religion. In this article, I argue that the black experience in Millerism deserves to be studied because it articulates the central concerns of blacks at a critical juncture in antebellum America. I show that enslaved and free blacks embraced Miller's doctrine because of the failure of America, particularly its politics and churches, to provide them the basic human right of freedom. As they did in the Christian churches they joined during the Awakenings, blacks fashioned Millerism in their image, using it for purpose, empowerment, expression, community, and liberation. This exploration of black Millerites contributes to broader discussions on the motivations of marginalized people who gravitate toward the eschatological and the impact the apocalyptic has on real-world engagement.

Far from being limited to denunciations of modernity, nineteenth-century Catholic thought had a programmatic and visionary side. This article deals with the models of community put forward by Lamennais in L'Avenir, Antonio Rosmini, Luigi Taparelli d'Azeglio, and Wilhelm Ketteler. These writers reimagined the foundations of public life against the claims of self-interested individualism and state omnipotence. Three theses in particular capture their vision of the future polity: 1) societies, which were not “mechanisms,” needed Catholicism as animating spirit; 2) political representation should be “organic”; and 3) whereas the liberal elites imposed their vested interests on the common people, the Catholic polity reflected their needs and beliefs. The four writers envisaged a community of the gentle and caring, which, like the family, was hierarchical, self-governed, local, and supportive. In contrast, it was argued that the people had no voice under liberalism because the elite's values were not the people's and because the political system was a mere arena for the clash of special interests. This was a communitarian and populist Catholicism, prizing self-government, denouncing parliamentary politics, and siding with “the people.”

This article tracks the surprising history of a love ballad about a lost sweetheart that went on to become a celebrated gospel hymn about the rural roots of America's greatness. Titled “The Little Brown Church,” but sometimes called “The Church in the Wildwood,” the song's evolution speaks to the ways in which nostalgia became central to the social and religious imagination of those American Protestants call themselves “evangelicals.” Though it first appeared in college songbooks after its publication in 1865, “The Little Brown Church” eventually became a favorite of evangelists, revivalists, and other gospel singers at the dawn of the twentieth century. For these new singers, “The Little Brown Church” spoke to more than just the simple faith they wished to restore. It also illustrated the centrality of white Protestants to the American experience at a moment when the hold these believers had on the nation was beginning to slip. And they would alter both the lyrics and the church's history to bring the two in line. The process not only reveals how nostalgia for a bygone era became vital to those who think of themselves as evangelicals in the twentieth century, but also how evangelicalism itself is something of a historical construction.

On the cover page of the September 23, 1922, issue of the Chicago Defender, editor Robert S. Abbott announced Go-to-a-White-Church Sunday. Less than a month later, the Federal Council of Churches announced its inaugural Race Relations Sunday. Through a comparative analysis of these two events, this article reconsiders historians’ tendency to assume and emphasize a shared faith across racial lines when discussing interracial religious practice in various historical contexts. Go-to-a-White-Church Sunday was intended both to introduce white churchgoers to black respectability and to provide moral guidance to white churchgoers, whose racism rendered their faith something other than true Christianity. Notwithstanding ceremonial nods to interracial religious brotherhood, Abbott's campaign hinged more so on shared understandings of respectability than on shared Christian faith. While the FCC's Race Relations Sunday differed in its valorization of white Christianity, with proclamations that interracial religious brotherhood was sufficient to solve “the race problem,” both events displayed a shared faith in the power of interracial proximity in itself to accomplish their respective ends. Historians have replicated this problematic faith in interracial proximity by using language of racial transcendence and writing as if interracial religious practice is egalitarian unless proven otherwise. This article calls for more critical, contextually mindful approaches.

Emilio Comba, a leading Waldensian historian in the nineteenth century, was a strong advocate for nation-building in post-unification Italy. This article examines the relationship between Comba's “making Italians” endeavors and his historical writings, focusing mainly on his appropriation of the preceding confessional framework. As a fervent nationalist and evangelical pastor, Comba believed that true Risorgimento required not only political independence but also a religious reform of the Italian nation that would restore Italians to the original Religion of Christ. He envisioned this national reform as a realization of both liberty and the Gospel within the universal history of the Christian religion. Comba employed historical writings to support his claims, attempting to demonstrate how Italy was a perennially Protestant nation on the one hand and to serve as a magistra vitae for fellow citizens on the other. This article argues that Comba relied on a genealogical narrative structure inherited from the early modern protestant historiography in presenting his national history. By recasting its composition according to a category of the nation, he transformed a confessional genealogy of the true church into a national one. From a broader perspective, this article calls for further reflection on the role that the early modern intellectual framework played in the process of modern nation-building.

At the turn of the twentieth century, an enchanted response to Christianity among minority peoples on China's ethnic frontiers in Southeast Asia caught Western missionaries by surprise. This paper explores the historical circumstances and the dynamics of the mass Christian conversion among those hill peoples. Far from a cultural defeat and a grudging surrender to a conquering foreign faith, their embrace of Christianity was an exuberant, communal rush toward fulfillment of indigenous prophecies of redemption. Unlike the civilizing project of the modern state—a coercive mandate of assimilation and ideological transformation—the Christian movement offered them a choice and allowed them to channel their desperate prophecies of the past toward a reformist messianism. With its war on local shamanism, rituals of courtship, and inherited (and often inebriated) rhythms of ethnic life, Christian conversion was ostensibly a break with indigenous traditions. However, it also ironically fortified the ethnic identities of the peripheral peoples—especially through the creation of the written script for the purpose of Bible translation—and generated fresh resiliency for their material and cultural survival.

This article examines the Cultural Revolution (1966–1976) as a history of trauma for Chinese Protestant intellectuals. Using Cai Yongchun—a graduate of Yenching and Columbia University—as an example, the article aims to 1) demonstrate the overwhelming conformity demanded by the Communist regime and 2) analyze how Christians like Cai sought to align with official lines through intellectual reconstruction. In sum, the party viewed Christian intellectuals as deeply suspect due to their religious and Western affiliations, thus targeting them in successive campaigns that began in the 1950s and culminated in the Cultural Revolution. Despite state marginalization, Christian intellectuals like Cai persisted in their patriotism, eager to remain relevant even amid ideological fanaticism. Active adaptation as such, however, facilitated the hegemonic project of revolutionary subject formation that championed the Communist leadership as the custodian of truth. Cai came to experience a fundamental and perpetual denial of the self, pressuring him to become an ever more faithful follower of Mao and his words. Nevertheless, the proletarian redemption proved elusive, and the old Christian identity resilient.